Once upon a time, we took our house off the market. Nobody was buying, and we were comfortable enough to stay put.
Within days, a car was idling in the street, its driver looking lost. She was new to the area, looking for property. We sold her ours, and began building down the street.
That was nearly seven years ago, and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s one of those neighbors that used to populate small towns and talked to your grandmother at the hardware store. She sends us zucchini and acorn squash and strange, funny email missives.
A couple of years ago, she got chickens.
And infiltrated my pathetic excuse for a garden with flowers, on the sly. Yep, one day I caught her, out there, planting bulbs. She ordered too many, hoped I wouldn’t mind. Every spring since then, they surprise me. And they are either multiplying rapidly, or she planted more when I wasn’t looking: