When I placed a cheerful little gnome on my lawn, I never imagined it would spark a full-blown feud with Josh, my grumpy neighbor obsessed with superstition. The moment he saw the gnome, his face darkened, and he warned me that gnomes brought bad luck. I smiled and ignored him, but Josh was serious and his dislike quickly turned into a quiet war between my rose bushes and his perfect hedges. The next morning, Josh’s yard was transformed.
He’d set up smudging lanterns everywhere, filling the air with thick smoke that drifted right into my house. It was his way of “cleansing evil spirits,” he said, but all I could think was, “Is he trying to smoke me out?” Not backing down, I returned with ten more gnomes big ones, small ones, even an Elvis gnome and arranged them like a little army guarding my lawn. Just as the rivalry heated up, the HOA showed up at my door, clipboard in hand, delivering a long list of violations: “Remove all garden figurines,” “No hanging objects on the porch,” and more. I knew who had complained. Josh stood nearby, smirking with his coffee, pleased at the disruption.
But the next day brought a surprising turn. Josh came over, paint bucket and brushes in hand, and apologized for pushing things too far. We spent the afternoon repainting the trim the HOA had flagged, swapping stories, and laughing over spilled paint. I learned Josh had lost his wife a couple of years ago, and his grumpiness was more loneliness than anything else.
By sunset, the house looked brighter, and so did our mood. We agreed the gnomes weren’t bad luck maybe just misunderstood, like Josh and me. As we placed the original gnome back by the rose bushes, Josh asked if I wanted to have dinner sometime. I smiled and said yes, joking that he better bring those smudge sticks just in case. Sometimes, peace takes a few coats of paint and maybe a gnome or two.