Our New Neighbors

By G. E. Shuman

Lorna and I sat on the front porch this afternoon, and, for a few moments, watched our brand new neighbors as they came and went, moving things into their new home. It’s fun seeing new folks arriving in the old neighborhood. Several years ago now, a nice young lady bought the home next to ours, and she has become a true friend to us. More recently, a wonderful, young, newly- wed couple moved into the house behind ours. They have also become good friends, and have added two beautiful children to their family since their arrival here. That brood has wasted no time in feathering their ‘love nest’ with new paint, recent landscaping, and other improvements. It is true that tenants come and go in the large apartment building next door, but, with few exceptions, they have also been gracious and friendly to us. Some of our friends wonder why we live in the ‘city’ of Barre. The fact is we have gotten to know many great people here, including Ellen, the sexy single senior two houses up on the next street. (Yes, older single guys, I can get you her number, but be forewarned. She’s a live wire. You’d better take your Geritol, if they still make that stuff.) When living in a city, even if it’s little ol’ Barre City, it’s comforting to know that you have good neighbors.
For years I have tried to encourage all manner of ‘city’ wildlife (except for Ellen) to roost, nest, or otherwise get accustomed to life at our home. I’m unsure why I have done this. I am just as unsure why I have failed so miserably in these efforts, and also why I continue to try so hard each year to raise potted tomatoes and flowers here. My thumbs are not green. Not even a little. I have had no real success with any of this, except for with my efforts at squirrel feeding. Those hungry guys are almost too ‘at home’, at our home. I think they have recently taken up residence in the attic, which is something I must soon deal with, if I cannot find a way to charge them rent. I know, true Vermonters shoot squirrels and hang their tails on the mirrors of their pickup trucks. I’m from Maine, and I don’t own a truck. So, I’m allowed, by law, to feed the squirrels. I have also had some success at attracting the occasional skunk onto our property, if you can call that success. Other forms of wildlife, birds in particular, have always avoided our home. Bird feeders here have remained full until the food rots or my squirrel buddies find it. The liquid in hummingbird feeders dries up long before any hummingbirds get to taste it. Bird houses have always remained empty at our place. Several wild bird -sized domiciles stand unoccupied and in disrepair in the upper reaches of our large maple tree. I have never understood this.
You can, then, imagine how excited I became when I first noticed our new neighbors the other evening. I had just finished hooking the dog out, and looked up into one of the trees on the front lawn. I happened to do this just in time to witness a little chickadee couple enter the fancily-painted bird house Emily gave me last summer. I watched for several moments as they flew into the precisely-chickadee-sized circular entrance, with bits of straw and fluff. Coming home from work this afternoon, I noticed Lorna on the porch, and hurried to tell her of the new arrivals. She was as happy as I was to see them.
‘Less’ has always meant ‘more’ to me. I think I fit the definition of a minimalist, at least as far as personal possessions are concerned. I believe that living simply… is simply best. Shelter from storms, protection from the cold winds of life, privacy, and a safe home for one’s family are what matter most. The rest is all ‘fluff’ for nest stuffing. I quote Lemony Snicket’s definition of sanctuary , which is what a home should be: “a small, safe place, in a troubling world.” Even the chickadees seem to know this.