Sneaking around in the woods

I was sitting at my desk looking out the window when I saw a neighbor from the top of the hill scurrying down into the woods that surround our house. He was dressed in blue jeans, a blue hoodie and he had a white plastic bag in his hand. I couldn't see what he was doing, but he was moving rapidly, bending down every so often and putting something in his bag.

I was about to call out when the thought occurred to me that I don't really know him all that well and perhaps he was harvesting a crop of weed that he had planted in the spring. I have read about people doing that in National Forests. Who would notice here?

Did I really want him to know that I was observing him? I decided to just keep quiet. (I did wonder why he wasn't wearing camos though. They seem like a better choice if you are going to engage in risky business. Women really do think differently than men do, don't they?)

He ran around in the woods for fifteen to twenty minutes and then, like a Cullen, he vanished as mysteriously as he had arrived.

Later that evening I was walking with a mutual friend and entertaining her with this very story. At the exact moment she was belly laughing, whom should appear but Mr. Woods Walker himself? "Hey, Doug," she said, "Chris was wondering if you were harvesting pot in the woods this afternoon?"

"One hundred and seventy-seven." He replied cryptically. Then, before I could ask any questions, he was gone once again.

One hundred and seventy-seven? My mind rushed. "Should I rush home, pack a quick bag and get out of town?" I thought. Overactive imagination? Guilty!

On the other side of the woods, there is a golf course. He had picked up one hundred seventy-seven golf balls.