**Diary Entry August 12th**
Each morning, Id walk through my garden with a cup of tea, inspecting the vegetable patches and admiring the fruit trees. My husband, Peter, and I have a decent-sized plothalf dedicated to potatoes, carrots, and cabbages, the other half to apple and pear trees, berry bushes, and a grapevine trailing along the fence.
I was especially proud of my blueberry bushes. Planted five years ago, they were finally yielding a proper harvest. The blackberry bushes nearby were already reliable, heavy with sweet fruit.
«Peter, look how plump these blueberries are!» Id say.
«Lovely,» hed agree.
In summer, our grandchildrentwelve-year-old Jack and ten-year-old Emilywould visit. Theyd help in the garden, pick berries, and swim in the nearby brook. I adored them.
Next door lived our neighbour, Brenda. Her garden was smallmostly flower bedsbut every summer, her five grandchildren (ages four to fourteen) would descend upon her. Brenda, a widow, had her hands full.
The children played together, running between our gardens. I didnt mindit was nice to hear their laughter.
«Auntie Anne, can we play here?» theyd ask.
«Of course, dears. Just mind the plants.»
One morning, I found several blueberry bushes stripped bare. Only unripe green berries remained.
«Peter, come here!» I called.
«Whats wrong?»
«Look at the blueberries. Where are they?»
He frowned. «Strange. They were full yesterday.»
«Could it be birds?»
«Birds peck one or two. This looks deliberate.»
The blackberries were gone tooeven the unripe ones. That evening, I kept watch. Sure enough, Brendas grandchildren slipped through a gap in the fence.
«Look how blue these are!» the youngest giggled.
«Lets take them all,» the eldest said.
They plucked every berry, stuffing pockets and a carrier bag. I stepped out.
«What are you doing?»
They froze. «We just wanted a taste,» the thirteen-year-old stammered.
«A taste? Youve stripped the bushes!»
«Can we have more?» the four-year-old asked. «Theyre yummy!»
«No. These are ours.»
They slunk away. I marched to Brendas. She sat on her porch, sipping tea.
«Brenda, your grandchildren have taken all my blueberries!»
She barely glanced up. «So? Theyre only children.»
«Only children? Theyve ruined my harvest!»
«Anne, dont fuss. Theyre just berries.»
I gaped. «Just berries? Ive nurtured these bushes for years!»
«Well, plant more. No need for dramatics.»
«An apology would be nice.»
Brenda scoffed. «For what? Children will be children.»
The next day, the grapes vanished toostill green and sour. Brendas response? «They were probably tart anyway.»
By weeks end, even the gooseberries were gone.
«Thats it!» I told Peter.
We built a taller fence, sealing every gap. Brenda watched, smirking. «How stingy, shutting out kids!»
Her grandchildren retaliatedthrowing rubbish, flicking water over the fence. When I confronted Brenda, she shrugged. «Prove it was them.»
The final straw was finding cigarette butts in my vegetable patch.
«Should we call the police?» I asked Peter.
«Over childrens mischief? Dont be absurd.»
By Augusts end, the chaos ceased. But the damage was done. The garden no longer felt like a retreatit was a battleground.
**Lesson:** Kindness is wasted on those who mistake it for weakness. Some people will never teach respectonly enforce the need for boundaries.
