Neighbors

I'm living in the same place I've owned for 20-some years, a house I remodeled from under the ground up, next to a house my ex- remodeled that I now use for my shop. Someday I will probably remodel it again and rent it out, which is my actual retirement plan, since the Jell-O Art Museum might not pay the bills. My house payment is very low, and although my place is small, it has expanded a bit beyond its borders.

On the south side there used to be kind of an unpaved 7-foot wide alley, an easement for EWEB, but over the years the renters on that side have let the bushes and blackberries grow and it is effectively closed off and gardened over. Long ago the previous owners let me build beds on their side of the easement, where I now have artichokes and raspberrries. It's hard to imagine that cars used to drive through what is now a 3-foot path between gardens. As soon as I get some more stepping stones I will eliminate the grass there too. Plants grow so cooperatively.

Berries reclaim everything I don't weed; my backyard was total blackberries when I first moved in. They still survive across the back fence, and I don't mind, because of this:

We're about to get new neighbors in that house, renters with kids, and I hope they fix up the cob house, or at least take that tarp off the roof so I can look at its cuteness again. That cob house was built in a month the summer I was putting in my foundation over on my side, back before there was a fence. My son was five and he and his friend completely covered themselves with mud from the pit the cob was being made from. The crew making the curvy walls and setting in the windows was finished by midsummer. My project took 12 years...but my roof doesn't leak, either. Yet. My days of tarpage are over on this side...no, wait, I still have the plastic-covered piles of stuff needed to finish the various projects left over. That's probably a permanent state.

Everytime I get new neighbors on the south side I make sure to explain that I have gardened their yard for 20 years, and so far it hasn't been a problem. One landlord proposed a fence over there but luckily I convinced them not to build it. I need the open space, and it has forced good neighbor behavior for us to share the berries and the other backyard joys. Little kids live there now and I really love seeing them naked in the strawberry patch or toddling past a raspberry vine and latching onto a ripe one that tears off just in time, and gets smeared around a little mouth. I have no problem at all adjusting to picking only the higher ones for myself and thinking about the concept of "easy pickings" as I rummage through the strawberry leaves farthest from the stepping stones for the elusive ripe ones. I even shared my blackcap raspberries without a lot of grumbling. It has given me a teeny taste of grandchildren since I am still working on the empty nest feelings left behind by my 20-year-old. There are actually plenty of kids to go around if I get lonely for some. I live right near Seven Stars Childcare and I can always go down there to be delighted and amazed, and regularly do. I get some of my greatest ideas from Deb, Chris, and the kids.

My most troublesome neighbor this week is the Lane County Fair. When the people up the street had their garage sales, I got a wonderful chair and a cool pedestal thing that is perfect for Jell-O, but the County Fair brings me trash and picked flowers and pears and people staring at me when I am out in the yard or by an open window or door. Fairgoers seem oblivious to the fact that people live here. They park in front of our driveways, they make a ton of noise, and they tromp on our gardens. They are here and gone in five days though (not counting the ones who camp at the Fairgrounds for two weeks) and I do get the wonderful benefit of hearing cows in the morning. I can only water in the morning and the windows have to stay closed in the evenings because of the motorcycle stunts and metal bands. I do get free tickets if I want to see the quilts and old cars and I do usually go. It's a mixed bag. I get a lot of benefits from the open space at the Fairgrounds most of the year, a good place to skate and teach teenagers to drive, and just watch clouds come in from the west. One of my favorite bittersweet memories is right after 9-11 when no planes were flying, and lots of people were wandering the fields behind the Fairgrounds, looking for solace. The sky was wide and blue, with no contrails, and a huge thunderstorm brewed up bringing everyone out of their houses to re-evaluate life itself. There was agreement that it is precious.

I'm a farmer at heart, from Nebraska homesteader stock on my Mom's side. I have always been a plant worshipper from my earliest childhood. I'm a birder too, a naturalist I guess. Anyway, the natural world holds me together. I'm not averse to modifying it for my needs, though I crave to be where nature is not modified by man at all. Hard to get there, particularly without a car.

I'm suffering from loss this week, I realized. Not only from the empty nest and the human deaths I've recently been touched by (Farewell, Christy Parker, original Radar and amazing grace), but by the approach of autumn (more death), by the near-death-sentence of my old car (a money infusion may give it a few more years), and in general by the fears of change that crop up periodically.

I counseled myself that the only inevitability is change itself. There will always be loss. It is a struggle but grace always follows when we relax and surrender our resistance. I've hit some lows in the past few weeks but found comfort and have always been able to return to my natural state of joy and curiousity for the next thing. I feel strong and resilient, and am pretty sure there will be summer again, with luck, and anyway, there's a bit more of this one yet. There might even be ripe tomatoes, and the grapes are looking good. Recent upheavals in one area of my life are balanced by big-hearted events across the street (I am being photographed for the Beautiful Booth of the Month tomorrow, so excited) and it all marches on in its messy, complicated way. I'm still marching.

Heading out to pick a quart of raspberries for my lunch tomorrow, finishing up a pile of stuff for my friend to give away at Burning Man, savoring the opportunities and love that I do have. Sun's out, Jell-O is sparkling, and Gabriel and the Second Line are ready for that long walk to the cemetary and that short dance back to the hall where the potluck awaits. Eat, everyone! Get a piece of that pie before it's all just crumbs on the table.