Good Neighbors

Out here in the middle of nowhere, there are two kinds of people, or so I'll say for over-simplification and gross generalizations.  There are the people who live away from the big cities and tons of people because they want to be left alone, want to be secluded, want to live a private life.  And then there's everyone else.  Sometimes it is hard for me to tell who is who, unless they clearly state they want to be left alone, because being isolated as we are sometimes just means we keep busy with work and the chores of the land and the animals, etc.  That "everybody else" category is vastly diverse, in truth.  Some live out here because of ranching - can't live in downtown Denver with a hundred head of cattle in your backyard; some like the wide open spaces; some grew up here or have family here; some want to live in a small community where you actually can know all your neighbors; some married into it.  And most probably have multiple reasons, certainly more than I can discern from my vantage point.

Aside from the highway, I live on one of the more heavily populated roads.  Not all our neighbors are year round residents, but including us, there are eight households on our road and then one more just across the highway.  Mind you, we are spread out over hundreds of acres, but we share a road off the highway and a cluster of mailboxes at the end of it.

The past week has subtly revealed the strength of our little "west-side" neighborhood, if you could call it that.  At the end of last week, a car appeared to have been abandoned on our road right at the highway.  With all the bad news replayed over and over, it is no surprise that my first instinct was suspicion.  Actually it was my second instinct - from a distance I thought it was our mail carrier very early on his route.  But when I approached it in my car and realized it was unfamiliar, I circled back and drove up the road looking for someone on foot, possibly visiting a neighbor.  When I didn't see anyone, I started calling neighbors (and Pop).  I reached one neighbor who confirmed they didn't have company, but would check it out - I was a little nervous to approach it if there was a hostile person inside waiting for me.  Our neighbor found it unlocked and empty, and while he was checking it out, another neighbor came down the road to check on it, too.  After calling Thomas I learned it hadn't been there long, as it wasn't there when he left for work.  On my way home from work that evening, I saw two people driving in it heading towards Philmont/Cimarron.  It turned out to be an out-of-gas situation on the morning commute.  One neighbor was grateful for my call and grateful to know that our little 'hood is looking out for each other.

A few days later that neighbor called me about having their vehicle stolen down south in the big city.  Their concern was that someone might try to gain access to their home while they were away.  Another neighbor locked the front gate, and I was happy to keep an eye out for any strange vehicles (or their own).  They felt relief knowing that even in such a wide open space, neighbors help each other out.

Clearly, I am not the kind of country dweller who wants to be left alone.  I took some cookies over to the neighbors after they got back, and Buttermilk, our social kitty, followed me.  It may have been more because once away from the house, the turkey vultures flying in to roost about a half mile down the road unnerved her, and with no other shadow to hide in, she stuck with me.  But she followed along right up to the front door.  The neighbors made me laugh so hard when they wanted to bring their big basset hound out to meet Buttermilk.  Buttermilk was a little shaky and clearly nervous, but the dog three or four times her size was just as concerned.  He kept trying to back away from the screen door and never made it outside.  Our neighbor kept saying how exciting for the neighbor pets to meet, but the pets weren't having it.  I held Buttermilk close to the screen door and pet her, but I could feel her heart racing.  Guess not all neighbors are destined to get along!  That wasn't the last laugh, though, because as we walked back out the drive to the road, I saw a dark shape emerge from the shadow of a chamisa about 100 yards from their house.  It was Spooky, Buttermilk's scaredy-cat sister.  She's the kind of neighbor that does want to be left alone.