On Neighbors: Growing Connections Through Ignorance, Emotions and Allowance

I just watched four squirrels carry off four of my neighbors’ tomatoes in the span of four minutes, and I can’t stop laughing about it. Each one ran from the backyard to the front carrying a small green tomato, following the exact same path as the squirrel before it. I wish I had taken a video! Just yesterday, we all stood outside discussing our respective garden challenges and I heard more than a few tales about the antics of these scheming squirrels. As I listened to the neighbors get more animated about their adventures as they talked, I wondered how much of their concentrated fears about these squirrels have played into their current tomato wars. Just saying. Over here across the street, we have achieved an easy peace with our squirrels, but I will always remember the hard lessons that preceded our present state of garden zen.

Several years ago, my husband Fred became mildly obsessed with the squirrels who were eating our tomatoes as we dealt with the same issue. He sounded just like the neighbors that year. No surprise: it was our most fruitless year by far (they left us with some, but we’re kinda used to a plethora!). The squirrels seemed to taunt Fred as they perched on our fence posts, chilling, holding a large tomato with both hands. He swore that they liked to wait until he was watching them before taking a bite or two of what they stole, and then chucking it to the ground as a final blow. 

In many ways, this felt intensely personal to him, and he felt the need to ‘solve’ it. Check any garden advice site, and you will find several people experiencing this same outrage about critters and thievery. A gardener’s rite of passage, if you will. The combination of inner heartbreak and outrage ringing out at the same time is painful to watch — and all over the loss of fruit from a simple plant. Sometimes people put so much intention into their plants, that they become overly invested in the outcome, while being unaware how to handle the loss, emotionally. Instead of seeing that fact, we call it failure, and sometimes even question our abilities. Our feelings are funny like that. They lead us in a lot of different directions, but if we are paying attention, it also teaches us a lot about how we handle our feelings. Powerful stuff.

Currently, our garden (right across the street) is incredibly flush with tomatoes, while our neighbors have yet to grow one to size. At the same time, they have a bumper crop of cucumbers and zucchini this season, and, sadly, we do not. Our plants started off really well, but the squash bugs finally had their way with them while our focus was diverted to disc golf for a few weeks (spectacularly unsuccessful in my case). I can’t speak for everyone involved, but I can see how the natural course of my life has pushed and pulled my feelings toward more pressing priorities this summer, even though squash bugs have generally gotten my attention pretty quickly in other years. This season, pest problems weren't able to make it very high onto my values list, and I can remember the exact moment where I chose to give up on the squash plant. It was a tough decision, but it was the right one. We had already enjoyed about 20 zucchini, and I made myself grateful for what I had already received, instead of irritated with what I wasn’t going to get. That definitely helped.

I was able to share the last few of our squash crop with my extended family – preparing the dish with everybody piled into the kitchen offering advice about how to cook it. Perfect family chaos, and I made a mental note to appreciate the palpable joy I felt in the moment, celebrating the end of its season early. Yes, I was mourning the loss of my beautiful plant, but I am also still grieving about my dad (who LOVED tomatoes). Perspective. 

The universe is a magical place, especially if you are paying attention to all it has to offer. Unbeknownst to me, my neighbors’ were having a banner squash year, so I was still fully covered, even when I thought I wasn’t. Things have worked out fantastically for all of us. The neighbors have graciously shared what they’ve grown with us, and we have kept them supplied with amazing tomatoes. Turns out, we all get to have what we thought we’d lost, and we have spent time appreciating that outcome. 

These particular neighbors are (or at least appear to be) master gardeners, adhering to specific rules and tending their treasures according to tried and true specs. Over here across the street, we try to master our garden by observing it and responding to what we think it needs. We have found that our ignorance of what ‘should be’ has worked in our favor more often than not since we started growing things, so that’s just how we do it. We are almost as active in the garden as the neighbors are, but it feels like we don’t have to work nearly as hard as they do to feel good about what we produce. I believe it all comes down to how we are each conditioned to experience the simple joys that life offers every single day. They are conditioned to work really hard at things, while Fred and I have a more breezy, energetic approach.

Since we live across the street from one another, it really surprised me to find so many differences in what we are able to grow and harvest each year, comparatively. Raise your hand if you believe that their squirrels like tomatoes and ours don’t? Our opposite approaches create contrasts in which plants are having a particularly striking year, and I’m learning a lot about what is possible by simply observing how everyone is feeling about their garden at any given time. True story. Neither household has the same luck with the same plants each year, but we are finding that our gardens always complement each other very well. We all get to enjoy a well-rounded group of ingredients for our very different styles of cooking. Recently, they shared an abundance of strawberries with us, and by the end of the day, they had brought over a lovely smoothie to share. We had just finished making a strawberry jalapeno hot sauce, and already had a jar with their name on it. We spent the day exchanging joy all around us!

As neighbors, we didn’t get off to a great start. The night we moved in, one of them backed into my car. The next day, another one backed into my mother’s car. Without a hint of apology, they blamed us for their error. By their explanation, no one had parked there in the 28 years that they had lived there, and they wanted to continue that trend. They came over, knocked on the door, and formally requested that no one park there. Ever. We politely explained that we had three teenagers and that wasn’t going to be possible. My mother, not known for subtlety, suggested that they might focus on learning to look behind them before leaving their driveway, instead. I don’t think it landed very well, because it took a few years for us to find our way back to making any conversation at all. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all, but it didn’t feel very neighborly either.

Eventually, a new neighbor moved in next door to them. She was recently divorced, and her only child was a senior in high school. When I say he liked to party, what I mean is that several nights of the week there were as many as 20 cars full of high school kids sneaking cases of beer around the back of the house to the basement window and then knocking on the front door for entry. This forced a lot of discussions amongst the neighbors. For my part, I didn’t mind getting up early and cleaning up a few random beer cans in order to keep the peace. The kid was in the hot seat with the neighborhood, but in the driver’s seat at home. I didn’t see any reason to hassle his mom. She looked stressed enough without our nasty comments – which I knew wouldn’t change his behavior. I just hoped she was feeling okay, personally, as I hope for all of my neighbors here and there.

We live at the entrance to our neighborhood, so our house serves as half of the door people come through as they enter or leave. These same neighbors with the garden occupy the other side of the door, across the street from us. As I mentioned, we are very different from them, and our house is very different from theirs. We don’t share the same taste or style, but we are invested in a common effect: making sure that the people who come in and out of our neighborhood feel welcomed by the beauty of what they see. They go out of their way to make their yard reflect who they are, artistically, and so do we. Just like us, they take pride in what they grow, and are willing to share their resources. 

As time goes on, we find ourselves sharing with them more often. We aren’t personal friends, but we are the epitome of neighbors. We discuss our intentions for the rest of our neighborhood, and let the words find their way into the wind. Together, we have been able to provide the produce that each of us lack each summer; experiencing the natural joys that come with a regular exchange of give and take. As each household has worked to beautify our own space, we have created a whole lot of joyful welcome around the threshold into our neighborhood without even knowing it. Occasionally, someone down the street stops to thank us for making it so nice, and that feels great. Now that we have an idea of the full effect, we are happily tapping into it with intention. Now I find myself wishing there was a way to measure the overall state of happiness for an entire neighborhood. In the meantime, I'm here for sharing what I have to give.