Small town living

I've only lived in my sleepy little town a little over four years, but, with the exception of college, I've lived in small towns my whole life.  And even Muncie, Indiana isn't exactly a booming metropolis!  I've always enjoyed the fact that a small town offers the quiet restfulness of country living with the knowledge that there's always someone nearby if you need something.  I remember growing up with the same people living in my neighborhood for twenty-plus years, and I still keep in contact with many of them.  I remember walking next door to borrow a cup of sugar or an egg, to play with the neighbors' cats or to dog-sit while neighbors were on vacation.  I remember my dad bringing home a tractor to plow our street and driveway, and clearing the neighbors' driveways while he was at it.  I especially remember the yummy treats we received as a thank you for Dad clearing their driveways!

I've never felt quite as at-home in my current small-town neighborhood as I did the one where I grew up, but I've always chalked that up to the fact that I hadn't lived there as long.  Still, it seemed that there wasn't quite the sense of family in my neighborhood that there was when I was growing up.  Thankfully, this summer, things started to change.  I was working a lot of extra hours and struggling to keep up with the house, so I hired a neighbor kid to mow my lawn.  He had lived in the neighborhood his entire life, just as I had the neighborhood where I'd grown up.  Often, when he finished, we'd stand out in the front yard and talk, and since everyone on the street knew him, we often had visitors stop and talk, as well.  People I'd seen around for nearly four years and always waved or nodded to finally became people with whom I had small talk.  I learned a lot about the neighborhood, the town, and the people living there, and was really beginning to feel as if my neighbors may someday become my friends.  As the summer wore on, I was trying to fix some things around the house so I could have the place appraised to refinance and I hired another neighborhood boy to do some odd jobs.  I had had more contact with him and his parents, since they "borrow" my basement when we have tornado warnings, but that had been the extent of our contact the entire time I'd lived there.  Once the boy started working for me, we started talking more and became friendly.  I began chatting with his parents when I saw them out in their yard and my neighborhood really began feeling like the one in which I'd grown up.

Then it happened: a few days before Christmas, the odd-job boy's dad came over with a box of homemade cookies and a Christmas card.  Talk about a "welcome to the neighborhood" kind of moment!  I felt like it had finally happened - I'd finally found that neighborhood/family I've been looking for.  And last night, I came home from work to find...someone had plowed my driveway.  Now if only I knew where to send the goodies!