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I mentioned something about a neighbor one day and a friend said, “But I didn’t think you had any neighbors.” In the country, if you live on the same road, you are a neighbor, even if you live five miles away. If you get sick, they’ll visit you in the hospital. If you die, they’ll bring a casserole to your family. If you get arrested, they’ll tell everybody who doesn’t know already. They’ll plow your garden, fix your car, and sit on your porch. If you’re lucky, they’ll even build you a house.
I’d heard of Steve-the-Builder before. I’ve heard of everybody in this whole town because Georgia knows everybody and has brought them all a pie. Half the time, I drive her there so she can take them the pie, so she thinks I know them all, too, but I am easily distracted and I don’t take in everything she tells me. Which leads to her coming over to the farmhouse (without knocking, of course) and saying things like, “That man we’ve been waiting on just hasn’t died yet.” Then I stand there, all bewildered, trying to figure out whether to say, “What man?” or commisserate on the time it’s taking him to keel over when everyone is ready with their casseroles. (more…)
Posted by Suzanne McMinn | Permalink
