We live in a cul-de-sac of twelve houses. Been here for nearly nineteen years. Six or seven of them have changed hands since we moved here, taking us ever closer to the top of the list of "longest term neighbor." Kristin probably met just about everyone who ever lived on our short street. I didn't start getting outside and meeting the folks until 1999, so a few escaped without ever getting to know me.
Poor dears.
I didn't even wave as cars came and went at first. I'd pull in the driveway after work and wouldn't step outside again unless it was time to mow the lawn or go back to work, so I didn't see a lot of cars go by. When I did, though, I'd reach down to tie an already-tied shoe or I'd look back at the house as if trying to remember something.
Eventually I stayed out longer and met people and found they were all pretty nice. There have even been a couple of block parties over the past few years. I wave at people, they wave at me. Some have had kids that befriended my own, and I have been a substitute teacher for the next wave of youngsters. We notice if another's garage door is open late into the evening, and we loan each other tools and books and spices, and we wheel each other's emptied garbage and recycling bins back to the house if we are out doing our own. Well, one guy does it. In fact, he walks the entire short block and brings up everyone's cans. Nice guy. Little weird, though.
To the best of my understanding, the family next to ours bought the house next to theirs, one of the corner lots, a few years ago. Then, they bought another one at the bottom of the street, giving them three of the twelve houses. This was a little while ago during a real estate heyday, and I don't know how that's working out for them. It's none of my business. One facet of the deal, though, is working out nicely for me.
I haven't maintained a front lawn for a few years now. It gets green in the rainy season, and it is now, and in the summer it is neatly cropped hay. Doesn't get watered, doesn't grow. It's not a weed patch, but as I say, this is a semi-arid plain, people. Your lawns are unnatural! The problem is when it does grow because of the damned rain, it is thick and hearty, and not particularly well-suited to my push mower. Thus, summer mowing is unnecessary, and winter mowing is a curse.
Until now. Mr. Multiple Home Owner, in all his intrepid do-it-yourselfness, recently purchased a riding mower, purportedly for his three nearby properties and others he has elsewhere. Because we are the closeknit helpful kind of people previously described, once he began mowing his three yards on our street he figured he might as well do a little kindness for neighbors. After all, he motors from one end of the block to the other, seeing as he owns a corner lot and one at the turnaround, why not take care of a few others. So now, on mowing day, he does just that. He decamps the mower from its trailer, and spends thirty minutes mowing up and down the block.
He was just here ten minutes ago. I heard the mower and could tell he was in my front yard. I smiled to myself and checked off one more item on my To-Do list.
Even though the service is convenient, I'm still not going to water my yard this year. I'll give the guy one less yard to worry about for at least six months.
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