“Uh, okay,” I reply, as my son dashes into the yard and races through the trees that separate our homes. “Just don’t be a nuisance!” I call after him, though I’m not sure he even grasps what that means. His little brother follows closely behind.
I shoot a text to my neighbor, Lisa. “The boys are over. If they get too wild, feel free to send them back.” She quickly responds, “No worries.” Yet, I can’t shake my anxiety.
I genuinely cherish my neighbors. It feels almost divine, like some unseen force has blessed us with wonderful neighbors. And I fear my family might inadvertently ruin it all.
Seven years ago, before kids came into the picture, my partner and I built our home in a serene area of Pennsylvania. Living in a rural environment offers the added perk of space. Sure, there are neighbors, but with each house spread across an acre, they aren’t exactly close.
While our house was under construction, a delightful older couple moved into the lot next to us. They were friendly, warm-hearted folks who mostly kept to themselves. Across the street lived another lovely family, though their children were a bit older than mine, who were just infants back then. But then last December, both families unexpectedly moved away within the same week.
“Don’t fret,” people said. “Maybe a family with young kids will move in.” Yeah, right, I thought.
“We’re all by ourselves,” I told my partner, Jake. “I don’t like it.”
After a long winter, when the snow lingered until April, I noticed a moving truck next door. I scurried around the house, filled with excitement. A mover unloaded plastic toys into the backyard, and I spotted their border collies prancing around the lawn.
“They have kids!” I exclaimed. “And dogs!” But then anxiety crept in. What if those dogs barked all night? What if they blasted music too loudly? What if they turned out to be terrible neighbors? Perhaps being isolated wasn’t so bad after all.
I cautiously approached the property line and peered through the trees. I waved halfheartedly and called, “Welcome!” I introduced myself to Linda and Mark, who had moved from Ohio.
Yes! Midwesterners! The friendliest people around.
I instantly invited them to my daughter’s first birthday party. “It’ll be in our backyard. We’re making tacos and will have a piñata!”
“Stop trying to sell them on it,” Jake chuckled. “They’ll come.”
“They could’ve chosen anywhere, and they picked next door to us,” I insisted. “Their kids are the same age as the boys. We’re so fortunate.”
And fortunate we are! Our kids adore playing together, and Linda and Mark are fantastic. Linda used to teach, just like me, and we’re the same age. Mark loves to grill and is a sports fan, just like Jake. They bond over football discussions and craft beer. We’ve started having holiday barbecues and spontaneous cookouts on Friday nights. Jake and Mark even cleared a path through the brush so our kids can run freely between our homes without crossing the street. My kids can’t contain their excitement when they see the neighbor kids outside. I no longer have to pry the iPad from their hands to coax them outside; they’re quick to put on their shoes before breakfast is even served.
I often wander over to chat with Linda. The conversations flow effortlessly, and before we know it, hours have passed. When Jake comes home from work, he joins Mark for a chat about paving our gravel driveways, sharing a beer on a Tuesday evening—no need to wait for the weekend to enjoy friends, all because they live right next door.
Still, I find myself worried. It’s not the carefree era of the ’80s anymore. I fret about whether my kids are being too loud or if my youngest is throwing a tantrum. Should I call them home? Should I check on Linda? I don’t want her to feel obligated to entertain me. I even encourage her to send the kids to my yard for a break, but they’re having such a blast that no one moves. So here I sit in my kitchen, writing this post, feeling a tad guilty.
The boys soon return, eager for their swimsuits to frolic in the neighbor’s sprinkler. I hope they’re not being a bother. Did my mom ever question if I was overstaying my welcome? Back in her day, she often didn’t even know whose yard I was playing in until she called out my name. She would send me outside with strict instructions not to return for an hour. I’d inevitably find a friend, and what began as a boring day transformed into an adventurous afternoon filled with play.
But in today’s world, life is more structured. Playdates are meticulously planned, and children rarely roam outside without supervision. In our rural county, it can take 20 minutes to drive to a friend’s house, and I find myself constantly around my kids—far more than my mother ever was.
I know Linda grapples with similar worries. She just sent me a text apologizing because the boys returned home covered in dirt.
“Are you kidding?” I replied. “My boys are just enjoying a summer day running through a sprinkler!”
It truly doesn’t get any better than this.