Zina, your grandkids stripped every last blueberry bush bare! The neighbour didnt even blink. Well, so what? Theyre just children. So what? Theyve ruined my entire harvest! Oh, Tone, dont get so worked up.
Antonia Evelyn made her morning rounds of the cottage garden with a steaming mug of tea in hand, inspecting the vegetable patches and admiring the fruit trees.
Their plot with her husband, Peter Nicholas, was spaciousfifteen acres. Half was dedicated to potatoes, carrots, and cabbages. The other half was an orchard of apple and pear trees, tangled with berry bushes.
She took special pride in her blueberry bushes. Five years ago, shed planted the first saplings, and now she was waiting for her first proper harvest.
Nearby grew blackberry brambles, which never failed to yield fat, sweet berries. Along the fence stretched a grapevine, heavy with clusters yet to ripen.
Pete, look how plump the blueberries are getting! she called to her husband.
Lovely, he agreed.
In summer, their grandchildren visitedtwelve-year-old Archie and ten-year-old Emily. The children helped in the garden, picked berries, and splashed in the nearby brook. Antonia doted on them.
Next door lived their neighbour, Zinnia. Her plot was smalljust six acres, no vegetables, only flowerbeds and a modest cottage.
Every summer, her five grandchildren came to stay, aged four to fourteen. Their parents worked in the city, leaving Granny Zinnia to mind the little terrors all season.
The children played together, running between both gardens. Antonia never mindedshe loved the sound of their laughter.
Auntie Tone, can we play in your garden? the neighbours grandchildren would ask.
Of course, my dears. Just mind the vegetable beds.
One morning, Antonia discovered a strange sight. Some of her blueberry bushes stood nearly bare. Where plump berries should have hung, only unripe green ones remained.
Pete, come here! she called.
Whats happened?
Look at the blueberries. Where are they?
Her husband stepped closer, examining the bushes.
Odd. They were full yesterday.
Could it be birds?
Birds take one at a time. This looks like someone picked them clean.
Antonia checked the other bushes. The blackberries, too, had been strippedeven the unripe ones were gone.
Pete, the blackberries have been plundered as well!
Impossible!
But the evidence was undeniable. Bushes that had been heavy with fruit the day before now stood empty.
That evening, Antonia kept watch. She sat on the bench with a book but kept glancing toward the garden.
Within an hour, she spotted Zinnias grandchildren squeezing through a gap in the fence. All five marched straight for the blueberry bushes.
Look how blue they are! the youngest cheered.
Lets take them all, the eldest suggested.
And so they didmethodically stripping the remaining bushes, stuffing their pockets, filling a plastic bag.
Antonia stepped out from the shadows.
What are you doing?
The children froze. The older ones tried hiding the bag behind their backs.
We just wanted a taste, thirteen-year-old Mikey mumbled.
A taste? Youve taken the lot!
Auntie Tone, can we have some more? four-year-old Katie asked. Theyre so yummy!
No. These are our berries. We grew them ourselves.
The children trudged back through the fence. Antonia watched them go, then marched straight to Zinnias porch.
Zinnia, we need to talk.
Go on.
Your grandchildren have stripped every last blueberry bush!
Zinnia didnt even flinch.
So what? Theyre just children.
So what? Theyve destroyed my entire harvest!
Oh, Tone, dont fuss. Theyre only berries.
Antonia gaped.
Only berries? Ive spent five years tending those bushes! Watering them, feeding them!
Well, grow some more. No need to make a scene.
Zinnia, arent you even going to apologise?
Apologise for what? Kids will be kids.
The conversation went in circles. Zinnia clearly saw nothing wrong with her grandchildrens behaviour.
The next day, Antonia found the grape clusters missingthe ones meant to ripen by late August.
Zinnia! she called over the fence.
What now?
Your grandchildren have taken the grapes!
So? Probably sour anyway.
Of course theyre sour! Theyre still green! Theyve picked nearly every bunch!
Well, they tried them and left them. Kids are curious.
Antonia felt her temper rising.
Zinnia, your grandchildren are wrecking my garden!
Dont exaggerate! Youve got plenty to spare.
Thats not the point! Ive spent years growing these plants!
Then keep growing them.
Zinnia turned on her heel and slammed the cottage door behind her.
