And worse, it wasn’t just about the plants anymore. These vines had been Marianne’s favorite row. Robert knelt and inspected the crushed soil. The stake had snapped clean in half, and a tendril of vine now drooped sideways like a broken wrist.
He let out a long breath through his nose, brushing dust from his jeans. There was something deeply personal about it. Not just damage—it felt like violation. He tried the polite route first. Printed a small sign: “Private Property – Please Stay on Trail.”