Ah, the old plank-across-the-stream trick. We tried that ourselves last year to cross the raging torrent that, from October to March, cuts our walking route in two. Brilliant it was, for exactly one day. Then some bugger nicked the plank. You never see a living soul around here, yet planks vanish and old mattresses materialise as if by magic. I'm beginning to think there’s a secret society of chancers lurking behind every bush, just waiting for their moment.
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Fortunately, we never saw evidence of anyone near our property. I say our property...apparently we (my grandfather) didn't own the hill. Did he own the field? I don't know. My grandfather bought that place in 1953, I think. Legend has it he payed 10,000 cash for the house, which was at least a 100 years old. It was supposed to have come with 13 acres. That's the story, anyway, but he never talked to me about it, so how would I know?
In those days men would always have their rifles at a ready. I don't think vagrants or miscreants would have lasted long. It was the U. S., you know :)))