Sliding Back Door Neighbours
I spent several months last January moving my Mom’s belongings out of our 1845 farmhouse into her new condo. But, on this particularly cold, windy, gray, winter day, I found myself stuck in deep snowdrifts by the driving shed without mitts, a hat, or snow tires. The sun was beginning its decent, and so was my energy level. It had been a lonely, and at times, depleting process, trip after trip, up and down our well-worn gravel lane.
With a sigh, I headed into the shed in search of a shovel, some sand, a board, anything that might dig me out of the spinning wheel of a mess I had found myself in. When I secured the latch on the door, grief met me unannounced. I immediately yearned for my Dad who, if he were still alive, would have promptly rescued me from myself.
Squinting, I could make out his green plaid jacket hanging on a nail beside our horses’ bridles, halters, and reins. Adding plaid to more plaid, he’d slip on this jacket every morning before heading out to the milk house. When I leaned in to feel the inside of the fur, I smelt the faint scent of Irish Spring soap.
Predictably, I came fully undone.
Sliding down the door, I grabbed my knees and cried softly. With wet pants and frozen hands, I pulled out my phone and promptly called my neighbour Bambi Paleshi. –Not the Mennonite neighbours who had lived on either side of our farm for centuries, neighbours I knew from having lived there through university, but my neighbour in Mannheim, the one that lived 45 minutes from the snow-covered dirt floor I was sitting on.
Bambi is kind, and generous, and he’s anchored in deep family history that has shaped his values and purpose. He’s a loving Dad; he reminds me of my Dad. Bambi answered after the first ring like he was expecting me. “Everything ok?” I swallowed hard, hoping to steady my weepy voice and answered, “Well, I’m in Goldstone and I’m stuck and need to be pulled out of a snowbank. Can you help me?”
He came out with a tow rope that I hadn’t seen, but that had been sandwiched between my Dad’s coat and the horse tack, as though my Dad knew I would need it this very day. I was on my way within minutes.
Through a twist of fate, he was ten minutes from the farm. Literally, about to drive by. He had just purchased a new pick-up truck at a car auction hours before and was on his way back home. He told me to “sit tight” and he’d be there is a flash. When his shiny black Ford F150 barreled through the snow, stopping centimeters from the hitch of my SUV, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. He hopped out, gave me a warm and protective hug and headed straight for the shed. He came out with a tow rope that I hadn’t seen, but that had been sandwiched between my Dad’s coat and the horse tack, as though my Dad knew I would need it this very day. I was on my way within minutes.
My neighbours have pushed oversized couches through doorways inches too small and chased scheduled contractors out of our backyard convinced they were up to no good. I have borrowed and not returned, blocks of cream cheese, bottles of wine, and jars of tomato sauce. And still, keto muffins, Thai coconut soup, and big, warm batches of chili regularly appear on my front step.
We have joked about building a tunnelled bridge to avoid the well-worn snow paths between our homes. We have drafted up rough sketches for a lazy river during boozy game nights at the kitchen table, that we could ride from the top of our hill to the bottom. Through COVID we have bought and traded groceries, had pizza delivered to each house and ate it together on horribly stilted zoom calls.
Bambi and all my neighbours are, “sliding backdoor neighbours” who walk in without needing to knock. They show up to rescue, resuscitate, and regularly relax with us. They have stood with us to mark all our life milestones, tragic and euphoric and everything in between.
It’s the “in between” that has come to mean so much to me. The small, seemingly insignificant moments that are weaved together to create the most beautiful tapestry of memories, imprinting my heart, and creating the truest meaning of life. Right here in Mannheim, and always when needed, love in action is always one quick phone call away.
Sliding Back Door Neighbours
I spent several months last January moving my Mom’s belongings out of our 1845 farmhouse into her new condo. But, on this particularly cold, windy, gray, winter day, I found myself stuck in deep snowdrifts by the driving shed without mitts, a hat, or snow tires. The sun was beginning its decent, and so was my energy level. It had been a lonely, and at times, depleting process, trip after trip, up and down our well-worn gravel lane.
With a sigh, I headed into the shed in search of a shovel, some sand, a board, anything that might dig me out of the spinning wheel of a mess I had found myself in. When I secured the latch on the door, grief met me unannounced. I immediately yearned for my Dad who, if he were still alive, would have promptly rescued me from myself.
Squinting, I could make out his green plaid jacket hanging on a nail beside our horses’ bridles, halters, and reins. Adding plaid to more plaid, he’d slip on this jacket every morning before heading out to the milk house. When I leaned in to feel the inside of the fur, I smelt the faint scent of Irish Spring soap.
Predictably, I came fully undone.
Sliding down the door, I grabbed my knees and cried softly. With wet pants and frozen hands, I pulled out my phone and promptly called my neighbour Bambi Paleshi. –Not the Mennonite neighbours who had lived on either side of our farm for centuries, neighbours I knew from having lived there through university, but my neighbour in Mannheim, the one that lived 45 minutes from the snow-covered dirt floor I was sitting on.
Bambi is kind, and generous, and he’s anchored in deep family history that has shaped his values and purpose. He’s a loving Dad; he reminds me of my Dad. Bambi answered after the first ring like he was expecting me. “Everything ok?” I swallowed hard, hoping to steady my weepy voice and answered, “Well, I’m in Goldstone and I’m stuck and need to be pulled out of a snowbank. Can you help me?”
He came out with a tow rope that I hadn’t seen, but that had been sandwiched between my Dad’s coat and the horse tack, as though my Dad knew I would need it this very day. I was on my way within minutes.
Through a twist of fate, he was ten minutes from the farm. Literally, about to drive by. He had just purchased a new pick-up truck at a car auction hours before and was on his way back home. He told me to “sit tight” and he’d be there is a flash. When his shiny black Ford F150 barreled through the snow, stopping centimeters from the hitch of my SUV, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. He hopped out, gave me a warm and protective hug and headed straight for the shed. He came out with a tow rope that I hadn’t seen, but that had been sandwiched between my Dad’s coat and the horse tack, as though my Dad knew I would need it this very day. I was on my way within minutes.
My neighbours have pushed oversized couches through doorways inches too small and chased scheduled contractors out of our backyard convinced they were up to no good. I have borrowed and not returned, blocks of cream cheese, bottles of wine, and jars of tomato sauce. And still, keto muffins, Thai coconut soup, and big, warm batches of chili regularly appear on my front step.
We have joked about building a tunnelled bridge to avoid the well-worn snow paths between our homes. We have drafted up rough sketches for a lazy river during boozy game nights at the kitchen table, that we could ride from the top of our hill to the bottom. Through COVID we have bought and traded groceries, had pizza delivered to each house and ate it together on horribly stilted zoom calls.
Bambi and all my neighbours are, “sliding backdoor neighbours” who walk in without needing to knock. They show up to rescue, resuscitate, and regularly relax with us. They have stood with us to mark all our life milestones, tragic and euphoric and everything in between.
It’s the “in between” that has come to mean so much to me. The small, seemingly insignificant moments that are weaved together to create the most beautiful tapestry of memories, imprinting my heart, and creating the truest meaning of life. Right here in Mannheim, and always when needed, love in action is always one quick phone call away.