an interesting memory popped up in my facebook profile today . . .
June 12, 2010 early in the morning, I was suddenly awakened by a crashing sound outside in our backyard, and then silence. I looked out the window and couldn’t see anything; but then it occurred to me that I should be seeing a fence. I wasn’t. I watched the car who had backed into a panel of our fence and knocked it down, pull forward, and pull into the garage. The door shut.
With some incredulousness I told Dan “Someone just knocked our fence down.” He joined me at the window. I said “It was our neighbour. She just pulled into the garage.”
We went outside and took a closer look. It was a Friday. We had a dog, so going the day without a fence wasn’t gonna work. Dan took the day off work, went to Home Depot and spent the morning fixing the it. He said it really wasn’t that bad.
Before I left for the store, I posted the following in facebook ….
“our neighbour across the alley just backed into our fence, knocked out several boards and knocked down the huge stack of firewood we had lined up against it onto several perineal plants in their path, and then quietly drove back into their garage and shut the door (while I watched from the window). … ”
Several people responded to my post; my daughter’s response (she knows her mom) was:
“firewood . . . fence . . . whatever. Plants! Boy are they in trouble!”
Some time in the morning, after I had left for work, Dan went over to talk to the neighbour. His wife was just driving away as he got there. The neighbour apologized. His wife had some distress and was on her way to a doctor’s appointment. I do not remember what the story was, not even sure we heard it, but I know there was one. And clearly it was an accident; the kind of accident that your newly driving teenager might have had. As the parent of that newly driving teenager, there would be a list of things one might do, including having the kid own it, and share some responsibility for repairing the damage.
Whether there was an offer to pay for the damage or to help Dan fix it, I do not recall. It wouldn’t be unlike Dan to say “don’t worry about it“, and I wasn’t there. A few days later, before I got home, the lady neighbour came to the door and gave Dan a pint jar of homemade pickled beets – with an apology.
I recall being contemplative for many months when I looked back and considered the events of that day. Who knows what goes on in someone’s mind? What the backstory of any particular event might be? What they were dealing with? It wasn’t a tragedy. No one got hurt. There was no point in losing our minds over it. And within 24 hours, it was as if it hadn’t happened – except that we had a jar of pickled beets in the fridge. But today as that memory showed up on facebook, I reflected on it again. We have been here in this house 26 years and have never really met that neighbours (other than the incidents in this post). I cannot even tell you what they looked like. Though I have spent a few hours working in the alley over the years, we have never run into each other. I wondered if she had avoided me. Or had we perhaps avoided them?
If so, therein lies a tragedy. That such a minor incident could interrupt a relationship we might have had. To be fair, we were very busy raising our five kids, managing our bookstore and Dan’s business, serving in church, and involved with our respective families and aging parents. We hadn’t given it much thought once the fence was fixed, though things like a jar of pickled beets still causes me to smile inwardly.
But we missed the opportunity to be a friend, and at least to be a better neighbour to them. We learned that her husband passed away during Covid. A missed opportunity to bring over a meal and some flowers had we known. I believe we went to a garage sale there a few years ago, and I’m pretty sure that’s where Dan bought me the wagon I use to walk to and from the community garden with my plants and tools.
I feel impressed today that its time to change our story – before it’s too late. We can be better neighbours. We can make a better story than a fence and wood pile and a jar of pickled beets.
I’d love to hear your thoughts and comments, and maybe even your suggestions.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle