Illegal aliens largely live in the homes of the vanished agrarians. In turn, they rent out the barns and sheds, and create compounds of 20-30 people, with 10-15 cars parked about. No sheriff, no county inspector, no building inspector dares to set foot on these old homesteads of now dead farmers. They are no-go zones, despite law enforcement denials—sort of like Wild West hideouts that everyone knows, and no one enters.
There the pit bull dogs do bite—and bite. They are unvaccinated and unlicensed. No one knows who is armed, who not. I once stopped by a nearby compound to return a dog that had bolted from there to our place. I knew every inch of that farmhouse and yard, since I visited there at age 10, decades before the current occupants were born. I was greeted warmly as the dog jumped out of the truck, but on the unspoken premise that I was also to leave immediately given the various “operations” that seemed to be going on.
Who fled a felony in Mexico, who came up just to work? Which shed is a chop shop, which a drug den, which a meth lab, which a child care operation? Which lean-to is a cock-fight arena, which a prostitution center, which simply a trailer for a hard-working roofer, which an anything for anybody?
Joe Biden and Alejandro Mayorkas claim all this is reifying Lady Liberty saying, “Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” But there are no Ellis Island lines here. There is no poor immigrant with papers, intent on queuing up to enter his chosen country legally. And there is certainly no Joe Biden or Alejandro Mayorkas or anyone like them anywhere near here.
