At 74, I’ve dealt with all kinds of neighbor drama—but nothing prepared me for the day I came home to find my backyard pond gone. I’m Agnes, and I’ve lived in my ivy-wrapped house for over 20 years. My pond—dug by my great-grandfather—was the soul of our home, a place where frogs croaked, fish swam, and grandkids splashed. Then came Derek, my uptight next-door neighbor. He complained nonstop about the pond—frogs, bugs, “undesirable wildlife.” I brushed it off.
While I was away visiting family, he made his move. I returned to a dirt patch where my pond once shimmered. My neighbor across the street confirmed it: Derek had hired a crew to bury it, claiming it was a swamp.
He didn’t know I had a birdwatching camera that caught him in the act—or that my rare fish were part of a conservation program. One call to the EPA later, Derek was slapped with a $50,000 fine for destroying a protected habitat. But I wasn’t done. My grandson Lucas—also a lawyer—filed civil charges for property damage and emotional distress. Then something unexpected happened: Derek’s wife, Linda, showed up. She said he lied, telling her the city had ordered the pond removal. I told her the real story.
A few days later, a landscaping crew arrived—sent by Linda—to rebuild the pond. It was restored beautifully. Charges were dropped. Derek left town. Now, Linda and I sit by the water together, feeding the fish and watching sunsets. She once told me, “Losing that pond brought me to the best neighbor I never knew I had.” Moral of the story? Never underestimate an old woman with a camera, a lawyer grandson, and a pond full of memories.
