I grew up in a relatively small community in the Baltimore metro area. We lived in a modest, paid-for home that my parents bought in the 70's. Our backyard was enclosed by a chain-link fence with a privacy fence on one side to keep us delineated from the four (to six) neighbors' yards (depending on how you counted) that abutted ours. The house to our left was nestled atop a hill. This hill was perfect for riding bikes down for a minor thrill. We practically wore ruts in diagonal lines across that slope, but never so badly that a good rain wouldn't fluff the grass right back up.
The woman who lived in that house on the hill was more than a neighbor. I would say she was more than a friend. She was family, closer even than many of my blood relatives. Mrs. Ruth opened her back sliding door to us every time we knocked, offering us Tastycakes and refrigerated Hostess cupcakes and anything else she had in her pantry. She and her husband joined us for Christmas brunch every year. Mr. Bob trekked back and forth from their door to ours carrying packages like Santa Claus. She brought with her a feast of homemade sticky buns and pistachios, which I ate until my fingers and face were dyed red. (I recently asked her for her sticky bun recipe, and she mailed it to me! What a treasure!) When she needed help delivering Avon books, my sister and I trekked them around the neighborhood. When she went out of town, we took care of her parrot, George and her dog, Brittany. When our clothesline was full, she let us hang our extra stuff on hers. We kept her company at the annual craft fair. My sister was in her daughter's wedding. When she wanted to get the house ready for a family reunion, she hired us to clean. Then, she invited the four of us to her family reunions. She never cared, at least not out loud, if she looked out her kitchen window and saw us climbing her trees.
Not one moment was forced. We just did our lives together.
Now as an adult, we live in a similar type of neighborhood. We don't have clotheslines so there aren't as many spontaneous backyard chats. Our yards are mostly delineated by privacy fences to keep children and pets in and riffraff out (I guess). Most folks keep their grass and flowerbeds nicely maintained, the trees trimmed, and their homes tidy. Then there are some folks (ahem) that are in a season where other things like caring for and educating eight kids (ahem) take priority. For the past year, one of these things has been adding on to our home (about which I could and really want to dedicate a whole bunch of posts. Some day, Lord willing.). When we began our renovations, all I could think was, "Our neighbors are going to hate us." There is noise, traffic, bad parking jobs, trash, mud, gravel, and all manner of extra people coming and going at all hours of the day. It's been in the works since July, and it's not over yet. As one who wishes to offend no neighbor and who gets stressed out by ridiculous things like whether my kids are making too much noise in the public right-of-way of our road while riding bikes and if we've been parked on the street offensively-too-long, it's been an interesting few months.
This afternoon, as I took a break from frantic-feeling school lessons (Would you believe we're behind? Yes. Always.) to put some lunch on the table, I heard my phone ding. I received a message from our neighbor to the right with this picture attached:
This is a view of my Leah from her backyard running across the muddy, clay hills in our own backyard like a raving lunatic, something she has enjoyed doing almost daily since they started moving dirt. The note she sent me was absolutely precious. I hope she doesn't mind if I quote it here:
That is a memory maker of a hill right there. I love it! They will have memories of that just as much as they are going to have incredible memories in your pool.
I almost cried.
That simple note from our sweet, sweet neighbor melted away eight months of meaningless anxiety. This neighbor shares my sentiments on what's important - finding joy in the mundane, appreciating beautiful messes, taking pleasure in watching children make memories.
I've been thinking a lot about neighbors lately. I know I'm not to any of mine what Mrs. Ruth and Mr. Bob were to me. I don't know exactly how to fix that, but I'm willing. We have quilt literally built a bigger table. Maybe they will come if I just open the door. Our church touts the slogan "Life is Better Together." I wholeheartedly believe this is true, not only in our church family, but of our closest neighbors as well.
Imagined up by
