The Garden Thief Next Door: How I Caught My Neighbor Stealing My Homegrown Produce

My Neighbor Kept Stealing Vegetables and Fruit from My Small Backyard Garden I’ve Grown Myself

Following the death of my husband, my garden served as a haven, but one day I discovered that all of the fruits and vegetables had been stolen over night, which broke my heart. Upon realizing that the robber was actually my neighbor, this sixty-year-old widow was determined not to accept it. The offender was unaware of the impending events.

My name is Betty, and I’m sixty years old with a green thumb that would make Mother Nature proud. My garden in the backyard? It brings me delight and pride. I used to stroll outside every morning with a cup of coffee in hand, beaming at my little slice of heaven.

Here’s a little about me: Twelve years ago, my beloved husband Greg passed away. At that time, my life took an unexpected turn. I moved in with my daughter Sarah’s family when I was sixty. Actually, it was a blessing in disguise.

Since Sarah and her spouse Mark had difficult work schedules, I offered to assist with my three amazing grandchildren.

I spend my days getting them ready for school, driving them to extracurricular activities, and preparing filling meals. I swear, it keeps me youthful!

There are only 60 homes in the small subdivision where we reside. Everyone there is familiar with both your name and, most likely, your company.

Sarah and Mark were fortunate enough to purchase both their house and the vacant lot across the street. They didn’t think twice when they realized how much I missed my previous garden.

“Why don’t you use that empty lot for a garden, Mom?” Sarah asked one day. We’d all benefit from it.

I wanted to give her a hug right then and there. And thus my tiny piece of bliss was created.

It was more than attractive flowers or a pastime. My family was being served the freshest, tastiest vegetables you could imagine because to this backyard garden. Bless their hearts, my grandchildren were always willing to lend a hand.

“Grandma! Mama!” With her pigtails bouncing, little Lily would come racing across the yard. Could we have some strawberry shortcake for dinner? Would you please?”

I would tap my chin, pretending to consider it. “Well, I’m not sure… Have all of those homework forms been completed?”

Lily would get sad for a second, then smile once again. “I’ll finish them now! I swear!”

“Okay, then,” I would chuckle. “But only if you help me pick the berries later, deal?”

“Deal!” With a squeal, she would dash back to the home.

Everything was OK until that terrible day.

It was modest at first. Here was a missing cucumber, there was a missing pepper. A week ago, there were tomatoes, but for some reason, they were gone. At first, I assumed it was just my forgetfulness. I might have chosen them and then forgotten.

The Great Peach Heist of ’24 followed, though.

With my hands resting on my hips, I stood before my naked peach tree, completely bewildered. “Sarah!” I exclaimed. “Sarah, honey, did you pick all the peaches?”

With a wrinkled brow, she peered out the back door. “No, mother. It wasn’t me. Why not?”

“Because, as I pointed to the tree, they’re all gone,” I remarked. “Every last one.”

Scratching her head, Sarah stepped outside. “That seems strange. Mark or the children, perhaps?”

I gave a headshake. “I’ve already inquired. They have not been touched.”

“Huh,” Sarah thought to herself as she examined the tree. “You believe the animals might have been involved? Or is it squirrels?”

“Peaches are not picked by squirrels directly off a tree,” I remarked, my voice tensed with annoyance. “Someone’s been in our yard.”

Sarah got serious. “You think someone’s stealing from us?”

I gave a somber nod. “I think we might have ourselves a garden thief.”

I watched my garden closely for the next week. However, until that fateful morning, nothing seemed wrong. When I went outside, I almost had a heart attack.

My garden appeared as though a plague of locusts had struck it. All that was ripe was GONE.

“Sarah!” With a trembling voice, I yelled. “Sarah, get out here now!”

Still wearing jammies, she ran over. “Mum, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Look!” I made frantic gestures at the destruction in front of us. “Just look at my garden!”

Sarah took at the spectacle, her eyes growing wide. “Holy smokes,” she muttered to herself. “It’s like… everything’s gone.”

“Everything ripe,” I corrected, shaking my voice. “The green stuff was left behind. Whoever carried out this action was well-versed in their craft.”

Sarah enveloped me in her arm. “Mom, I really apologize. This is really bad.”

Refusing to cry, I leaned toward her. “What are we going to do?”

After a few period of silence, she stood up straight. “That’s right, we’re going to apprehend this vegetable thief. I have a thought.

Her spouse set up security cameras across the yard that evening. And wow, did we see a lot.

Sarah and I gathered around Mark’s laptop early the following morning to go over the previous night’s film. It boiled in my blood what we saw.

I squinted at the screen and mumbled, “I can’t believe it.” It was our new neighbor Wilma, stalking my garden like a produce-pillaging ninja, there in the light of day.

