Trouble in paradise

Perhaps we fell too hard, too fast. But, we were lonely, we missed the friends and family we left behind....

When, on the day we moved in, the retired couple living next door dove in and offered us their gardener Inocencio to help us unload the truck, we thought we had been sent a couple of guardian angels: Mr. Charlie and Mrs. Toni L.

Our yard was suffering from overgrowth and death and lack of water, so we were grateful when Toni sweetly offered to send Inocencio to attend to some sorely-needed garden maintenance on our property. That morning we both went to work, and that night we returned to find the yard gutted. Any plant or tree showing the slightest weakness of constitution was summarily sacked. I sensed Geoff's unease and immediately bought a bunch of plants to fill the void. But, we convinced ourselves that none of the old plants had a shot, we didn't discuss the partial removal of the trellis, and we joked about the whack job on the trees. At the end of the day, she had done us a BIG FAVOR. We hugged her, paid back the $120 she had paid Inocencio, gave her our house key, accepted her invitation to check on Mishka while we're gone, and thoroughly snuggled into this ideal neighborhood friendship. They had already begun calling us "The Kids."

That's when they started mentioning The Tree.

The Tree is a large, gnarly pepper tree on the hill between our house and the Langdons that overhangs our deck in the back. In case you didn't know (we didn't), that peppercorn in your shaker didn't pop off a plant or spring from a flower. It comes from a tree, where it and about a gazillion of its closest friends hang together in pink clusters like tiny grapes. In fact, we tasted them - these peppercorns are good enough for any shaker, but not for long...

Toni and Charlie casually started mentioning how the invasive roots of The Tree had lifted their patio, how a root had grown into their pool, how cheap the former owners had been when they mentioned "dealing with it," how maybe we could find a way to contain the beast. Feeling indebted and all eager-beavery as only newbies to San Diego can feel, we instantly called Tree Companies, Arborists, Landscapers and collected opinions and quotes. I mean, how expensive can this be?

"The Tree has to come out." That was the resounding consensus, albeit with very different supporting opinions ("it is diseased"... "the neighbors must have whacked at its limbs and roots one to many times because the damn thing is leaning"... "it really isn't fashionable anymore...that's a '70's tree - perhaps you'd prefer a more updated palm?") . And, how much? Only a mere $1400, well maybe as much as $2500, to make this lovely, innocent, bountiful specimen of nature disappear. Hmmm. We naively wondered once or twice if the tree people might be biased. But, we convinced ourselves that it was the best for everyone. We are Good Neighbors.

Wanting to get full credit for being the conscientious neighbors that we are, we cheerily updated Toni and Charlie on our quotes and our progress. That's when they started bringing up the idea of The Retaining Wall.

See, in Southern California, there are a lot of hills, but the soil is very loose. Erosion is a big deal. We had already noticed that the soil was eroding out from under their deck struts (which is about 10 feet above the level of our property) and towards our house, a bad situation for both homes. Smiling, they offered to go in 50/50! Heck, we were planning to put in a retaining wall along that short portion of the property line anyway, so this sounded great! ...except that each time we talked to them, the wall grew taller and longer and wider. Many times, we've smiled and explained to them the scope of our planned renovations, but they don't seem that interested. "We'll end up eating only rice and beans!" I joked nervously to Toni. "Well, you know, beans are very nutritious," she replied sagely.

I got home yesterday after running some errands. At the grocery store, I picked up a little potted rose for Toni, since she was recently put in a foot cast, and some fresh corn on the cob for Charlie, who loves the stuff. On the way back, I realized that I had forgotten to close the garage door for the second time. When I got home, though, it was closed. They must have closed it. I wanted to drop off the little gifts anyway, so I went over to thank them for watching out for me, my Guardian Angels. They invited me to sit down in their parlor. Yep, Toni had closed the garage door for me. (Oh, those kids!) Considering her bum foot, I asked her how she did it (when we forget, we just press the button inside then dash out before the door is down). She described getting the key, going to the back, and tsk tsk, the back door was unlocked, so she closed it and the garage door then brought Inocencio over there and the two of them took out a blah blah blah.

I didn't really catch all of that, but I brought the conversation back to the Retaining Wall, since an engineer had come out that morning to assess the back yard, and I thought it would impress them that we had made progress on the issue. I must have alluded again to the fact that our idea of a wall was much more modest than theirs, because they looked at each other and Toni said "You need to tell her, Papi." (Maybe this is a good point in the story to mention that Toni is Hispanic and Charlie is half Chinese). Charlie resisted, "No, Mami, it is only hearsay." (He wears Hawaiian shirts and likes to button one or zero of the buttons.) Back and forth a little longer they went until Toni concluded that I needed to know, since I might as well hear it from someone else as we gather estimates.

So, they dropped the bomb: "Someone told us that when one neighbor builds a wall along the property line, the other neighbor is obligated by the law to pay half." I was flustered and expressed disbelief and confusion. My heart started racing. How can that be? I stammered on awkwardly then made some excuse about why I needed to leave. Before I left, though, I asked: "What was that you said you took out of the garden?" "Oh, that dying thing over the archway. We took it out." "The jasmine vine, over the archway?" "She doesn't know what I'm talking about, Papi. It was dead."

No, it wasn't.

The top leaves may have been browned, but the vine was alive. Without so much as a warning, she and Inocencio had decapitated the one specimen that joggers and landscapers alike have repeatedly told us NOT to remove, that it is very much alive and spectacular when in bloom. We were really looking forward to seeing it.

I went back to our house, SHOCKED. Geoff couldn't answer his cell at work. Had they actually made a litigious allusion? Had she really taken the liberty to chop down that vine without asking? Are we being bullied?!

WE ARE NOT KIDS!

So far we haven't run into them, but we've rehearsed our firm lines in a cordial tone. We've got to nip this in the bud but we can't make enemies (she alluded one time to parking close to the driveway to purposely make it hard for the prior owners to see when backing out). We will be kind but we will cut ties. To be sure, we'll get the key back ("Yeah, Toni, you see, the contractor needs a key, and you have the only spare. Can I borrow it back for awhile?").

But, most of all, we won't fall so easily when we meet the neighbors on the right.