One of the reasons, well, probably the biggest reason my husband and I wanted to have a home in the middle of the woods, was to skip the hassles of having neighbors. There are other people on our road, but they live right on the road, not back in the woods as we do, so beyond a wave when I'm walking the pooch or driving by, we don't see each other. And it is blissful.
All those years of renting with crazy ass neighbors blaring "Eighteen and Life to Go" through their boom boxes or this insane Tijuana music at dinner ... or the naked guy (who walked around in tiny underwear like a pale mutant stripper) who loved to wake up at 5am to death metal, all gone. Distant memories.
My husband and I, like most people, have horrid neighbor stories. We married at eighteen and moved in together as married people are prone to do, but didn't go through a phase of wanting to blast music, have parties, or be loud in general past 10pm ... or even before it. It seemed no matter where we lived, in apartments or houses, the neighbors always impinged upon our life.
But not after we moved here ... not until now.
It's not a big deal, but it has been upsetting. I have to weed whack for about an hour, usually a bit more. Since my mailbox is at the top of our driveway, I weed whack up one side, then stop to do a narrow strip at the driveway's end, around the mailbox, and then back down the other side. Wasn't a terribly big deal until this summer.
It seems the men who live on the road at each side of my driveway believe I not only love weed whacking my own stuff, but that I'd apparently love to give their greenery a good whack as well. Each year, more of their own stuff isn't done. I'm only supposed to do about 2' on one side and 3' on the other. This has now expanded to 6' on one side and the whole curb and then the WHOLE curb plus hill and water gully on the other side.
They always did their part, I did my part, but now if they don't do their part (for weeks), my part looks like hell. It looks like I just became terribly lazy and quit halfway through. Certainly this isn't as big as the time back in the 90's when a mentally-deficient neighbor almost ran his car into our bedroom, but stopped right before our window just keeping the high beams on and blowing the horn the whole time while doing it. (apparently, he didn't think loud music midweek at 1am was something for us to complain about)
Anyhow, this has become a big deal for me. It's taking a LOT longer and I'm wondering -- if you made it this far with your own weeds, would you just do theirs as well? Or should I just stick to my own and let theirs grow to the sky? Inquiring mind wants to know.
(Image from Johnnie Swearingen. Neighbors, 1989. Oil on canvas-board, 22 x 30 inches. Collection of Bruce and Julie Webb.)
Labels: lazy men, neighbors, weed whacking