A Light for My Path

We live in a rural area on a dirt road. The neighbors all know each other. If you’re driving down the road and meet another vehicle, it’s expected practice to wave even if you don’t recognize the driver.

Before we moved here almost five years ago, we lived in a suburb of Tampa. We lived in the same house in an older neighborhood for 25 years. Several of our neighbors there were original owners from when the homes were built in the 1950s. It was a friendly neighborhood. We knew the names of most of the people on our street. They might wave or chat for a few minutes if you were both putting the trash by the curb.

But we didn’t have block parties. I can only recall being in two of the neighbors’ homes. The school kids rode the bus together, but the parents were only casual acquaintances of each other. We all had busy lives, so it didn’t seem strange that we didn’t know much about our neighbors.

Where we are now is different. It reminds me of the small town where I grew up. Where everybody knew everybody. And everything about everybody. It was often annoying when I was a child. If I rode my bike somewhere I wasn’t supposed to, my mother met me at the back door with a switch. Because the mamas’ news network traveled faster than I could on my bicycle.

Still the neighborliness was overall a blessing. Folks looked out for each other. That’s how it is where we live now.

Neighbors notice if someone’s car hasn’t been out of the driveway in a day and they check to be sure if they’re okay. We know each other’s birthdays. Every two or three months there are big neighborhood get-togethers. Sometimes for a holiday; sometimes just because. If a neighbor is planting a garden, sawing up a fallen branch, making a repair, or cleaning up his boat, you can be sure there will be several other men standing around offering advice and wisdom.

People drop by. Without calling first. And they’re always welcomed. To sit on the porch and have a cup of coffee or something stronger. It’s rare that anyone is in enough of a hurry to say they can’t chat right now. Mainly because we all know each other’s schedule.

So, when I tell my husband I’m going to check the mailbox, he’s never worried if it’s an hour before I come back in the house. If the weather is nice, there’s likely to be someone out walking and there’s likely to be news to share. Or speculation of upcoming news. Then another neighbor driving by will stop in the road and contribute to the conversation. They could easily park right there in the road for 15-20 minutes before another car comes along.

Perhaps because I grew up in this kind of neighborly environment, I’m not bothered by the interruptions, the unasked-for advice, the slower pace. A deeper reason though is because underneath the teasing and the nosiness there’s love. A true “love your neighbor as yourself” kind of love. A celebrate with me, sit with me in my sorrow, walking each other home kind of love.

Welcome to the neighborhood!

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Laura