Sarah’s mouth tightened. “That’s Wilma from two doors down, isn’t it?”

Fuming too much to talk, I nodded.

“Want me to go over there?” Already partially out of his chair, Mark questioned. “Give her a piece of our minds?”

I extended a hand. “No, not at all. I have an improved concept.”

Sarah said, “Mom,” with caution. “What are you planning?”

With a sparkle in my eyes, I got up. Well, that’s for sure. I have to finish cooking first.”

I strode into the kitchen and began gathering ingredients. Blueberries, bacon, and green beans.

Looking bewildered, Sarah stumbled inside. “Mum? What’s the deal with everything?”

“Just whipping up a little something for the greatest garden thief of all time!” I spoke, attempting to control my sarcasm.

A food basket in hand, I stood on Wilma’s porch an hour later. My taps became deafening roars. Her adolescent son finally answered the door, his expression bewildered.

“Hi there,” I said with a smile. “Is your mom home, sweetie?”

With a nod, he turned to make a house call. “Mum! Mrs. Grand from across the way is here!”

Wilma materialized, appearing to have seen a ghost. “Betty? Why are you in this place?”

Gesturing the basket, I grinned broadly. “Oh, dinner was just served to you! You’ve been helping yourself to my garden lately, I’ve observed. You know, I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

In an instant, Wilma’s face turned from white to a deep red. Her lips dropped open, closed, then opened again.

She trailed off, “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Oh, please come now,” I pleaded in a horribly sweet voice. “You don’t have to be timid. Enjoy some green bean casserole right now. And dessert is blueberry pie. all fresh from my garden, but I’m assuming you were aware of that beforehand.

Wilma shut the door in my face and declined the supper without saying a word.

I wasn’t done, though. Not by a long shot.

I went next door to Mrs. Johnson’s residence. When I knocked on her second time, she answered and grinned.

“Hey Betty! What a pleasant surprise. What draws you in?”

I forced myself to look worried. “Oh, Mrs. Johnson, Wilma, our neighbor, worries me so much. I believe she may be going through a difficult period.”

Mrs. Johnson’s worried expression appeared instantly. “Oh no, what makes you say that?”

I leaned closer, speaking in a secretive tone. “Anyway, I saw her stealing veggies from my garden. During the dead of night! Is that even possible to imagine? For her to turn to that, she must be desperate.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Johnson said, putting her palm to her chest. “Oh, that poor, sweetie. How ought we to proceed?”

I stood up straight and gave a serious nod. “I thought we could all help out. For the next couple of days, bring her dinner. Demonstrate her that she can support her family without stealing.”

Even now, Mrs. Johnson was dozing. “Obviously, naturally. I’ll prepare my well-known pot roast. I’ll also let the reading club know, and together we’ll involve the entire community.”

As I went around, I could hardly contain my laughter. By dusk, half the community was prepared to provide Wilma food and consolation.

The doorbell at Wilma’s house rang nonstop for three days. I observed via my window as neighbor after neighbor arrived bearing casseroles and wearing worried expressions.

There came a knock on my door on day four. Wilma’s husband Billy was there, seeming as though he wished to be swallowed whole by the earth.

“Mrs. Grand,” was his stutter. “I… we… I apologize so much about Wilma. How can we please put this right?”

I grinned. Yes, this was the moment I had been waiting for.

I had Wilma and Billy in my garden the following day, with their equipment ready. Although they were unhappy, I was having the best time of my life.

I remarked, pointing with my pruning shears, “Now, see here.” “This is the correct way to trim a tomato plant. As shown, you should cut slightly above the leaf joint.

Billy, clumsy with his own shears, nodded. “Like this, Mrs. Grand?”

I looked over his shoulder. Not quite, but close. Allow me to demonstrate once more.”

Wilma was grumbling to herself while halfheartedly plucking weeds nearby.

“What was that, dear?” I smirked and called out without trying to hide it. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

With a strained smile, Wilma’s head snapped up. “Nothin’, Betty. Just taking in your lovely garden. It’s very beautiful.”

“Oh, it is, isn’t it?” I smiled. “And it’s so much nicer when you put in the work yourself, don’t you think?”

Wilma grated her teeth and nodded, even as her smile narrowed.

“All right,” I said, clapping my fists. “There is still much to be done. The cucumbers refuse to trellis by themselves.

Feeling a little smug, I couldn’t help but watch them at work. My garden was doing well, and I’d imparted some important knowledge. Justice sometimes tastes like the sweetest fruit.

Furthermore, what do you know? I believe Wilma may have picked up some knowledge as well. She was beginning her own little vegetable patch, as far as I knew. I guess at last she realized that it’s preferable to cultivate your own rather than borrow from others.

There are severe repercussions for both theft and, occasionally, backyard gardening! What are your thoughts, people?

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