**Diary Entry August 21st**
Ive always loved my garden. Every morning, I walk the paths with a cup of tea in hand, checking the vegetable beds and admiring the fruit trees. My wife, Margaret, and I have a decent-sized plotfifteen acres in total. Half is dedicated to potatoes, carrots, and cabbages; the other half is an orchard with apple trees, pear trees, and berry bushes.
Margaret takes particular pride in her blueberry bushes. She planted the first saplings five years ago and had been eagerly waiting for a proper harvest this summer. Nearby, the blackberry bushes usually yielded big, sweet berries, and along the fence, a grapevine hung heavy with clusters that would ripen by late August.
“Henry, look how plump the blueberries are getting!” shed call to me.
“Lovely,” Id agree.
Our grandchildren, twelve-year-old Oliver and ten-year-old Charlotte, visited for the summer. They helped in the garden, picked berries, and swam in the nearby stream. Margaret adored them.
Next door lived our neighbour, Susan, with a much smaller plotjust six acres, mostly flower beds and a tiny cottage. Every summer, her five grandchildrenaged four to fourteencame to stay. Their parents worked in London, leaving Susan to manage the rowdy bunch alone.
The children all played together, running between our gardens. Margaret never mindedshe loved the sound of their laughter.
“Auntie Margaret, can we play in your garden?” theyd ask.
“Of course, dears. Just mind the vegetable beds.”
Then, one morning, Margaret found something odd. Several blueberry bushes were nearly bareonly a few unripe berries remained.
“Henry, come here!” she called.
“Whats wrong?”
“Look at the blueberries. Where are they?”
I inspected the bushes. “Strange. They were full yesterday.”
“Maybe birds got them?”
“Birds take one or two, not strip them clean. Its as if someone picked them deliberately.”
Margaret checked the rest. The blackberries were gone tooeven the green ones. That evening, she sat outside with a book, keeping an eye on the garden. After an hour, she saw Susans grandchildren slip through a gap in the fence and head straight for the blueberries.
“Look how blue they are!” the youngest squealed.
“Lets take them all,” the eldest suggested.
Methodically, they stripped the bushes bare, stuffing berries into their pockets and a carrier bag. Margaret stepped out.
“What are you doing?”
They froze. The eldest tried hiding the bag.
“We were just tasting a few,” the thirteen-year-old, Toby, mumbled.
“A few? Youve taken the lot!”
“Auntie Margaret, can we have more?” asked four-year-old Lily. “Theyre so yummy!”
“No. These are ours. We grew them.”
The children slunk away. Margaret marched next door, where Susan sat on her porch.
“Susan, we need to talk.”
“Oh?”
“Your grandchildren have stripped every last blueberry from my bushes.”
Susan didnt even blink. “So what? Theyre just kids.”
“So what? Theyve ruined my entire harvest!”
“Oh, Margaret, dont fuss. Theyre only berries.”
Margaret was stunned.
“Only berries? Ive spent five years growing those bushes! Watering, fertilising”
“Well, grow more. No need to make a scene.”
“Susan, an apology would be nice.”
“Apologise for what? Kids will be kids.”
The conversation went nowhere. Susan clearly saw nothing wrong with her grandchildrens behaviour. The next day, the unripe grapes vanished too.
“Susan!” Margaret called over the fence.
“What now?”
“Your lot have taken the grapes!”
“And? Probably sour anyway.”
“Of course theyre sourtheyre still green! Theyve stripped half the vine!”
“Oh, they tried a few and lost interest. Kids are curious.”
Margaret was livid.
“Susan, your grandchildren are destroying my garden!”
“Dont exaggerate! Your gardens huge.”
“Thats not the point! Ive spent years tending these plants!”
“Well, keep tending them, then.”
Susan slammed her door. That evening, Margaret told me everything.
“Can you believe it? She wouldnt even apologise!”
“What did you expect?” I sighed. “Easier for her to brush it off than discipline them.”
“But its theft!”
“Margaret, dont get worked up. Theyre just children.”
“The eldest is thirteen! He should know better!”
A few days later, even the gooseberries were gone.
“Thats itIve had enough!” Margaret declared. She confronted Susan again, who was watering her flowers.
“Now the gooseberries are gone!”
“What gooseberries?”
“Mine! Your grandchildren were over the fence again!”
“Oh, Margaret, youre overreacting! They only nibbled a few.”
“Nibbled? Theyve taken everything!”
“Stop blaming the children. Its your own fault!”
“My fault? How?”
“You let them run wild in your garden! They think everythings fair game!”
Margaret was speechless. Susan smirked and walked inside.
“And if you dont want people taking things, build a higher fence.”
We did just thata tall, sturdy fence with no gaps. Susan watched, sneering.
“Stingy, arent you? Fencing off your precious berries from children!”
Her grandchildren circled like vultures, testing for weak spots. But I sealed every crack.
“Auntie Margaret, whyd you build the fence?” little Lily asked.
“To protect our fruit.”
“Can we still come play?”
“No. Not anymore.”
The fence worked, but relations with Susan soured completely. She ignored us, and the children stopped visitingthough not before shouting “Miser!” through the slats. The garden, once full of laughter, fell silent.
Susan spun her version to the other villagers.
“Can you believe how tight-fisted they are? Wont even share a handful of berries!”
“Did the children take much?” neighbours asked.
“Hardly any! Shes acting like they robbed a bank!”
Soon, the village saw us as the greedy ones, while Susan played the doting grandmother. By summers end, the children escalatedthrowing balls into our garden, littering, even flicking water through the fence.
“Susan, control your grandchildren!” Margaret demanded.
“What did they do now?”
“Theyve tossed rubbish all over my vegetable patch!”
“How do you know it was them? Mightve been the wind.”
Margaret suggested calling the police. I talked her out of itno need to involve authorities over childish pranks. Besides, summer was nearly over.
Now, as I sit in the quiet garden, I cant help but dread next summer. Susan will return with her five grandchildren. The fence will keep them out, but the resentment will linger.
What would you do in our place? Some say kindness should be boundlessbut where do you draw the line when others exploit it?
**Lesson learned:** A fence mends the garden, but not the neighbour.
