Big Foot Stole My Fruit Tree

In the Spring of 2023 a fruit tree was taken from the garden plot at Chaos Commons. It had been planted the year before, along with several others. The event left a preponderance of mystery around who would steal a fruit tree out of the ground. What kind of human would do such a thing? Which led us to believe maybe it wasn’t a human at all.

Okay, so this isn’t a picture of the hole the tree was removed from. But it’s far more interesting to look at than a hole in the ground.

P.I. Rafferty Moore of the Hop Magnum is on the case.  The following is his interpretation of events, and his alone:

My first thought was that it was just some a**hole. It’s not hard to image some miserable sod, walking through the back lot up at Chaos Commons, wanting to ruin something out of spite. It’s maybe something I would have done myself in the past. Not proud to admit it, but not too proud to say it. I’m far from perfect. But the thing that piqued my interest was the total absence of the tree. It was just gone. It wasn’t torn out by the roots and tossed around. This wasn’t about destruction. It was like someone actually came with intent, dug the thing up, and carried it off.

So I started thinking, why would someone lift a tree like that? Probably because they wanted it, you know, like to grow for themselves. And then it seemed logical that if someone had planned to transplant it they hadn’t likely planned on going very far with it. So looking around the neighborhood seemed like a good place to start.

I’m nosey by nature. I’ll peek over fences if I feel compelled. And I felt compelled. I don’t know what it was about this case. It’s just the idea of someone stealing plants - that someone else had bought, and planted, and taken care of - to replant for their own personal enjoyment, just got to me. It’s so selfish. I was totally relishing the idea of finding a backyard with a freshly planted tree in it and confronting the bastard, just to watch them sputter and flail for excuses. What can I say? My mom was a gardener. But I didn’t find any trees in any backyards. I just found more holes. When I knocked on doors I found more people upset about vanishing fruit trees. Apples. Pears. Even some kind of franken fruit tree with all the branches having a different species of stone fruit. What will they make next?

No one had any idea what was going on. Each homeowner didn’t seem aware of the broader spread of the problem. There were enough victims that I was really scratching my head. This was shaping up to be quite the criminal enterprise. Was someone planning on starting an orchard with stolen trees?

I did the usual private eye thing; got together all my notes, charted out each incident on a map, looked for connections, unlikely coincidences. Nothing. Then I met Tremaine. He had a hole in his yard. He was the nervous, nerdy type. When I started asking questions he got even more nervous and nerdier. Then I noticed he had a sack of trash and some festering apples in a bucket on his porch outside the door. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?” I said.

“Why? My girlfriend doesn’t even believe me.”

“Yeah. That happens. When I had one it was near constant,” I told him. It wasn’t that bad. Judy had been the long suffering sort. But I needed to connect with the guy. “Couldn’t say anything without having it doubted,” I continued, looking at him with my best commiserating face. And Tremaine told me everything. How he was standing at the open window when his dog started going berserk as the stench of something foul came wafting through. He said it smelled fierce and made his eyes water. He didn’t have his phone to take a picture or anything. It came sprinting through his yard at a mad dash, yanked his fruit tree right out of the ground without even stopping, and was gone in a blink. Not humanly possible, is what he said. He was rattled just talking about it. But get this. He said it was big foot. Like the legendary Big Foot. I don’t think it was just his girlfriend who didn’t believe him. I don’t think he believed himself. He said he needed proof. He had that bag of trash and the bucket of mealy apples because he was going to try to lure it in and catch it or something crazy like that. He wanted more than a photo. He wanted a hair sample for forensic analysis.

I told him that sounded dangerous and just to leave it alone. He had plenty of proof. He had a yapping dog, a horrific stench, and a hole in the ground. I’ve solved cases with less. Besides, any creature that decides to cultivate franken fruit probably has tastes too sophisticated for garbage and rotten apples. My gut tells me shopping the local honey selections at the farmers market might be more revealing. Maybe a local honey blend gathered from apple, pear, and mixed stone fruits. A label with “Sasquatch Apiary” or “Yeti Orchard” might be too much to hope for. But if I keep looking, I bet that’s what I’ll find. Maybe an idyllic grove on the outskirts of town, planted in rows and lovingly tended, like the way my mom used to take care of her roses. I mean, what’s Big Foot supposed to do? Walk into the garden center and buy trees? If Big Foot wants an orchard, who am I to stop it?

I think the greater mystery might be this Tremaine character. He’s got a dangerous secret. I just know it.

Who is Tremaine?

Private Investigator, Rafferty Moore of the Chaos Bay Hop Magnum, is determined to find out.  Stay tuned for his next adventure.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.