Neighbors

We had our own cozy corner of the world, several families and couples, all with a bit of property, clustered in a fertile corner of our green and fertile county, and we had a bit of privacy too, as our road was a dead end off Gravely Ranch Road.

In the fall the smell of weed was potent, as everyone grew; we were the only ones who grew exclusively outside, but the two Jarred’s did both, so it did get pungent, so obvious when I rounded the corner on my daily runs.

In the winter we didn’t see much of each other, everyone huddled by their woodstoves, and every house streamed smoke. I worked a crappy job at a copy shop in town, but many of us didn’t work. Renee stayed home with her 4 year old, Nick had a back injury (that didn’t stop him from working on his property), Jarred One picked up part-time painting or car repair, Jarred Two’s wife worked as a waitress on weekends for tourist’s brunches, and Mary did wedding catering, and my Joe was a retired schoolteacher; but no one put on a suit and tie and commuted to the city, that’s for sure.  

Joe and I were the only ones who watched the news or voted; most people had lived in the county all their lives, hardly even going down the hill. We were from the city, though we had left years ago. People barely knew who the President was; their lives weren’t affected much by politics, and a lot of people didn’t have much education. Maybe smoking lots of weed slowed their curiosity; I hate to think that being a daily smoker myself.

When spring and summer rolled around we’d all hear each other again as windows opened, there would be shouts and laughter and dogs barking, sound traveled so clearly though our little valley, same as the breezes from the west through the trees. People barbecued after a day at the river, or kids splashed in a doughboy pool; we often sat outside in lawn chairs, just enjoying the summer evenings, staying out until dark by the light of our solar lanterns.