The previous owners had installed an irrigation system connected to the property's approved water supply.
It needed maintenance.
Several sprinkler heads were worn.
The controller was outdated.
And one section of drip tubing leaked.
But those were problems I knew how to solve safely and professionally.
During the first month, I brought in a licensed irrigation contractor to inspect the system.
We reviewed the water-use requirements.
Replaced damaged components.
Adjusted the watering schedule.
And converted much of the planting area to efficient drip irrigation.
I also installed monitoring equipment that could identify unusual water flow and help us avoid waste.
The lawn was modest.
The flowers were appropriate for the climate.
And the system had been inspected and documented.
I did that partly because I was an engineer.
But mostly because I wanted Lena to have the garden her mother imagined.
The first spring after we moved in, my daughter and I planted white roses along the patio.
She chose purple salvia for the brick border.
Then yellow marigolds.
And a small lavender bush beside the side gate.
One afternoon, while we were digging, Lena looked toward me.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Mommy would've liked this?”
I felt my throat tighten.
I looked toward the flowers.
Then toward my daughter.
“She would've loved it.”
Lena smiled.
Then asked, “Can we call it Mommy's garden?”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
We made a small wooden sign.
It read:
NADIA'S GARDEN
Lena painted little purple flowers around the letters.
Then we placed it beside the rosebush.
For the first time since Nadia died, my daughter began talking about her mother without crying every time.
She told stories while we watered.
Asked whether certain flowers were Nadia's favorites.
And sometimes sat beside the garden with a sketchbook, drawing pictures of the two of them beneath the trees.
That garden mattered more to me than the rest of the property combined.
Which was why the conflict with Patricia Voss became something I could not simply ignore.