I’ve been walking by this house every Sunday morning for the past year, watching the river flow from the irrigation system out into the street, filling up the neighbors’ drainage swales.
Along with you, I’ve wondered, “Does anyone live there?” Answer: no. A German woman who used to wander up and down the street in her housecoat died a couple of years ago. I haven’t seen anyone go in or out since then. I haven’t ever seen a car in the driveway, either. But someone cuts the lawn.
Aren’t the neighbors concerned about the weekly flood that runs past their house? Some have called city code enforcement for lesser things. Why not this? It’s never bothered me enough to call.
This woman’s twin sister still lives a few houses up the street. She never drives by? She’s never noticed the water?
I’m assuming they have a well. I could be wrong, but I doubt anyone who pay for city water to run down the street. It’s not cheap.
So it’s a mystery. It has become part of the landscape, along with gaudy lawn ornaments, security system signs, and flags of various nationalities.
As the dogs and I finished up the first of two daily walks, I thought to myself, “I’ll bet some of my neighbors have never walked around the block.”
I’ve always had dogs that needed lots of of exercise. If we don’t want them constantly zooming around the house, we’ve got to put in the miles. I’ll bet we walk every street in our section of the community at least once a week.
But some have never even been around the block. They back out of the garage in the morning and drive off down the street. When they return home, they pause at the mailbox to collect all the daily junk, and pull back into the garage. Once the garage door lowers, that’s it. They’re in for the night. It’s kind of sad.
Some are out there no matter what. There’s Mr. McNulty, one of the few neighbors who has lived here longer than us. He has to use a walker, but he gets in his steps going up and down the street. The man across the street from him is blind. He’s out there once a week sweeping his white cane in front of him. I see many children walking to and from school bus stops in the mornings and evenings. I often pass Morris who always wears a bright orange shirt on his walks.
What do you miss if you never go for a walk?
There’s another wave of new roof installations this spring. I had no idea there were so many colors and color combinations of shingles! Some homeowners have waited a year to get new roofs after a tornado passed through. For this, I’m thankful.
There’s a new collection of used furniture out on the curb. A lot of folks have been getting rid of old sofas and chairs. I find this entertaining. When I see the fabric colors and patterns, I can’t imagine why anyone would buy something like that for their home!
It’s easy to tell who has the good parties. Vacant lots are littered with small liquor bottles. Tuesday’s recycling bins overflow with beer cans.
Rental properties have turned over this spring, so I’ve met the new neighbors. I find comfort in knowing which cars belong in our neighborhood – and which ones don’t. When neighbors watch out for each other, it’s a free extra layer of security.
Fresh air? Vitamin D? Get your steps in today? Pet a few dogs? Walking around the block is filled with good stuff.
I’m embarrassed to admit that he’s lived there for about three years. We’ve waved at each other pulling into and out of our driveways. We’ve both been working out in the yard at the same time. But for whatever reason, we never took the time to shake hands and talk.
What made the difference? My dog. She’s only three months old and shy. Each day I take her out in front of our house a little longer and a little further to get her used to leash walking and the sounds of the neighborhood.
Yesterday, my neighbor and his friend were talking in a foreign language and my dog was very interested. It was as if she could understand what they were saying. With wagging tail, she pulled in their direction, determined to join the conversation.
My neighbor, who had also been power washing his driveway, came over to see her, and we got talking about dogs. He’s got a gorgeous light brown and white Australian Shepherd who runs freely around his backyard, but never leaves their property. Of course, when I explained that Willow was a Great Dane, his eyes got big and he chuckled, “Oh. She’s going to be huge!”
So I found out that his name is Ricardo. He’s from Portugal and his wife is from Brazil. He’s got a handyman business and he gave me his business card. I let him borrow my surface washing disk to finish up his driveway. And just like that, we knew each other.
It’s about time. I know most of my other neighbors on both sides of the street and talk to them all pretty often. But this family eluded me for the longest time.
Knowing the neighbors has given me a great sense of security. We all watch each other’s homes and keep an eye out for unfamiliar cars that drive by. When a door-to-door salesperson tells me all my neighbors have bought his product, I know they haven’t.
I wonder why it’s easier to get to know some neighbors than others. Is it a cultural barrier? Age difference? Lives that are too busy to pause for a moment and say hi? Did Covid make us withdraw so far into our own little worlds that we forgot how to get back? Maybe it’s a little bit of all those things.
The solution? Talk a walk. And take a dog with you.
When we brought Winston home last June, I started taking him for walks around our neighborhood every morning and evening. An eight-month-old West Highland White Terrier puppy has energy to spare, so we explored every street in our corner of the community.
When we brought home puppy number two, a Great Dane, our walking habits changed. At eight weeks, Willow wanted nothing to do with leashes, walks or the neighborhood. She was content staying close to home and exploring the back yard. Both dogs still get plenty of exercise wrestling with each other and chasing each other around the yard.
