I have two wonderful children, David and Sarah, and five wonderful grandkids. I’m 70 years old.
I’ve been living in the same house for twenty-five years. I’ve put my heart into it and seen it grow over time.
When I moved here for the first time, the neighborhood was friendly and open. There were no walls or other barriers, just lavender fields, buzzing bees, and the odd shared gardening tool. From our porches, we waved and traded zucchini that no one had planned to grow.
This is where I raised my kids. Care was taken to plant each rose bush, and the sunflowers even had names. I pretended I didn’t like squirrels coming over while I watched birds make their messy nests and left peanuts out for them.
But when Mark moved in last year, everything changed.
A man in his 40s who always wears sunglasses, even when it’s cloudy. He kept the lines on his yard straight like in the military, and he brought his twin 15-year-old kids, Caleb and Jonah.
Something didn’t feel right from the start. He never waved or smiled, and it was cold to be around him. His first words to me came through the fence as he cut the grass:
“Those bees are a bother.” “You shouldn’t be giving them hope.”
I then understood that it wasn’t about bees. He didn’t like life at all, especially colorful life that didn’t follow his rules.
After a while, I woke up one morning to find my flower bed, which was the center of my refuge, buried under a wet slab of concrete. I wasn’t yelling. I took a deep breath.
I asked Mark, “What did you do to my garden?”
He just shrugged, and his sunglasses covered his eyes.
“You’re old.” Soft. “A few flowers for someone who isn’t going to be around for much longer?”
I knew right then that I wasn’t going to let this go.
First, go to the cops. They agreed that there was clear damage to property. He might be charged. Next, I told the city about his illegally built, over-sized shed that crossed my property line. He didn’t get the necessary permits and told our friend Kyle about it.
It turned out to be two feet long and went over to my side. The warning to take it down didn’t bother him. Then the fines came.
I wasn’t done yet.
I took him to small claims court with a book that was so well put together it looked like it belonged in a library. It had pictures, papers, and notes that showed every step of my garden’s life.
Mark showed up with nothing and a bad mood. I came with proof and a quiet anger.
How did it go? He was told to take out the concrete, put down new dirt, and put the garden back the way it was, with lavender, sunflowers, roses, and everything else.
Following? The bees came back.
The yard came back to life in July, full of color, happiness, and life. The sunflowers leaned over the fence for fun, and the bees found a new favorite place: Mark’s yard, where he never tried to clean up the trash and left soda cans open.
