The Country Cottage Next Door
About a year ago, the Harrisons bought a little cottage in the countryside. Approaching his fifties, Edward Harrison felt a deep pull to own a place outside the city. It reminded him of his own childhood in Sussex, where life moved with the seasons and gardening was second nature.
The cottage itself was nothing fancy, but it had been cared for over the years. Edward gave it a fresh coat of paint, fixed up the wooden gate, and mended the old fence.
There was just enough ground for potatoes and a few vegetables, but the orchard was a sore spotonly a handful of fruit trees, and not a single bit of soft fruit except for one corner with a patch of raspberries.
Dont worry, darling, Edward said to Margaret as he rolled up his sleeves. Well add more bit by bit, wont we?
Margaret strolled between the flowerbeds, cheerfully giving her approval to Edwards plans.
On one side, their neighbours were a kindly couple, though they didnt come down often and mostly kept to themselves. But on the other side, it was a different story. The old fence was listing and the whole plot was swallowed up by waist-high grass.
That grass was the bane of our summer. It never failed to send fresh blades crawling into our garden.
Edward, I cant stand this any longerthat grass is taking over! If were not careful, itll swamp everything, Margaret fretted.
Out Id go with my hoe and tackle it, determined as anything. Yet no matter how much I hacked at it, the weeds returned, stubborn as ever.
Look at that, I remarked one afternoon, nodding towards the thicket next door, their pear trees should give a cracking crop this year.
And that apricot treeits brilliant, isnt it? said Margaret, pointing at an old specimen weighed down with fruit. Some branches even crossed into our own patch.
Funny, though, I added, in all this time, weve never seen the owners. Youd think theyd turn up to gather the fruit.
Earlier in spring, I couldnt help myself; Id given their trees a good soaking when it was dry. Seemed a shame to let them wither.
Yet the relentless grass was always a headache.
At the very least, they could run a mower across it once in a while, Margaret grumbled.
When we next arrived, we were greeted with an abundance of apricots spilling into our garden. In this part of Kent, nobodys shocked by apricots, but coming from an abandoned garden, it made quite a sight.
Thats it, I cant ignore the mess any longer, I declared. Ill go and cut back their grass. I cant watch good ground choking under weeds.
Margaret pointed to the branches ready to snap with ripening fruit. May as well make use of what hangs inbetter than letting it rot.
I fetched a step ladder. Lets pick what we can reach. Nobodys shown up for weeks.
Margaret hesitated. You know, its not our garden.
Theyll just go to waste otherwise, I reasoned, reaching for the sun-warmed fruit.
Margaret only smiled. Come on, lets gather some raspberries for the grandchildren. Youve done their mowing, so Id say were even.
It felt as if we might end up harvesting everything; no one seemed to care for the place. The patch sat next to ours, forlorn and forgotten.
On my lunch break at work, I joined the lads for a chat. The delivery drivers exchanged stories, as usual.
You wouldnt believe it, moaned Roger Brooks, closing in on retirement. I turn my back for a day and someones helped themselves to my apples for the second time this season.
I felt a flush of guilt just then, thinking of our own apricot gathering, and how the pears were still ripening.
Wheres your cottage then? I ventured, quietly dreading the answer.
Its up near Plumfield Gardens, at the top end.
I let out a breath. Ah, ours is on the lower lane.
Roger nodded. Yoursll ripen a tad earlier than mine. Still, doesnt stop the pilfererseven started nicking my potatoes this year. Im considering a trap, though itll probably land me in hot water.
Tread carefully, another lad warned. You dont want to end up in trouble with the law.
But is it right, thoughto let stealing go on? Roger protested.
Back home, I found myself wrestling with old memories and a nagging guilt over our little apricot haul from next door. As a boy, Id slipped into neighbours gardens a handful of times, but just for the thrill, and never for gain.
This was differentwed actually picked the neighbours fruit, and Id already got my eye on the pears.
Its true, I was planting young trees for my own grandchildren, and in time our own orchard would grow. But that apricot tree next doorit just seemed wrong for it to go to waste.