That evening, Antonia told Peter about the exchange.
Can you believe it? She wouldnt even apologise! Just said, Kids will be kids.
What did you expect? Peter shrugged. Easier for her to brush it off than discipline them.
But its theft!
Tone, dont get worked up. Theyre just little ones. They dont understand.
The oldest is thirteen! He should know better than to take what isnt his!
Peter sighed. He had no desire to feud with the neighbours over fruit.
A few days later, even the gooseberries vanished.
Thats it. Ive had enough! Antonia declared.
She stormed over to Zinnias, where her neighbour was watering flowers with a can.
Now theyve taken the gooseberries!
What gooseberries?
Mine! Your grandchildren climbed the fence again!
Tone, youre blowing this out of proportion. They only picked a few.
A few? Theyve stripped the bushes bare! My entire harvest is gone!
Why blame the children? Its your own fault!
Antonia stared.
My fault?
Who let them run wild in your garden? Theyve got used to taking whatever they like.
I was being neighbourly! I thought it was nice for the children to play together!
Well, theres your answer.
Zinnia set down the watering can and turned toward the cottage.
Besides, if you didnt want them taking things, you shouldve built a taller fence.
Zinnia, you should teach them not to take what isnt theirs!
Should I? They wouldnt listen anyway.
Antonia returned home, heavy-hearted. She sat on the bench and wept. All those years of work, waiting for the harvestgone.
Tone, dont cry, Peter soothed. Therell be more berries next year.
Its not about the berries! Its that she wont even apologise! Shes utterly shameless!
What do you expect? You know what shes like.
It was true. Zinnia had a reputation in the village for being difficult. But until now, theyd gotten along well enough.
Pete, lets raise the fence.
We could. But itll cost a pretty penny.
What choice do we have? Otherwise, theyll ransack the whole garden.
The next day, the new fence went up. Peter brought in timber, wire mesh, and posts, working from dawn till dusk.
Zinnia watched from her garden, smirking.
How stingy! Putting up a fence to keep out children!
Antonia ignored her, lips pressed tight.
Zinnias grandchildren loitered by the fence, hunting for new gaps. But Peter sealed every crack, every weak spot.
Auntie Tone, why did you build the fence? little Katie asked.
To keep the berries safe.
Can we still come and play?
No. Not anymore.
The fence workedbut relations with the neighbours soured completely. Zinnia turned away whenever they met. The children stopped visiting.
Meanie! they shouted over the fence. Stingy old cow!
Antonia tried to ignore it, but the words stung. Once, the garden had echoed with childrens laughter. Now, only silence.
Meanwhile, Zinnia spread her version of events to the other villagers.
Can you believe how tight-fisted they are? Wont even let the children have a few berries! Built a great big fence and everything!
Did they really eat that much? neighbours asked.
Just a handful! Shes carrying on like theyve robbed a bank!
Zinnias tale was more convincing. Whod believe children could strip an entire garden bare?
Slowly, the village turned against Antonia. She was the greedy one. Zinnia, the saintly grandmother raising five grandchildren single-handedly.
By summers end, things only worsened. Barred from the garden, the children found other ways to retaliate.
A football kicked over the fence. Litter tossed into the vegetable patch. One morning, Antonia found cigarette butts and sweet wrappers scattered among the cabbages.
Zinnia, control your grandchildren!
What have they done now?
Theyve thrown rubbish in my garden!
How do you know it was them? Couldve been the wind.
The mischief continuedwater sprayed through the fence, pebbles hurled at windows.
Antonia realised Zinnia wasnt just allowing itshe was encouraging them.
Peter, should we call the police?
Tone, dont be daft. Over a few childish pranks?
But theyre vandalising the place!
Just bear it. Summers nearly over. Theyll be gone soon.
And so they were. By late August, the noisy troupe returned to the city.
Antonia sat on the bench in the evening quiet, dreading next summer. Zinnia would bring her five grandchildren back. Then what?
More tension over the fence. More pebbles. More names. The children now saw her as the wicked old miser, and Granny Zinnia wouldnt correct them.
The garden no longer felt like a place of joyjust a fortress, where she had to defend not just her fruit, but her peace.
What would you have done? What advice would you give Antonia? Share your thoughts below.
