neighbours is a tough word to spell

The days have been getting longer. Tonight was noticeably spring-like. Not that imitation spring that sometimes tricks gardeners into sowing their peas in February. Tonight was the real thing. In the spirit of the weather I went for a walk, which took me up through the Dean Park residences. These are the “ritzy” homes that sit up on the mountainside above the street where I live. To be short, the homes are gorgeous and rich.
It was, however, strange to be walking up there. I’ve been back from my short life abroad now for six months, but there are feelings of confusion that haven’t yet departed. Frankly, I hope many of these feelings never leave. They include the feeling of ridiculousness that I encountered upon walking the streets of Victoria again, the feeling of purposelessness in seeing the latest flick for the simple sake of it, and –tonight- the wonder at these mansion homes alone on a mountain side.
Two brand new cars are parked outside a closed garage. I pass nobody on the road and the only sound I hear as I walk by one house is the sound of an automatic garage door closing for the evening. I stop for a moment and realize how uncannily quiet it is. There is a certain appeal in it, but also a strangeness.
Where is everyone?
This scene is incomprehensible for my Filipino friends. I imagine a world where they all inherit these homes. Every room is filled with a body and the food spills out of the kitchen onto back porch barbeques and fire pits in the back yard. Neighbors would visit one another as they transcend the streets. Music would play from windows. Of a sudden all the eligible young ladies would be right down the street at the bbq at address 3483. They wouldn’t hold back from visiting your bbq next when you invite them. There is enough chicken feet and rice for all!
No work would ever get done.
Or would it? What else are people doing on these evenings? I start walking again and am acutely aware of the sound of my feet on the pavement- slightly masking the only other noises: evening bird songs, distant traffic, the subtle whir of a electricity meter. What are people doing? Whatever it is, they are doing it silently. Are they watching TV? Are they eating dinner, reading a book or making love? Are they spending time as a family over a card game or are they preparing work for the next day? Are they surfing the Internet or playing a guitar? Perhaps they aren’t even home. Maybe they are out for dinner or at the tennis court.
Seems a shame to leave a house like this all alone…
I walk back down my own street again. On it, a community gardening unit does not maintain the shrubbery. To each their own- which is usually quite tasteful. In my Dad’s case it is evidenced in the pruned fruit trees and perennials beginning to show their green beginnings: a beautiful blend of practical and colorful culture.
I see my dad walking down the road away from our house as I walk toward it from the other direction. His gait is unmistakable. His stroll is constitutional. I think He knows who lives in every house on our street. He won’t walk by them if they are in their yard or on the street, without saying hello. I see him deviate from his path at the Lee’s. He leans over their fence- no doubt- to greet their dog. Funny thing how some dogs- like this one- will bark at you until you greet it with that inoffensive enthusiasm. Then all the fight drops into a flurry of wags and dog smiles.
Last week my dad saw a neighbor helplessly standing between their fruit tree and her pruning shears. “Do you know how to prune a fruit tree by any chance?” She asked.
Turns out she was asking a orchard hobbyist- by chance. Of course he showed her the basics before he finished his walk, but not without making better one friendship of a neighbor.
Funny that the definition “neighbor” doesn’t change whether you are best friends or complete strangers. When I think of a good neighbor I would like to think of My Dad. 25 years he has lived on this street, traversed its length with his daily walks. He has talked weather, gardens, cars and family with a medley of characters. He has walked straight through race and age restrictions, and effortlessly sidestepped grudges or misgivings. He isn’t the bubbly character who will invite his neighbors over for dinner every week of the year- that isn’t his personality. By his humble walking, walking, walking, however, he has made his way into those crucial parts of several neighbors’ lives. I’ve seen it. This is what I believe a good neighbor is.
Although harder when life in some communities is separated by endless garage doors and television schedules, maybe something can be accomplished by just walking, listening, looking at what makes up our communities, and of course- knowing how to prune fruit trees helps too.