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I grew up on 10 acres bordering a Class A trout stream. The car was parked down by one of the mowed trails to the river. I went inside and asked my dad, "Did you tell someone they could park on the lawn?" He yelled "No!" and high-tailed it outside. We checked out the new Cadillac parked on the lawn, and then we walked down the path to the stream. There stood an immaculately dressed (for fishing) gentleman in his late sixties and my father yelled, "What are you doing!" The guy clumsily extracted himself from the stream as my dad read him the riot act about parking on his lawn. The guy tried explaining, "I have a map!" We informed him his map was wrong. Then my father tried to make him really scared, saying something like, "I don't know how you're going to get out of here without damaging my lawn!" The guy was a nervous wreck by this point, but he was being compliant, so we just let him drive, very carefully, out to the street. Anyways, what I didn't tell the guy was that he was really lucky that he picked our land, which was inhabited by semi-civilized people, and not a mile and a half upstream, where the Dombrowski's lived. Their family tree did not fork. I remember the first time my mom drove by their place and saw them outside. She got home and told me, "They had faces like pigs!" So they did/do/. I have little doubt that if this city slicker had parked on their lawn, there would've been a missing person from Barrington, Illinois, never to be seen again, and the Dombrowskis would've been seen driving around in a newer Cadillac in pristine condition.