I grew up in Kansas City, Missouri–yes, Missouri. The major part of Kansas City is not in Kansas. Kansas wasn’t a state when Kansas City was founded in what was the state of Missouri. The town was named for the Kansas River.
But, enough of that geography lesson. Back when I grew up, neighborhoods were friendly and people lived in their homes forever. We knew each other and helped each other. The older I got, the less this was true. We moved so often and seldom knew our neighbors–until we moved to Buchanan Dam, Texas, into a small subdivision with five houses.
Buchanan–pronounced in Texan, BUCK-a-nan–Dam was a lovely place to live. There was an eagles’ nest a few miles west. We had deer who ate my tomatoes which meant I didn’t have to garden–I don’t do that well. We had wild flowers, wonderful views, cool breezes, and great Mexican food down the road, close to Fuzzy’s Corner. 
But the best part was that we had great neighbors. Suzanne was a nurse who looked after out health. One night when George thought he’d had a heart attack–he hadn’t–there was Suzanne, waiting by the ambulance to see what she could do. Down the hill were two boys who kept us in groceries with the chickens and vegetables they raised for 4-H. May and Al lived behind us and kept an eye on the place.
And then there was Bob, a handy man who watched out for all of us. This was sometimes a problem. Once a floor lamp broke so I put it down in the trash. A few days later, Bob made the long trek up our driveway and knocked. When I opened the door, he handed me the lamp which he’d repaired. What a great guy. The only problem was that the lamp still didn’t work. I didn’t want to put it in the trash again because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Actually, my main worry was that Bob would fix it again, bring it back and this would become a never ending loop. My solution was to put it in the back of my car and smuggle it into Burnet where a friend disposed of it for me.
Do you have stories about your neighbors? I’d love to hear them.