When I took Winston out for a walk around the block last week I realized how much I missed those walks. Those walks around familiar streets make me feel part of the neighborhood and the community.
I enjoy watching the progress of lots being cleared and houses being built on the last wooded lots. Boxes along the curb or a rental truck in the driveway announces who is moving in our out even before a realtor puts a sign up in the yard.
I’ve gotten to know a lot more of my neighbors and on my walks. They are working in the yard, on their car, or getting some exercise themselves. We always pause at the bus stop so the kids have a chance to pet Winston. Plus, we get to know the other dogs who live near us. Some bark at us from inside of their house, while others are out for walks, too.
I enjoy everyone’s Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas decorations. I’m amazed at the weekly piles of mattresses, appliances, and furniture on trash collection days. Squirrels, bunnies and cats watch as we walk by. If we time it right, we get to hear the owls talking to each other at dawn or dusk.
One neighbor has a garage full of birds singing in cages. Another is restoring a car from the 1940’s. Some greet us with heavy Russian or Hispanic accents. Many have gotten a new roof in the past year. One had the roof torn off by a tornado. Lots of cars parked along the street announce who’s having a party. A walker in front of one garage door hasn’t been moved in months.
When I go for walks, I feel alive. I think of stories to write. I think of prayers to pray. I find coins on the street. I check out what’s in people’s recycling bins. I whistle back at the birds. I feel like I live here.
Willow is coming along. She was willing to walk on a least around our front yard today. Just a few more steps every day and before you know it, she’ll be walking me around the block, too.
My early morning and late afternoon walks with Winston (our West Highland White Terrier) take us around all the eleven streets of our neighborhood.
We know all the kids at the bus stops. The younger ones always want to pet the dog. Winston’s tail begins wagging four times a second when we’re still fifty yards away, so happy to see his friends. Keep in mind, he thinks everyone is his best friend. He enthusiastically wriggles, hops, spins, rolls over, and thoroughly enjoys their attention.
We know most of the dogs in the neighborhood, too. There’s Bailey the Shih Zhu, Blue the Golden Retriever, Ramona the Rat Terrier, Sadie the some-kind-of-terrier, Sophie the black miniature Poodle, Winston the Maltese (a miniature version of Winston), Gunnar the Brittney Spaniel, Franco the Rottwiler, Natchez, a mixed breed, Teddy a nervous little terrier, and an assortment of Labs, Shepherds, Terriers, and Chihuahuas. As I write this, I realize there are a lot of dogs around here. Sometimes they are out with their owners, sometimes they bark at us from a window. I always ask Winston, “What are they saying?” He refuse to tell me. Must be some kind of honor code among canines.
We watch all the new houses being built and get to meet a lot of the new neighbors moving in. They are, of course, all best friends.
We know where all the bunnies are going to be, too. They are so funny. The bunnies think that if they sit real still by the edge of the road, no one will notice them. Winston sees them long before I do. His excitement builds as he thinks, “I think I can catch him today!” Of course, he never does. The bunny is much faster and scoots off into the woods, leaving nothing but a scent behind. Winston doesn’t dwell on it. I am sure he thinks, “I’ll get him next time!”
Early this morning, an SUV began to back out of a driveway when Winston and I were about ten yards away. I don’t take any chances. I stopped and Winston immediately sat, just like he supposed to do. Once the man had backed out I said, “Heel,” and we were on our way. He rolled down his window and said, “Thank you!” I though that was really nice. Most people don’t even notice us and roar away. That little moment made my day.
When I saw the remains of this mailbox on a walk around the neighborhood, I thought, “There’s got to be a great story here.” A little tap from a car backing out of a driveway didn’t do this. A hurried mail carrier didn’t slam the door too hard. I don’t think we’ve had any earthquakes in Florida lately. Someone nailed this mailbox. They showed no mercy. They took it out.
The lawn guy was late. For what, I don’t know. He slammed the gate shut on the trailer, jumped in the truck and floored it. The trailer began to fishtail back and forth, almost out of control, until it swung through the mailbox. “What the heck was that?” Glancing in the mirror, he saw it and skidded to a stop. Looking up and down the street and seeing no one, the lawn guy carefully stacked the pieces and took off, a little slower this time.
He was pissed. The neighbor’s dog had visited his yard one too many times. Enough is enough. “I knew that baseball bat would come in handy.” He didn’t take any warmup swings. It was like swinging at a fastball right down the middle. It was the most satisfying hit of his life.
“Watch out, you’re too close to the side of the road.” “I know mom, I know…oh my gosh, what was that?” “I’m going to let your father teach you how to drive.”
“A backup camera? I don’t need no d*** backup camera.”
Most of the mailboxes on our street look like junk. Anything that gets them replaced is a good thing.
Waite for it... 