My Neighbor

People either love or hate the neighborhood they live in. When I was little the neighborhood I grew up with had an aging population. There were not many children to play with, but there were plenty of senior citizens. I did know not anything different than what I had, and I liked my neighbors. The way I saw it, I had a lot of grandparents around.

When Richard and I were first married, we lived in a neighborhood that was great. Most people had young children and were around our age. The funny thing about that neighborhood, was, I felt out of place. I felt as though people were trying to keep up with the Joneses and that has never been my style.

Three years ago we moved south to Sanpete county, and found a quaint little neighborhood, with one special neighbor.

She lives right next to us and has been a widow for sometime. Every year she grows a little garden, and every year she insists we raid it. She has told me while we are in church, what we can dig up. Of course, Richard and I never go into her garden, and she eventually comes to our house with a variety of different vegetables.

She asked Richard if he would mow a part of her lawn, during the summer, and of course she brought over a jar full of quarters and a gallon of gas to fill up the mower.

I have told Richard when she dies, we will move until we find a house that's next to neighbor with a little old lady willing to share her garden. She claims she doesn't believe she is a very good neighbor, but she will never know how good her vegetables are for our family, and how good she is for our souls.