Good neighbors
Thinking about what constitutes decency
When we moved to this street twenty-six years ago there was a fine stone house—a cottage, really—lived in by a young family. The property was particularly beautiful because it was set among long lines of sixty foot tall evergreen trees, on the north and west sides. The children were a concern to all of us, because they were quite young, and seemed to be in the road by themselves quite a lot. Eventually the dysfunction of the little family led to the mother leaving, the children becoming more unkempt and sad, and finally, without warning, the house was empty and forlorn.
When it went up for sale, we walked around it, and it had the kind of charm that is rarely built today, with lovely well-proportioned rooms, a stone fireplace, and a knack for light. It languished for more than a year, maybe much more, and then, suddenly, it was torn down. We heard there was mold in the basement. That’s possible. Or maybe the realtors decided it had too much charm for the market. People want new things made with vinyl. It made me sad.
Then, for the next twenty-some years, the large property would go on and off the market. We introduced ourselves to people, they would improve the lot, clearing the tall weeds and scrub (garlic mustard!!!!), setting up picnic tables and enjoying its beauty, but then it would go up for sale again.
About six months ago it was sold, and the neighborhood held its collective breath. Would they cut down all those fine old trees? Would it be a massive house out of scale with the rest? Would they be big-house-fancy-car people who don’t care about the air of nature conservancy we all treasure here?
This week, someone broke ground on the new house. The excavator arrived on a trailer as I was returning home. I had been fretting about the two rows of trees, because they divided the lot in half, and would make building a big house tricky. But to my relief and delight, the foundation has been dug, and all the trees have been left standing. To my mind, this makes them people of discernment and good judgement, and I will be happy to have them as neighbors.
They have two small children, too, who wave cheerily when you pass.
It’s little things like this that give me hope.
”And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”~Julian of Norwich
These posts are about finding the beauty in daily life, even amid the craziness, uncertainty, and anxiety. Reality is not going away, but these are the only days we get, so we have to relish their small beauties while we have them. If you are a paid subscriber, please know how deeply grateful I am for your support. The kindness and enthusiasm of your comments buoy me and keep me writing, but the paid subscriptions are an extra vote of confidence I truly appreciate. These posts will always be free, however, so if all you can do is share, that is helpful, too. Whatever you decide, I’m glad you’re here.
And now for your gratuitous dog animal summer photos, and BONUS: a rare shot of the elusive Sandolore in her native habitat:
We just lost our neighbor who lived across the street for 28 years and I will so miss his booming voice greeting me in his walk to the mailbox: ‘how ya doing neighbor!’ He was a conservative Southerner and I was a liberal Yankee transplant, we enjoyed getting to know each other. In an age where many don’t know neighbors, he was a gift.
I spent much of my daily walk this morning with my head tipped back, just admiring the huge old trees that grace my neighborhood.
I know that all organisms have lifespans, but it hurts my heart whenever one of these silent monarchs has to be removed. Especially since I rarely see a new sapling planted in its place.
A good neighbor - and especially one who respects the land and the trees - is a blessing indeed.