"Every day."
The neighbor shook his head.
"Unbelievable."
Arthur looked at the two ruts.
Then at the wide strip of ground along the curb.
An idea began forming.
It was not an argument.
Not another warning.
Not another attempt to convince Brenda to respect a boundary she already understood.
It was something much simpler.
Arthur had been thinking about improving the landscaping along the corner for months.
The grass near the road was difficult to maintain, and the repeated tire damage had made the area worse.
He had considered replacing part of the lawn with a garden bed.
Shrubs.
Decorative stones.
Fresh mulch.
A clean border that would make the corner look better and reduce the amount of grass he needed to mow.
He had simply never gotten around to it.
Now he looked at the damaged ground and realized there was no reason to wait.
If Brenda insisted on treating the corner as a parking space, he would stop maintaining it as a parking space.
He would turn it into a garden.
And he would begin immediately.
That evening, Arthur sat at his kitchen table with a notebook and sketched the new landscaping.
He measured the area along the curb.
He marked the sections where the grass was already damaged.
He planned a broad planting bed that would extend across the portion of the yard Brenda regularly used.
He wanted the finished area to look intentional.
Not like a pile of debris.
Not like a barrier thrown together in anger.
A proper garden bed.
One that would eventually contain shrubs, flowers, and decorative stones.
But first, it needed mulch.
A great deal of mulch.
Arthur called a landscaping supplier and arranged for a delivery early Monday morning.
Three tons.
Fresh, dark mulch.
Enough to cover the damaged area and establish the new planting beds.
The supplier confirmed the delivery.
Arthur thanked him and ended the call.
Then he looked out the window.
Brenda's SUV sat in her driveway.
The street was quiet.
And the damaged corner of his lawn waited beneath the fading evening light.
For the first time in weeks, Arthur felt something close to relief.
He wasn't going to spend another Saturday repairing tire tracks.
He wasn't going to move decorative stones back into place.
And he wasn't going to ask Brenda for permission to maintain his own property.
Monday morning arrived clear and cool.
Arthur woke before sunrise.
He made coffee, pulled on his work clothes, and walked outside to inspect the corner.
The damaged grass was still damp.
The ruts were clearly visible.
He had already marked the outline of the new garden bed.
The area followed the edge of the property, curving naturally around the corner before widening where Brenda usually parked.
At approximately seven o'clock, he heard a diesel engine approaching.
A large landscaping truck turned onto the street.
It slowed beside his driveway.
The driver leaned out the window.
"Arthur Mitchell?"
"That's me."
"Three tons of mulch?"
Arthur smiled.
"That's right."
The driver looked toward the yard.
"Big project?"
Arthur glanced at the damaged grass.
"You could say that."
The truck backed carefully into position.
A few minutes later, the delivery began.
Fresh, dark mulch spilled from the truck into large piles near the driveway.
The smell of newly processed wood filled the morning air.