IN WHICH WE GROW BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH OUR NEIGHBOR

We live next door to an old man who, having arrived at a state of being retired and sound of body, has but one job: the maintenance of his yard.

All summer I watched him mow his lawn twice a week, whether it needed it or not.  The year progressed, and the trees of everyone else on our street started dropping leaves, except for him.  He has no trees to mar the landscape of the impeccable, closely-shorn grass that extends neatly into every corner of his well-defined property.  It isn’t hard to tell where his part ends and ours begins.

Our yard boasts two quite tall, flourishingly healthy trees, and both were thickly laden with leaves at the onset of September.  Both did what trees do, counterintuitive as it seems, and shed their clothes when the days got cold.  Our yard quickly became nothing more than a depository for the garments our trees had rejected.  Mark and I had several conversations about investing in a pair of rakes, but while we talked a big game, our lawn stayed covered in leaves.

Meanwhile, our neighbor came out every morning with a leaf-blower to clear his own yard of leaves.  Our leaves.

Early in the evening on Monday, we had a knock at the door.  Libby howled the alarm: unexpected visitors.  Mark opened the door to talk to our neighbor and the teenaged boy who was accompanying him.  This was the story: the boy had very innocently asked Mr. Yard Always in Order if he would like to have his yard raked, and instead of a simple answer, he’d been told that it wouldn’t do any good unless he also offered his services to the folks next door.  The ones with the trees.

Mark heard the boy’s price, and agreed.  Really, what else could he say in the presence of the only person more interested in our yard than us?

I was heading out the next morning when Neighbor Man called to me from across the fence.

Did I have bags for the boys to fill when they came?

No, but I was on my way to get them, I said.

All right, he said.  Just checking.

That evening, four boys showed up at our house.  They filled ten large bags to the brim and worked on into the dark – to their credit, they were thorough.  At Mark’s request, they left the bags clustered near the house before leaving.

Of course we knew that we should have the bags moved out to the curb by Friday morning for pickup.  We knew it just as well as we knew that we ought to have had our leaves under control.  But after such a good long run of irresponsibility, why stop now?  Besides, the thermometer has been showing us some very small numbers. 

There was a knock on the door this morning.  Libby sounded the alarm.

The neighbor wanted to know: would I like him to put our bags of leaves out?

I tried not to look too sheepish and ran to get my coat to help him.  It’s amazing how far a little embarrassment goes toward keeping you warm on a frigid day – that and the exertion from moving ten overstuffed bags of leaves.

And that is the story of how our yard came to look almost as good as the one next door.  Almost.