Four Things I’ve Learned from Living on the Same Street for Over 21 Years

Photo by @elsbethcat

Conversations on the Street

I am walking the dog one morning when I see my neighbor four houses down taking her trash out. She and I have been neighbors for twenty years. The last time I talked to her she told me her daughter was working on college applications.

“Did Emma make her final choice of school?” I ask, amazed she is almost done with high school. I still see Emma as a two-year-old toddling to our front yard with her dad close behind to walk the railroad tie along our property line.

“She actually leaves in a week,” my neighbor replies. “She was accepted, UCSD,” she adds. Her dad would be so proud, I think but don’t say, remembering his bright smile.

When he died Emma was in early elementary school and my neighbor kept his passing private. Even though many of us knew he was sick, I didn’t find out until days later from another neighbor. And when I did, I rushed down to her house and sat on the steps in her entryway, listening as she cried.

During the year afterward, I would visit her sometimes at the small convenient store she owned just to check in when I didn’t see her on our street.

“Good luck with all the packing,” I say as I continue my walk and think about all the conversations, memories, visits, and general life together I’ve shared with the people on my street over the last twenty-one years.

Here are four of the many things I have learned:

One, a chili cook-off is always a good idea.

When my husband and I moved into our house having been married only a few years, I was fascinated by the idea of creating a community on our street. A number of neighbors were connected, some had lived there since the late 70s when the houses were built.

I liked the idea of creating a small-town feel in the middle of a sprawling Southern California coastal suburb. So I planned a chili cook-off. With the help of one of my new friends on the street, we gave invitations to every house on the street.

For thirteen years, I set up our backyard with tables and hay bales. One year we even featured a local high school jazz band led by two of the men who were next-door neighbors at the end of our street. Every year as I explained the instructions for voting, I would give a little speech about community.

Two, Little Free Libraries are about more than books.

When we were knee-deep in the pandemic, I realized I had purchased a LOT of books that now overflowed my shelves. They had kept me company during the isolation and I decided to share them with my neighbors.

I often passed other Little Free Libraries around town and thought this would be a perfect addition to my front planter. Our neighborhood once had a monthly book club and I knew there were many readers on the street who might enjoy close access to books.

Once it was cemented in place, the little plaque affixed to the door, my Little Free Library became a simple, and simply delightful way to connect with neighbors old and new, and to share my love of books with others.

Photo by Author

Sometimes our book conversations turn into life conversations. The little library has also become a place of connection for new neighbors or for neighbors who live alone and enjoy connecting during their daily walks.

Three, meals are a gift in times of crisis.

About 17 years ago, my neighbors directly across from me suffered a tragedy. The husband, a family law attorney, had been in court one morning when he suddenly died from an aneurysm leaving behind his wife and a daughter with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Although my neighbor had a lot of family help, there were nights when her driveway held only her car. Months after the funeral as she tried to settle into a new normal, I knew she was often alone. One evening, I called over and said I was making lasagna, and asked if I could bring her one. Without hesitation, she said yes.

This became a regular occurrence where I would call to say I was making dinner and would be over with some for her and her daughter in a bit.

This gradually developed into a meal train for the street. For years, when neighbors had babies or surgeries some of us would organize a schedule and bring dinners to the household in need. It is the simplest way to support one another.

If a neighbor doesn’t cook, they find out a favorite restaurant and pick up food. We drop off meals and come back later for the dishes. Meals are a great way to say, “You’re not alone.”

Four, we don’t all have to own six-foot-long tables.

One time a neighbor was hosting a party and mentioned in passing that she needed to buy some six-foot tables. I quickly said, “Don’t do it! I have two you can borrow and I think G has some too.”

In fact, G, three houses down, sometimes had a stack of them resting against her house free for borrowing. “There’s no need for all of us to be storing a bunch of six-foot tables,” I added.

This sharing mentality in my neighborhood doesn’t just include six-foot tables. My husband and I share a lawn mower with our next-door neighbor. We take turns mowing the small plot of shared grass out front. And by “take turns,” I mean he usually beats us to it and I effusively thank him every time he’s standing in my driveway with the trimmer. I also gift him a nice bottle of wine every Christmas.

Along our street, we also share tile saws, air compressors, cake pans, board games, and extra tall ladders to name just a few of the many items that have journeyed from house to house.

A community mindset in conflict.

Of course, not all the houses on the street are friends with every house. There are smaller pockets of connections at different points on our street and people who keep to themselves.

And we have certainly dealt with conflict. There have been some hard times with police calls, divorces, deaths, tricky elections, and the pandemic.

But approaching my neighborhood from a community-building perspective informs how I navigate hard times. It means listening to my neighbor with a very different political viewpoint than mine and asking questions about his opinions instead of angrily debating him.

I was able to do this because for 15 years before this conversation we were building connections between our families. I know he is much more than just his political ideas. Having a community mindset also helps me release resentments or frustrations.

One Last Example.

A few months ago, I heard my name called as I got out of my car in the driveway. It was the son of our neighbor two houses down. Now in his early twenties, he wanted to tell me about his recent acceptance to UCLA.

As I crossed the grass to hug him there were tears in my eyes. I remember when this young man came to live permanently with his dad as an adolescent. I remember some of his bumps in the road and the loss of his mother.

I celebrated his joining the marines after high school and his later enrollment in the community college where I teach. When he was ready to transfer to a four-year university, he asked if I would write a recommendation letter. I wrote about his perseverance, drive, and the growth I had seen in him over the years.

At that moment, as I cheered him and his great news, I knew this was just one of the many gifts of creating community in my neighborhood for 21 years…and counting.