The laughter, the tears, the drinks and the fears… all in the presence of good neighbours and furry friends.
Pour yourself a cup of tea, sit back, and think about what makes your life significant. What are your jollies, the things that give you a warm glow and make your eyes twinkle when you talk about them? Your work? A neighbour of mine is fond of asking if I know anyone who, in the fading hours of life, will say "Gee, I wish I had had just one more day at work." Now that puts work in its right light! But what about one more day fishing the favourite pool, or biking the back roads, or around the table with special friends, or just a few more hours to stare out the window at the busyness of nature? My magic carpet takes me to those places when I'm daydreaming.
The places that give my life significance are my woodsy wilderness retreats. One is on a lake, a little one-room joyful spot. The other place is on a river and has a big wood cookstove. It's a cosy place any time of year, but especially in the cold of winter. Both are surrounded by greenery alive year-round with flying, twittering and squirming things. Both are filled with furniture and stuff of indeterminate pedigree. I don't have blinds or curtains because the outdoor living things don't care if I behave with decorum. Nor do they care if my music is too loud. When a good fiddle tune comes on the radio, my dogs and I do our own version of a square dance or jig to full volume, and nobody gives a darn. When we want peace, the technology is turned off and there isn't a whisper of car tires or ambulances. There aren't any lawns in my neighbourhood, so we don't suffer the sound of people being tidy. Intrusion instead might be in the form of a blue jay outside, or the boiling kettle on the wood stove inside.
For several years I was alone in my hidey-hole at the river, miles away from the closest corner store. I had carved out a life of my own invention with just enough tranquillity to want more. Now I have neighbours. Paradise has been discovered. We survive by having the same values and respecting our differences. We're friends.
Neighbours care about each other. It doesn't make any difference if they are family or friends next door, both teach tolerance and good behaviour. You learn to feel the pulse between solitude and sociability-when privacy is to be honoured or when contact is desired.
What you hope for in your neighbour is that he'll fix your pump, she'll split a bottle of wine, and that together you'll share comfort when weather happens. Good neighbours are sanctuaries in troubled times. They sit beside you as you watch the river rise after a rainstorm or an ice jam-together you cross your fingers, silently pray, and talk about strategies and options. That's comfort.
Neighbours want the news about others nearby-who's thinking of getting a new car, where buddy is getting his wood this year, who has the flu. It's important that you know what's happening in the neighbourhood. You look out for each other without seeming to be nosy. There are unwritten rules. Advice is welcome, complaints aren't. Tools are shared, partners aren't.
Was it Robert Frost who said that good fences make good neighbours? I don't agree that's always true. I don't want a fence-I want greenery that allows the deer to travel among our places, our dogs to visit back and forth and friends to feel free to drop in any time, invited or not. I want the greenery to block my snooping at who is visiting next door. When my light is on in the middle of the night I don't want my neighbours to call to see if everything is OK. I just want to know that they're there when I want or need them.
As I write, I realize that I'm also talking about a neighbourhood far larger than my immediate one. I'm talking, too, about our Eastern provinces.
As Atlantic Canadians we've always felt a close kinship with each other. Though we sometimes engage in jocular competition, we're close enough to share a cup of sugar when we need it. From all corners we gather in Moncton for Sunday shopping. PEI's beaches and golf courses are a weekend outing. Vacations in Nova Scotia or Newfoundland are truly restful-their diversity offers new territory each time.
Other friends live next door. As a northern New Brunswicker, my closest neighbours and friends were from Quebec. Our NB and Gaspé roots are fed by the Baie des Chaleurs. Gaspésians, like our friends in Newfoundland and Labrador, teach us to sing and dance and love life. They are the epitome of the lessons we learn from Don't Sweat the Small Stuff.
Good neighbours, good friends. My new neighbours at the river add flavour to the soup of our little community. They add chapters to our stories of building and fishing and separations and grieving. The lights of the house downriver don't offend at night. Instead they tell me that friends are near. The "palace" being built on the upriver side is not offensive-it will be a place for friendly gatherings and music.
My little dogs and their big dogs all like each other. They, too, have their unwritten rules of behaviour. They don't need fences to confine them-they drop over next door, pay their respects and return home. My wee spaniels, Sir Kedgewick (Kedgie) and Lord Restigouche (Tigouche) would be heartbroken if a fence prevented their darting next door for some love and attention from Peggy and the standard poodles, Buddy and Dancer. Angus, the black 100-plus pound Labrador puppy from upriver brings his pal Gunner, the Chesapeake, over for a quick hello and a sniff. Dogs and people are welcome!
Like the dogs, we country people have created a life full of freedom and pleasure. Would I go back to a neighbour-free pet-less existence? Not on your life! Would you? My neighbours at both of my retreats are my friends, the finest kind. I'm glad I have them next door, and I'm glad I live next door to other East Coasters. Now and then the lure of rural delights in other provinces tempt me to explore other people's countryside. And I'm always thankful for my discovery of new friends and neighbours. Aren't we rich!