In the realm of parenting, the adage “no fences make good neighbors” holds significant weight. It reflects the essence of community and connection.
“Sure,” I reply, as my son dashes into the yard and through the thicket of trees that divides our properties. “Just don’t be a bother,” I call after him, knowing he might not grasp the meaning of my words. His little brother follows closely behind.
I send a quick message to my friend, Lisa. “The kids are coming over. If it gets too hectic, feel free to send them home.” Her reply is reassuring: “No worries.” Still, I can’t help but feel anxious.
I genuinely appreciate my neighbors. There’s an unspoken blessing in having good neighbors, which feels almost like divine intervention. And the thought of my family jeopardizing that harmony terrifies me.
Seven years ago, my partner, Tom, and I chose to build our home in a picturesque, wooded area of Pennsylvania. The allure of rural living comes with the luxury of space. Our neighbors are not right next door, as each home is set on an acre of land, allowing for a sense of privacy.
During the construction of our home, a delightful older couple moved in next to us. They were kind and friendly, yet they kept to themselves. Across the street was a lovely family, but their children were older than mine, who were just infants at the time. However, last December, both families departed within the same week.
“Don’t fret,” friends reassured. “Perhaps a family with young children will move in.” I doubted that possibility.
“We’re all by ourselves now,” I told Tom. “I don’t like it.”
After a long winter, I noticed a moving truck next door. My heart raced with excitement as I watched toys being unloaded into the yard. “They have kids!” I exclaimed. But anxiety crept in. What if their dogs barked incessantly? What if they played loud music? What if they were terrible neighbors? Perhaps isolation was better; maybe neighbors weren’t worth the potential drama.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I wandered to the edge of our property, peeking through the trees. I waved half-heartedly and shouted, “Welcome!” I introduced myself to Sarah and Mike, who had relocated from Indiana.
Midwesterners! They embody kindness!
I promptly invited them to my daughter’s first birthday celebration. “It’ll be in our backyard, with Mexican food and a piñata,” I said cheerfully.
“Stop trying to sell them on it,” Tom chided. “They’ll come over.”
“But they could have chosen anywhere to live, and they picked next door!” I insisted. “Their kids are the same age as ours. We’re fortunate!”
I felt incredibly grateful. Our kids thrive in each other’s company, and Sarah and Mike are fantastic. Sarah, a former teacher like me, is the same age. Mike enjoys grilling and is a fan of the local football team. They bond over sports and craft beers, and we frequently host barbecues together. Mike and Tom even cleared a path through the brush, enabling our kids to visit each other’s homes freely. My children are ecstatic to see their friends outside, racing to put on their shoes before breakfast is served.
I often visit Sarah to chat. Conversations flow easily, and hours slip by. When Tom arrives home, he and Mike discuss paving our gravel driveways, sharing a beer—on a Tuesday! No longer do we wait for the weekend to socialize, as our friends live right next door.
Still, I find myself worried. It’s not the free-spirited 1980s anymore. I ponder over trivial matters my mother never considered. Am I allowing my children to be bothersome? Is my youngest throwing a tantrum? Should I call them home? I don’t want Sarah to feel obligated to entertain me. I suggest she send the kids over to give her a breather, but their joy keeps them rooted where they are, and I sit in my kitchen, penning this reflection, feeling slightly guilty.
The boys soon return for their swimsuits, eager to splash around in the neighbor’s sprinkler. I hope they’re not overstepping.
Did my mother ever question whether I was overstaying my welcome? More often than not, she was unaware of which yard I played in until she called my name from the doorway. She often sent me outside with a directive not to return for an hour. I would inevitably find a friend to play with, transforming a mundane day into an adventure filled with laughter and imagination.
Yet, in 2023, parenting has transformed into a more structured endeavor. Playdates are meticulously organized, and children seldom venture outdoors without supervision. Living in a rural area means a 20-minute drive for a playdate. I’m ever-present in my children’s lives, in a manner my mother never was.
I’m aware that Sarah shares similar concerns. She recently texted an apology when the boys came home covered in dirt.
“Are you kidding?” I replied. “My boys are just enjoying a summer day, soaked from the sprinkler.”
It truly doesn’t get any better than this.
In summary, the relationship between neighbors can profoundly impact family life, fostering joy and community. Embracing the connections we build, even in a more structured world, allows us to create cherished memories for our children.
Keyphrase: No Barriers Foster Great Relationships
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