The Smiths bought their country cottage a year ago. Ever since turning fifty, Paul felt a strong urge to have a place in the countryside. His childhood memories of the village, his family home, and the garden kept coming back to him.
The cottage, though small, was well-kept. They repainted the wooden house, mended the fence, and replaced the gate.
There was enough land for some potatoes and a few odds and ends, but the garden wasn’t much to look at: only a few old trees and not a single bush except for a small patch of raspberries.
“Don’t worry, dear. One step at a time,” Paul assured his wife as he set to work.
Natalie agreed while busily walking between garden beds.
On one side, they had good neighbors who seldom visited but kept an eye on their property. On the other side, however, the cottage was abandoned, with a sagging fence and overgrown grass.
That grass troubled the Smiths all summer long.
“Paul, this is unbearable. The weeds keep creeping into our garden; soon they’ll take over the whole plot,” Natalie complained.
Paul grabbed a hoe and attacked the weeds with determination, but they always found a way to sneak through the cracks, as if on purpose.
“Natalie, they do have nice pears over there,” Paul remarked, looking at the neighbor’s garden overtaken by weeds.
“Look at the abundance of apricots,” Natalie pointed at a tree promising a rich harvest, with some branches hanging over into the Smiths’ property.
“I wish we could meet these neighbors,” Paul remarked with a sigh. “Maybe they’d come to collect their fruit.”
Earlier that spring, Paul couldn’t resist and sprayed water on the neighbor’s trees— he felt bad that they might wilt in the heat.
Now they were dealing with the invading grass.
“They could at least mow it once during the summer,” Natalie grumbled.
The next time the Smiths visited their cottage, they were astonished at the apricot harvest. In England, apricots might not be unusual, but for an abandoned garden…
“I’m cutting their grass, I can’t stand seeing it suffocating in weeds,” Paul said.
“Paul, look,” Natalie pointed at the drooping apricot branches, “hanging right into our garden.”
Paul fetched a small ladder. “Let’s gather these; they’re going to waste, and no one has shown up here all season.”
“But it’s not ours,” Natalie said apprehensively.
“They’ll just rot otherwise,” Paul replied, starting to pick the ripe fruits.
“Why not collect some raspberries for the grandchildren too,” his wife suggested, “since you did mow the grass.”
“It seems like everything here is up for grabs; no one cares. The place is as neglected as a forgotten corner of England.”
While at work, Paul seized a free moment to chat with his colleagues. The delivery drivers stood in a circle, sharing their stories.
“Someone’s been shaking down the trees at my allotment,” said Nicholas, who was close to retiring.
Paul began to sweat, remembering how he and Natalie gathered apricots, and how the pear tree looked promising.
“So, where is your allotment, Nick?” Paul asked, dreading the answer.
“Oh you know, it’s down by Fairfield Gardens.”
“Ahh,” Paul exhaled, relieved. “Ours is up by the other side.”
“Yours fruit sooner then,” said Nicholas knowingly. “Ours ripen later, but people still help themselves, grabbing spuds right from the ground.”
“Traps could land you in trouble,” the men advised, “You could get prosecuted.”
“But stealing is alright then?” Nicholas retorted.
Paul drove home troubled, the conversation replaying in his head. Even though the apricots weren’t from Nicholas’s allotment, it still weighed heavily on his mind.
As a child, he’d snuck into other gardens a couple of times—juvenile mischief.
But this was the neighbor’s abandoned plot, and they had taken part of the apricot harvest. Now they were eyeing the pears too.
Paul had planted young trees himself— they’d grow over time. But those apricots… such a waste.
“Natalie’s right; it’s unlikely anyone will come,” she had reassured him. “If they haven’t shown up all year, they won’t now.”
“I still feel like I’ve taken something I shouldn’t,” Paul fretted.
“Want me to toss out the apricots?” she asked. “Though, I’ve given half to the children already,” she admitted.
“Leave them be, there’s no point now.”
All summer, the Smiths struggled with the neighboring plot, battling weeds and keeping an eye on the pears, waiting for the rightful owners to arrive. By the time they fell to the ground, Natalie gathered a few in her apron.
That autumn, they tidied their little cottage, leaving it immaculate, and glanced at the neighbor’s. The fence seemed to sag sadly, begging to be propped up. Next to the gate lay a heap of rubbish, remnants of a dismantled shed. Rotten wood, broken glass, and rags—yet amongst the debris, late autumn flowers pushed through stubbornly.
__________
In the winter, Paul reminisced about the cottage, missing those summer days.
When spring came and the first green grass appeared, they visited again to check on the plot.
“Do you think anyone will come by this year?” Natalie pondered about the neglected cottage.
Paul sighed, “It’s such a shame, the land and the trees deserve better.”
When it was time to plough the garden, Paul called a local service from an ad, showing them the work needed.
He couldn’t help but gaze at the neighboring plot. He and Natalie had cleared the high grass to keep it from spreading; they just needed to turn the soil…
“Hey, how about we plough their plot too, I’ll pay you,” Paul offered.
“Paul, are you serious?” asked Natalie, “It’s not our land.”
“I just can’t stand that overgrown field…”
“And what, we’re going to tend to someone else’s garden every season?” Natalie asked reasonably.
“You know what, after lunch we’ll pop by the allotment office to find out who owns it; I’ve had enough of those weeds…and it’s a shame about the garden.”
_________
At the allotment office, a lady pushed her glasses to the tip of her nose while flipping through a worn ledger. “What’s the address again— Birch Lane, 45?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Natalie confirmed. “They should at least remove the weeds and harvest the crops. It’s such a shame to let that garden go to waste.”
“It’s been sorted,” said the woman. “The owners have foregone it. It now belongs to the council.”
“So it’s vacant?” Paul inquired.
“It seems so. The owners were elderly and passed away. The nearest relative, a nephew, declined it immediately—not enough time, he said,” the woman explained, glancing at the Smiths, “Are you interested?”
“In what? The cottage?” Paul asked.
“Indeed. You can buy it; it won’t cost much, and all the paperwork is in order.”
“What do you think, Natalie? Should we get the plot legally?”
“Can we manage it?”
“We’ll fix it up and pass it on to the kids for the grandkids to enjoy.”
____________
“No hassle until we bought the piglet,” Natalie laughingly said as they arrived back at the cottage.
“Well, now we’ve adopted it; it’s ours,” Paul declared.
“That’s fine. I’ll clear the rubbish, good thing we have a trailer; remove the leftover weeds, free the garden from the overgrowth and later I’ll replace the fence.”
__________
By summer, Paul admired the tree canopies and the flowers his wife had planted. It was as though the land of the once-abandoned garden had come alive, eagerly soaking in the sun and rain.
“Look, our little orphan has perked up,” Paul beamed.
On the weekend, the family visited: daughter Helen, son-in-law Oliver, and the grandchildren. The older ones, Michael and Alex, ran to the car, while little Anna stood mesmerized at the flower bed where her grandfather captured the photo.
“I like it,” said Oliver, grabbing the hose to water the potatoes. “We could grow gooseberries too.”
“That’s your project for next year,” Paul replied. “We can keep this spot for the kids to play on.”
“I’ll buy them a pool,” Oliver promised, surveying the fence. “Shall we get started on it? Change the fence?”
“Let’s do it,” Paul agreed, “the cottage is ours now. It’s almost like it chose us, hasn’t it? Look how cheerful it is… and there’ll be plenty of raspberries this year.”
