Being Neighborly

We’ve been on vacation for a couple of weeks. Bruce and I drove to San Diego to see our daughter and son-in-law and our two gorgeous granddaughters. Then up I-5 to Oregon.

In Washington state, we did all the touristy kinds of things: toured Seattle, went whale-watching, ate in nice restaurants, camped in North Cascades National Park.

We’d heard that Colorado had gotten lots of rain while we were gone, so we were concerned that our front lawn was going to look disreputable by the time we returned.

But when we drove up to our house, the law looked quite nice.

Bruce and I looked at each other in surprise. The grass must have decided to slow its growth during the weeks we were away.

We unpacked the car and started to put all our camping supplies away. Bruce went into the backyard to throw some stuff in the trash. When he came back into the house, he said, “Hey, look at the backyard.”

I looked out the window. The grass must have been eighteen inches tall.

“I guess someone did cut our front lawn, but who?”

Bruce shrugged. We’d have to find out so we could thank them.

The next day, our young neighbors to the north were outside playing with their toddler. Bruce asked them if they’d taken care of our lawn and they said yes. He thanked them and told them how thoughtful that was.

Now that’s a good neighbor. They didn’t even need to be asked to mow our lawn. Just did it because they knew we were gone.

It was kind of humbling for me, too. Bruce and I are usually the first to make friendly overtures and to show hospitality.

It makes me want to be a better neighbor, too. We’re new to the area, and most of our neighbors kind of keep to themselves. But what better way of saying hello than helping a neighbor do a project, or shovel their snow? Or maybe invite them over?

If you have an idea for making friends in the neighborhood, I’d love to hear about it.

 

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One thought on “Being Neighborly”

  1. Long ago and far away… there was something called the Welcome Wagon. And this very senior lady recalls having been on both ends of that loving gesture. There were often 3-5 people– we carried a pie, a cake, flowers and/ or a card signed by the nearby neighbors. We’d go knocking at the door of the newcomers. When they came to our house in Utica, I was in my pajamas,, with a baby on my arm!

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