Nobodys coming, Edward, Margaret tried to reassure me. If they havent shown up all year, its not likely they will now.
I still feel shady, like a thief, I confessed.
What do you want me to dobin the apricots? she asked, looking sheepish. Half are already with the children anyway.
Leave it now. Whats done is done, I sighed.
So the summer drifted by. Margaret and I kept the weeds in check, cutting back grass from the old garden that no one else cared for. We kept an eye on the pears, half-hopelessly looking out for the proper owners.
When the pears, at last, tumbled to the ground, Margaret scooped a few into her apron.
That autumn, as we tidied up our plot, we cast one last look at next doors. Even the fence seemed to sag, longing for a bit of dignity.
Near the gate, a pile of weather-beaten rubbishold timber, cracked glass, scraps of clothlay forgotten, and yet, among all that, a few brave autumn flowers dared to bloom.
*****
That winter, thinking back to those long, sunlit days, I felt both fond and unsettled about the cottage.
Come spring and the first green shoots, we set off to check on the place.
Do you think theyll come back this year? Margaret wondered, glancing at the empty patch next door.
I shook my head. Poor old spot, all those trees gone to waste
Once it was time to get the ground ready, I called in a chap with a small tractor to turn the soil over.
All the while, I couldnt help my eyes straying to the neglected garden beside ours. Margaret and I had already cleared out the worst of the weeds so they wouldnt spill over again but what good would that do in the long run, if nothing else was done?
Listen, mate, I asked the man, see any chance you could plough next doors plot too? Ill pay you for your trouble.
Edward, what are you doing? said Margaret. Its not ours.
I just hate seeing good ground go untended.
And what, are we supposed to look after other peoples property forever? Margaret asked, not unreasonably.
After wed eaten, I said, Lets head up to the local allotment office. I want to see who owns that patchit drives me mad, all that waste.
***
At the office, the secretaryglasses perched on her noseflipped through the registry. The address?
Cherry Tree Lane, number 45, said Margaret. Its such a shame. All those trees and nobody bothering to collect the fruit.
Its settled, really, replied the secretary. The previous folks passed away. The nearest kin refused the inheritance. The propertys been passed to the council.
So, no owner now? I asked.
Thats about the size of it. Would you like to buy? It wouldnt cost much, and the paperwork is all in order.
I glanced at Margaret. What do you thinkshall we take it on, all above board?
She studied me. Do you think well manage it?
Well get it sorted, and maybe gift it to the children for their own families one day.
******
Talk about biting off more than you can chew, joked Margaret as we stood on our new bit of land.
I suppose weve adopted this garden now. Ours by chance as much as anything, I said.
Best get goingIll shift the rubbish, lucky Ive got the trailer. Well clear the weeds, free the orchard, and then Ill tackle that sorry fence.
By midsummer, I was delighted to see the tree branches full and healthy, the flowerbeds thriving under Margarets care. The earth, left so long unused, was soaking up the rain, looking alive again.
See, our little garden has come back to life, I said, barely hiding my pride.
One weekend, our children arrived: our daughter Emily, our son-in-law James, and the grandchildren. The twins, Oliver and Thomas, bolted from the car, while little Grace paused at the flower border, allowing me to catch a sweet photo.
Smashing place, James said, unwinding the hose to water the spuds. Next year, lets plant gooseberries.
You can organise that next spring, I told him. This year, Im thinking of leaving a bit of grass for the children to run about.
Ill get them a paddling pool, James grinned, eyeing the old fence. Shall we put up a new one?
Lets do it, I agreed, looking across our joined gardens. This patch found its way to us, really, and look how its thrived Well have more raspberries than we know what to do with.
That summer, as I watched the family laughing among beds wed reclaimed and rebuilt, I realised something. Sometimes, chance brings new responsibilityan abandoned garden, a chance to nurture, to care, even to harvest what others have left behind. In looking after it, we not only restored the land, but found renewed purpose and togethernessa lesson I hope I wont forget.
The Old Country House Next Door
A year ago, the Dubois family bought a country house. After turning…
