Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?

One of the biggest adjustments in moving to Maine 6 months ago has been an unexpected one. It's been a loooong time since I've lived in a neighborhood where the neighbors were, well.... neighborly.

Over the last ten or so years of post-college life, my neighbors have been known to me as stock characters on the periphery of my existence.

In my early DC years with my fantastic roommate, there was the Group House with Three Hot Guys across the street. We'd go to their parties, they'd come to ours. Sometimes we'd run into each other at the Metro station. Then there was the Bitchy Downstairs Couple in our next building -- the people who we rarely saw (we used separate entrances), but who left emotional letters tacked to the inside of the common area doors, usually pleas for more help with taking the trash out, or not leaving bras hanging to dry in the laundry room. In Harvard Square my husband and I knew our upstairs neighbors, Our Landlords, because they were related to our best friends. There was The Cambridge Cop with a Rotweiller to our left -- only knew him as "Kevin" and only conversed with him when "P.D." (I always thought it was "Petey" until he corrected us) was "P-ing" on our trashbins. In Belmont, there was Irate Shared Driveway guy to the right, and Excercise-Obsessed Blond Girl on the right. Our back yard was bordered by The People who had a Daughter named Kristen. Regardless of our location, the neighbors were people who only existed in street vignettes, etc, and who never trespassed into my personal life or space unless invited to do so. In ten years I cannot remember even one time when someone knocked on the door to visit, unannounced.

Since moving to Maine my whole understanding of "neighbor" has changed. A few weeks before we moved in, we came up to paint some of the interior rooms, and left my car in the driveway. It sat there until we officially moved in 10 days later... and in those two weeks, my car became a proxy for my self... it inadvertently became my "advance team", telling my neighbors everything they needed to know about me. (Well-loved, more-than-gently used Toyota RAV4, carseat and dog crate in the back, ski rack on top, Kerry-Edwards bumper sticker, couple of college decals...) It created a "buzz" about their soon-to-be-new neighbors.

Since we moved in, knocks on the door have become a near-daily occurence. People looking for lost dogs, people taking signatures for a neighborhood traffic protest, people bringing cookies and holiday gifts. People have stopped by to welcome us, to tell us the history of the house, to invite us to neighborhood association events. People come to tell us joyous news of new babies, and to cry about husbands having heart attacks, and sometimes they just stop by to say hello.

More surreal, yet, they expect us to return this behavior at will by dropping in on them when we are free. People who casually say -- "we should get together Saturday afternoon" --- really mean "we should get together Saturday afternoon" (When we lived in the city, people who casually said -- "we should get together Saturday afternoon" -- really meant "it's the polite thing to say I'd like to hang out with you again, but really we both know that weekends are sacred and there's slim to no chance that either of us will call each other to make a plan, so see you whenever, ok?")

In DC and Boston environs, we had an active and wonderful social life. But every event was planned to the minute. Dinner with friends was booked days, sometimes, weeks in advance. Most communication regarding social activity took place in Evite cyber sessions. Plans were check and double checked with spouses, babysitters, anyone who cared to chime in.

If someone knocked at my door unannounced in Belmont, chances are I would have not answered it. I would have assumed it was UPS or Fed Ex (and even these interactions have been largely reduced to not even requiring a live person or a signature) I mean -- who drops by without calling first? So at first I was annoyed at this intrusion into my Maine private life. On more than one occasion a neighbor has dropped by, car running, inviting me to join them on some fantastically mundane errand. Of course I need to go the mohair yarn shoppe! Why wouldn't I want to go with you to the LL Bean factory store? Thank you SO much for thinking of me! And away we go.

It never fails that when these "drop-ins"occur I am either un-showered or un-dressed, or covered in paint or baby food, or napping or very involved in some home project or work related report. But over time these rugged Mainers and their neighborly "take care of our own" ways have started to win me over. They don't care if I'm wearing a baseball cap while we have coffee, if my house is a mess when they drop by to chat, or if I have white paint on my shoes while we go out to select worsted wool. In return they share their own insecurities, messy houses and personality quirks, and along the way some wonderful insights, anecdotes, and comradery.

It's a small point, but one I put out there as one of the many wonderful reasons to live in this great state. And one I've been thinking about a lot this week now that our resident ties to MA have been cut. Many of you have been wondering why we decided to leave urban life and move here. I know a lot of our friends have this image of Maine -- particularly in the winter -- as a harsh, barren, frozen arctic landscape, with people holed up like hermits in snow caves. We've realized WE have been the hermits!! While the weather may be less hospitable than points south, we have learned that this brings even more resiliency to the fabulously warm people that live here... people who can read volumes in bumper stickers, are generous with their hospitality, and aren't afraid to reach out and pull city hermits out of their shells.

I think this will be the best move we've ever made.
Come visit soon!