"Especially difficult ones. He said maybe they'd be nicer with something sweet in their mouths."
The accountant chuckled.
"Wise man."
"He was."
I looked toward the old wall.
"But he also expected them to ask first."
The following spring, we held the first neighborhood peach-harvest morning.
Not an HOA event.
Not an enforcement activity.
A voluntary gathering.
People signed up.
Families brought baskets.
Children learned how to recognize ripe fruit.
I explained why branches shouldn't be yanked.
We talked about pruning, irrigation, and protecting trees during storms.
A few residents helped repair the old roadside produce stand.
Others brought homemade food.
The new HOA president attended wearing jeans and a simple white shirt.
He approached me before the gathering.
"Thank you for doing this."
I nodded.
"Happy to."
He glanced toward the stone wall.
"I've reviewed the old records."
I smiled faintly.
"That must have been entertaining."
He laughed.
"Educational."
"Good word."
He grew serious.
"I want you to know we're revising how the association handles property disputes."
I looked at him.
"How?"
"Independent verification before notices involving adjoining parcels. Clear conflict-of-interest disclosures. Better financial oversight."
I nodded.
"That's sensible."
He smiled.
"We learned the hard way."
I looked toward the children gathering peaches.
"Sometimes that's how people learn."
He hesitated.
Then said, "I also wanted to apologize on behalf of the association."
I studied him.
"You weren't president when any of this happened."
"No."
"But you represent the organization now."
"Yes."
I nodded.
"Then I appreciate it."
He extended his hand.
I shook it.
No speeches.
No cameras.
No announcement.
Just two men acknowledging that the people living on opposite sides of a property line could respect one another without surrendering their rights.
By noon, the orchard was filled with laughter.
Children carried baskets.
Parents took photographs.
Neighbors chatted beneath the oak trees.
The old peach tree stood at the center of it all.
Its trunk was scarred.