I don’t know what’s up with my neighbors. They are all acting, well, neighborly. And I didn’t do a dang thing to encourage it.
Friday I came home and found a note on my door. I wasn’t surprised, driving in I’d seen many notes on many doors. I was expecting it to be something inconsequential from the new owners. They’d already reminded us about the parking rules, the laundry room hours, and the noise ordinance. This note however had consequence. All lawns with growth over three inches tall needed to be trimmed immediately, or they would be trimmed by the management and the resident would be charged a $45.00 fee.
The worst part of that is, I don’t have a lawn. I have a dirt lot. However, we’ve had a very wet winter, and my backyard is full of thistles between three and four feet tall. How was I supposed to get rid of them? Those suckers don’t just pull out of the ground. Their roots are at least as long as the plants are tall.
I wasn’t about to go buy a lawn mower or a weed-eater. First off, I’d only have reason to use it once or twice a year. Second, I am supposed to be moving this summer (still don’t know where!) and have put a moratorium on all buying. Anything I purchase will either have to be packed or sold — and I’ve already got enough selling to do. So, I figured that meant I would have to fork over bucks, and I grumbled at the thought.
As I came home from church today I noticed a lot of yards looking spiffy. I stepped from my car and could hear a Weedeater working away. As I sat at my computer I marveled at how close the Weedeater sounded. Seemed like it was practically in my backyard. Soon it sounded like it was in my front yard! I heard dirt and gravel hit my house. I got up and walked toward the door — just as the engine died and a knock sounded. I opened the door.
One of my neighbor’s, Doug, stood here, a Weedeater in one hand and a rake in the other. “I knocked’em down for ya,” he said. “After ya clean’em up, take the rake to my missus.” He turned away, flipped the Weedeater back on and moved to the next person’s yard.
When I walked down the block to return the rake to Doug’s wife, several other people were gathered at the fence. It seems Doug just couldn’t stand the thought of people having to pay big bucks for 10 minutes work, and he had nothing better to do with his Sunday afternoon, anyway. They refused any and all offers of money. “Just being neighborly,” they said.