Paul and his wife Natalie purchased a little cottage a year ago. Once Paul hit fifty, he felt an itch to own a country retreat, reminiscent of his childhood days spent in the countryside surrounded by the family garden.
The cottage was modest but well-kept, with a charming wooden house that just needed a fresh coat of paint. They repaired the fence and replaced the gate.
There was enough land for potatoes and some small vegetables, but the garden was sparse—few trees, mostly old ones, with hardly any bushes except for a small raspberry patch.
“Don’t worry, love. We’ll get it all set up in due time,” Paul assured Natalie as he got to work.
Natalie busied herself among the vegetable beds, nodding in agreement with her husband.
One side of the cottage had lovely neighbors, although they visited rarely, they cared for their property. The other side was different—their neighbor’s place was overgrown, with a rickety fence and a yard overtaken by weeds.
Throughout the summer, those weeds bothered Paul and Natalie greatly.
“Paul, this is unbearable. The weeds are creeping into our garden and they might just take over the whole plot,” Natalie complained.
Paul grabbed his hoe and furiously attacked the invasive plants. Yet, the weeds kept finding their way through gaps, as if deliberately.
“They have good pears, you know,” Paul remarked, looking at the neighbor’s overgrown yard.
“And look at their apricot tree, so full of fruit,” Natalie noted, pointing at a tree with branches drooping over their side of the fence.
“I’d like to see the owners just once,” Paul said with a sigh. “Maybe they’ll come to harvest at least.”
Earlier that spring, Paul couldn’t resist using his hose to water the neighbor’s trees, fearing they might wither in the heat.
But now the weeds were relentless.
“They could at least mow the grass once during the summer,” Natalie grumbled.
On their next visit, Paul and Natalie were astonished by the abundance of apricots. It wasn’t unusual to see apricots around, but for a neglected lot…
“Alright, I’ve decided. I’m going to mow their yard. I can’t watch it suffocate under weeds,” Paul resolved.
“Look, Paul,” Natalie pointed to the apricot tree’s branches dipping into their garden.
Paul fetched a small ladder. “Let’s gather these apricots; they’ll just rot if left. No one’s been around here at all.”
“But it’s not ours,” Natalie hesitated.
“They’ll just go to waste anyway,” he said, starting to pick the ripe fruit himself.
“Should we gather some raspberries for the grandchildren too?” she wondered. “You mowed the grass there after all.”
“We might as well collect all of it; it’s not like anyone else cares for this place. It’s clinging to our plot like an orphan.”
At work during a break, Paul joined the drivers’ circle for a quick chat.
“Someone’s been shaking trees at my place, twice now,” said Nick, who was nearing retirement.
Paul felt a wave of heat, as he remembered they’d picked apricots from a neighbor’s tree recently, with pears looking promising soon.
“Where’s your place?” Paul asked cautiously.
“Just down by the garden estate,” Nick replied.
“Ah, I see. Ours is further up,” Paul let out a breath of relief.
“You folks ripen earlier,” Nick chuckled. “Ours later, but people still shamelessly steal. Some even dug up potato plants. I might as well set traps.”
“Setting traps could get you in trouble,” the men warned.
“But stealing’s alright, is it?” Nick retorted indignantly.
At home, Paul couldn’t shake off the conversation’s impact. Even though it wasn’t Nick’s garden they borrowed from, guilt gnawed at him.
He remembered youthful escapades sneaking into others’ gardens, but that was just childhood mischief—a few times at most.
Yet here they’d taken part of a neighbor’s apricot harvest. Now they had their eyes on the pears.
Sure, Paul had planted his own saplings—they’d grow in time. But the thought of wasted neighborly apricots was disheartening.
“They won’t come,” Natalie reassured. “They haven’t shown up all year; they won’t now.”
“I can’t help feeling I’ve stolen something,” Paul lamented.
“Shall I throw out the apricots then?” Natalie offered, although she confessed already giving some to their grandchildren.
“Keep them now, what’s done is done.”
Throughout the summer, they battled the weeds from the neighboring plot, kept an eye on the pear tree, half-expecting the rightful owners to appear. When the fruits eventually dropped to the ground, Natalie went over and picked a few.
By fall, they tidied up their cottage, leaving it in perfect order, and looked at the forlorn neighboring property. Even the saggy fence seemed to plead to be propped up. By the gate, a pile of rubbish marked the spot of an old structure now dismantled, leaving behind rotten wood, glass, and ragged cloth—but even amidst the debris, late autumn flowers struggled to bloom.
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During the winter, Paul longed for their cottage as he reminisced about the summer days.
Come spring, with the first appearance of green shoots, they visited the lot again.
“Think the owners will come this year?” Natalie asked, regarding the abandoned plot.
Paul sighed. “Shame about the land, and those trees too.”
As planting season approached, Paul called someone from an ad to plough their land and showed what needed doing.
Yet his gaze kept wandering to the adjacent garden. They’d cleared the tall grass last year, but if only the soil could be tilled…
“Listen, mate, can we plough the neighbors’ land too? I’ll cover it,” Paul offered.
“Paul, really?” Natalie questioned, “It’s not ours.”
“I can’t bear to see this overgrown patch…”
“So, what, we’re just going to maintain their garden too?” Natalie’s question was fair.
“Let’s pop over to the garden club after lunch and find out who owns it; I’m fed up with these weeds, plus I hate to see the garden go to waste…”
__________
At the garden club, the secretary pushed her glasses to the tip of her nose, flipping through a ledger. “What’s the address? Birch Lane, 45?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Natalie confirmed. “At least they should tidy it up and harvest. Such a waste otherwise, that garden will just perish.”
“Actually, it’s no longer theirs,” the woman informed them. “The land now belongs to the city.”
“So it’s unclaimed?” Paul asked.
“Pretty much. The owners were elderly and passed away. The nearest family— a nephew, immediately declined the inheritance said he had no time,” the woman explained. “Are you interested in taking it over?”
“Taking over? Like buying it?”
“Yes, it’s available for purchase, won’t cost much, and all the paperwork is in order.”
“So, love, what do we think, should we take it on? It’s all legitimate.”
“Can we manage it?”
“We’ll fix it up and eventually hand it over to the kids; they can bring the grandkids.”
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“No troubles until we bought a pig, as they say,” Natalie joked as they arrived at the cottage.
“Think of it as adopting the cottage; it’s ours now,” Paul laughed.
“Well, I can haul the rubbish now – good thing we have the trailer—and clear out the last of the weeds. Then I’ll sort that fence,” Paul planned.
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By summer, Paul admired the tree canopies and the flowers Natalie planted. The earth on the former neighbor’s land seemed to breathe, soaking in sunshine and eagerly drinking in large raindrops.
“Our little orphan seems to have perked up,” Paul rejoiced.
On the weekend, their children came by: daughter Lena, son-in-law Oliver, and the grandkids. The older boys, Michael and Sam, ran toward the car while little Annie stood by the flower bed, where grandfather Paul photographed her.
“I like it here,” son-in-law Oliver remarked, extending the hose to water the potatoes. “We could grow some gooseberries next year,” he suggested.
“That’s up to you all next time,” Paul chuckled. “We can keep this part as a lawn for the kids to play.”
“I’ll get them a pool,” promised Oliver, glancing at the fence. “Shall we start on it then? Replace the fence?”
“Let’s do it,” agreed Paul, “it’s ours now. Almost like it jumped on us, cheered up… and with plenty of raspberries this year too.”
