I’m not prone to writer’s block. There is a simple reason: I’m addicted to writing, so the act of churning out prose is generally my fix.

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But last week I spun my wheels. That’s why this column is days late.

I’m lucky; my life is generally calm. It is harvest time on the farm, and late-summer fruits and vegetables are at their peak while crops such as beans and most lettuces have run their course. I blanched and froze the last of our peas yesterday and began to process a bushel basket of peaches to make jam. I bought 12 jars and a bag of lemons, and peeled and chopped several dozen peaches.

The peace of my life contrasts with the uproar occurring across the country as the shadow of authoritarianism lengthens. Masked men in black uniforms from the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and other government agencies are eager to please their bosses and earn hefty bonuses. They earn their keep by snatching and imprisoning people who may be here without visas or documentation. Or they may not. They may be criminals. Or not. The number of arrests matters, not facts, not humanity. It is an outrage.

But it mostly doesn’t affect me.

Until I began to worry about a friend, whom I will call Diego to protect his identity.

Diego does odd jobs. He employs his entire family to help. They are all hard workers. In the last several years, we have hired them to work on our too-large property mulching and weeding so vegetation does not cover our house and choke every structure in sight. Pete has enough to do with farm chores – the last task he needs is to weed anything other than his vegetable beds.

We’ve gotten to know Diego over the last two years. One day this spring I said, “Forgive me for asking, but are you a citizen, or on your way to becoming one?”

That’s when he told me that his undocumented parents brought him to America when he was 14. Now he is married, has four kids, pays taxes and has never broken the law.

But despite his having gotten protection in the past from deportation through the DACA program (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) he is in limbo; there is no real path forward for him. Congress has tried and failed for more than 20 years to pass a bill giving a path to citizenship for “dreamers” as they are called - the 3.4 million whose parents brought them here when they were children.

I made Diego promise to get in touch with me if he ran into trouble, and he said he would. But, he said, smiling, he wasn’t worried. And I didn’t worry, either - until Diego didn’t pick up a check I owed him for work. I called him. I texted. A few weeks passed with no response. I got concerned.

Most “dreamers” are in California where many of the ICE raids have taken place. In my tiny state of Connecticut (the third-smallest state in the union) ICE arrests have happened mostly on the other side of the state close to the New York State border, a 90-minute drive from my house.

But Connecticut has seriously enraged the Trump Administration by passing a law called the “Trust Act,” directing police not to cooperate with federal officials in arresting undocumented people unless they have an arrest warrant signed by a judge, or the people in question are violent criminals.

Which makes sense. Why not go to a judge and present evidence for permission to make an arrest? Because that would take too long and permission might not be granted.

For the large-scale scooping up and deporting immigrants, officials depend upon the cooperation of local and state police to arrest and detain anyone they want for 48 hours -- just on the federal say-so. But in Connecticut, the state’s Trust Act is a barrier.

In retaliation, federal officials labeled my fair state a “sanctuary” state and conducted raids 10 days ago that arrested 65, calling the arrests, “Operation Broken Trust" in a swipe at the state law. ICE spokesmen claimed many arrested were guilty of violent crimes and the rest were gang members.

As a citizen, I would like to believe them. Really, I would. But more than half the undocumented immigrants so far arrested have no prior criminal record. And ICE is quick to arrest or detain many U.S. citizens who video the arrests of undocumented people.

The other problem is this: the Administration lies so often it is only a matter of time before the White House will demand arrests of the Sisters of Mercy and call them gang members, too.

In the middle of all this, Diego called. He is fine. I was finally able to pay him. He promised, again, to be careful.

Today I simmered and stirred peaches. I poured them into sterilized jars, dipped them in a boiling water bath and stored the golden containers on shelves. Diego, I thought, is OK.

And I can finally write about my concerns and the ugly direction the country has taken.

I often feel like a hypocrite, when I write about nonpolitical issues. So many injustices are taking place. I wonder whether it is trivial to write about anything else other than the wrecking ball being taken to democracy.

Last week, the contrast between my peaceful corner and injustice elsewhere paralyzed me. This week, I’m writing again. Baby steps.