The Johnsons bought their country cottage a year ago. Once James turned fifty, he got the itch to own a little piece of the countryside. It reminded him of his childhood village, the family home, and the garden.
The little cottage they acquired was well-kept, though small. They painted the wooden house, patched up the fence, and replaced the gate.
The plot was sufficient for growing some potatoes and vegetables, but the garden was quite sparse: only a few trees, and those were quite old. There were no bushes at all, apart from a modest raspberry patch.
“Don’t worry, dear, we’ll get there, all in good time,” said James, ready to roll up his sleeves.
Emma, his wife, busily moved between the garden beds, agreeing with him.
On one side, they had good neighbors, although seldom around, they took care of their cottage. But on the other side—an abandoned cottage was a different story. The fence was falling apart, and the overgrown grass was a real nuisance.
That relentless grass troubled the Johnsons all summer.
“James, this is crazy; the grass keeps creeping into our garden. Any moment now it will overrun the whole plot,” observed Emma.
James grabbed a hoe and attacked the weeds with determination. But the grass managed to find its way back, sneaking through the cracks as if on purpose.
“Emma, but their pears are going to be good,” noted James, looking at the neighbor’s garden overrun with weeds.
“And look at that apricot tree—it’s laden this year,” Emma pointed out, seeing the branches stretching over into their plot.
“I wish we could meet the owners someday,” James said regretfully. “Maybe they’ll at least come to gather this harvest.”
Back in spring, James couldn’t resist watering the neighbor’s trees with his hose; he couldn’t bear to see them wither in the heat.
But now the grass, there seemed to be no escape from it.
“They could at least mow the grass once during the summer,” fumed Emma.
The next time they arrived at the cottage, the Johnsons were astonished by the apricot harvest. In England, apricots are not so uncommon, but for the fruit to grow on an abandoned cottage plot…
“No, I’m going to mow their grass,” James decided. “I can’t stand to watch this place Suffocate under weeds.”
“James, look,” Emma pointed to the apricot branches hanging over into their garden.
James fetched a small ladder. “Let’s at least pick these; they’ll just go to waste otherwise, no one’s set foot here all season.”
“But it’s not ours,” Emma said with hesitation.
“It will go to waste anyway,” he insisted, picking the first ripe fruit.
“Maybe we’ll gather some raspberries for the grandchildren,” Emma suggested. “After all, you did mow the grass as a trade-off for the effort.”
“It looks like we could gather everything; no one needs this garden. It’s clingy and neglected like an English orphan, and no one seems to care.”
At work, taking a break, James chatted with the guys. The delivery drivers formed a circle to share their everyday stories.
“Someone’s been shaking my trees down at the allotment too often,” said old Nicholas Peterson, who was nearing retirement.
James’s heart pounded at those words, remembering they just picked a load of apricots days ago and were eyeing the pears.
“Where’s your allotment?” James ventured, dreading the response.
“Down by the old Winchester gardening club.”
“Right,” James exhaled, “we’re further up.”
“Yours ripens earlier then,” Nicholas reasoned, “Ours later. Still, people shamelessly pinch stuff—someone’s dug up a few potato plants already, might as well put traps.”
“Cage traps are dangerous,” said the guys, “they could lock you up.”
“But stealing’s okay?” Nicholas retorted indignantly.
James returned home troubled, unable to shake the conversation from his mind. Even though it wasn’t Nicholas’s allotment, he was still burdened by guilt.
In his youth, he’d played around in other people’s gardens, but that was just child’s play, only a couple of times.
But now, they’d taken quite a bit from the neighbor’s abandoned allotment, plus their eyes were on those pears.
Sure, James had planted saplings that would grow in time. But it felt wasteful seeing that neighbor’s apricot tree just wither away.
“No one’s going to come,” Emma consoled him, “they haven’t shown up all year, they won’t now.”
“It feels like I stole something,” James worried.
“Do you want me to toss these apricots?” Emma asked, though she admitted she’d already given half to the kids.
“Leave them be now.”
And so the Johnsons endured summer, managing the neighbor’s weeds, peeking at the pears, waiting for the owners. When the fruits had already fallen, Emma collected a few in her apron.
In autumn, tidying up their cottage and leaving it spick and span, they eyed the neighboring place. It seemed even the fence leaned sadly, like it was asking to be fixed. Nearby lay a pile of rubbish, leftovers from a dismantled temporary shelter—a heap of decaying boards, glass, and rags… yet, against the odds, autumn flowers tried to bloom beside the junk.
__________
In winter, reminiscing about summer days, James missed the cottage.
And when spring emerged, with the first green sprouts, they set off to inspect the plot.
“Do you reckon the owners will turn up this year?” Emma wondered, referring to the neglected lot.
James sighed heavily. “It’s such a shame for the land and trees.”
When it came time for tilling, he called in a plowman, showing exactly what needed doing.
He kept glancing over at the neighbor’s garden. They’d cleared the tall grass, prevented its spread, if only the land was tilled…
“Listen, mate, how about plowing the neighbor’s, too? I’ll cover it,” James asked.
“James, are you serious?” Emma questioned, “That’s not our land.”
“I just can’t bear to look at that overgrown patch…”
“So what, we’re maintaining someone else’s garden now?” she reasonably asked.
“Hold on, after lunch let’s stop by the garden society, see whose land it is, I’m just fed up with that weed mess, it’s sad seeing the garden waste away…”
_________
At the garden society office, the lady behind the spectacles flipped through a worn ledger. “Which address again—Birch Lane, 45?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Emma confirmed. “They should at least clear it of weeds and gather the harvest; it’s a lovely garden, it’ll go to waste.”
“It’s all settled,” the woman informed, “The owners have renounced it; it belongs to the council now.”
“So it’s ownerless then?” James asked.
“Looks like it. The previous owners were elderly, they’ve passed away. Closest kin—a nephew, who relinquished it right away, no time for it – The woman eyed the Johnsons, – Interested in buying?”
“Buy what? The garden?”
“Yeah, it’s available for purchase, quite cheap too. All the paperwork’s in order.”
“What do you think, Emma? Shall we take it on legally?”
“Can we handle it?”
“We’ll tidy it up, then pass it on to the kids, let them bring the grandkids.”
____________
“As they say, more trouble than buying a pig,” Emma chuckled on their return.
“I’d say we’ve adopted a cottage; it’s ours now,” James declared.
“Well then, I’ll haul away the trash myself, lucky I have a trailer. I’ll clear the remaining weeds, open up the orchard, and replace that fence.”
__________
Summer found James admiring the tree canopies and flowers Emma planted. The land from the former neighbor’s garden seemed rejuvenated, reaching for the sun, eagerly soaking up the generous raindrops.
“Look at her, our little orphan’s perked up,” James rejoiced.
Their children arrived on a weekend: daughter Lucy, son-in-law Jack, and grandkids. The older kids, Michael and Alex, rushed to greet them as little Annie stood mesmerized by the flowerbed. Grandpa James caught the moment with his camera.
“I’m liking this,” Jack said, unrolling a hose to water the potatoes. “We could cultivate some gooseberries too.”
“You can try that next year,” James proposed. “We’ll leave a lawn for the children to play on.”
“I’ll buy a pool for them,” Jack promised. Then he glanced at the fence. “Shall we tackle that next? Replacing the fence?”
“Let’s do it,” James agreed, “After all, it’s ours now. It’s as if it chose us—brightened right up… and there’ll be plenty of raspberries this year.”
