August 25, 2008--Neighbors

There’s a gravel road, Caper it’s called, that runs up to our place. It passes by what between 1819 and 1991 was the North Pomfret School. A one-room place that at its height, local lore has it, enrolled twelve students. A bit further along, on the left, is the Poplar Street Farm. I’m not sure much around here qualifies as a “street” though the poplars are abundant.

The Farm is in a pleasant spot, on high ground that overlooks the meadows that stretch out in undulations for about a mile until they run up against Bunker Hill. Just across the road is a small herd of Guernseys whose milk, I understand goes to the Thistle Hill cheese makers whose Tarantaise cheese is well regarded far beyond Vermont.

From passing the Poplar Street Farm at least twice a day—to get to coffee in the morning and then later in the day either to head into town to round up ingredients for dinner or when lazy, or seeking company, to eat out--after a few passes, we have figured out that there are two women who are in residence. They never fail to wave if they are out and about working in their flower borders. The house and they are charming and friendly feeling.

Last week, returning from breakfast, as we were working our way up the road we had to stop by their house because two of the cows from the pasture had “broken out” of the corral and were racing up the road. To us this added to the charm of rural life but to one of the women who was also standing in the road and the “boys,” as she referred to them, who were scampering about to round them up and get them back to where they belonged, it was a just a bit of daily effort.

I rolled down my window and she ambled over to the car. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said with a wide smile, reaching in to shake my hand. “Are you living here now?”

“Just for a month,” I said.

“Which place?”

“The one up at the end of Apple Hill.”

“Oh, it’s very nice there.”

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s good. Very good.”

The cows had been recaptured and we waved to her as we slowly pulled away.

Rona said, “That was very nice. Though didn’t you think it was a little strange when she said, ‘That’s good’ when we told her where we would be?”

“Not really. I took it as she was just being nice and welcoming.”

“Still to me, it felt a little strange. Why would it be ‘good’? Wouldn’t you have expected her to say, ‘I hope you enjoy yourself’? Or something like that?”

I said, “I think maybe you had too much coffee,” and we left it at that.

Later that day, up at house, while preparing dinner, we had an accident with the garbage disposal and needed to call the man who takes care of the house. He was in the middle of something and said he’d try to get there as soon as he was done. Sure enough, about 45 minutes later he arrived with a box of tools and quickly was able to extract the measuring spoons we had inadvertently tried to grind into waste.

After putting away his tools he was only too happy to join us for a cup of coffee. He told us a short version of his life story--that he was now 80 and how he had worked in town as a mechanic at the garage before, 57 years ago, becoming the caretaker for our house. He lives with his wife right down the road with his daughter and grandson near by. After a couple of cups he leaned back with his lanky arms extended in a stretch over his head and said, “Can’t say it’s been a bad life.” From his look of deep contentment it was obvious he wasn’t exaggerating.

The following morning we were making our usual trek down Apple Hill and Caper. As was our routine we slowed as we approached the Poplar Street Farm and there standing in the road, almost as we had left her the day before, was the women who had indicated that it was good that we were up the road from her. Again I rolled down my window and again she came over to us.

“I wonder,” she said, “if you might help me with something.” She was quite agitated.

“Sure,” I said, opening my door and wondering what it might be.


“I’m having such trouble with one of my doors. My screen door actually. See it over there. It’s fallen off and we can leave the door open for fear of getting inundated with mosquitoes. After all the rain last week they are hatching by the hundreds.”

I walked over to look at it. It was of a familiar kind to me—like the ones we used to have on our house on Long Island. And with Rona’s help in just a few minutes we had it back on track and working smoothly.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without it. You see, it is so good to have you nearby.”

When we were settled back in the car and resumed our drive to town, we looked over at each other and now understood what she had meant the other day. Rona said it, and I nodded, “Neighbors.”

Three days later, L___ , the caretaker was waiting for us when we returned from shopping. Though we had seen him just a few times, I knew from the way he looked that something was disturbing him. “Good to see you,” I said, “I hope you’re all right. You don’t quite look yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“What is it?” Usually I wouldn’t be so forward but he was obviously upset about something and clearly he had been waiting for us.

“It’s my grandson. He was in a bad accident last night and he’s very critical. They have him in a drug-induced coma and are hoping that will help his brain from swelling any more.”

“Oh my God,” we both said. “Is there anything we can do? We have a close friend who lives in the area who’s a doctor and if you need any help or advice I’m sure he’d be willing.”

“That’s very kind of you, but he’s in a very good hospital at Dartmouth and is getting the best care. But they don’t know if he’ll come out the other side and if he does what he’ll be like.”

We tried to sound optimistic and after about half an hour he left and told us he’d let us know if our friend might be able to help. But before he got back into his truck he turned back to us with his arms extended. He walked over to where we were standing and gathered both of us into a bony embrace.

During the next few days we thought a lot about L____ and his grandson, going about our business but eager to hear about any progress.

Yesterday evening as we were about to go out to dinner, Rona was in the shower, I saw L____’s truck pull up and heard him tap on the horn to let us know he was here. I went out to greet him. He had a big smile on his face and reported that things were looking better at the hospital. That the doctors were saying that his grandson didn’t appear to have any brain damage and they were hoping to bring him out of the coma next week. He knew we were leaving at the end of the week and said he’d come back before then to let us know how he was doing.

I said that I hoped so and that I’d fill Rona in about the good news.

Again, as the other day, he turned back from the truck and walked up close to me. Not like then with his arms extended. He just wanted to thank us again for our concern; and as he was doing so he noticed a mosquito about to settle on my head. He reached out I thought to smack it there but instead gently pressed his hand to my forehead as much to chase away the insect as, I suspected, to touch me. And he said, “Be sure to give my love to Rona.”

When I told her, she just smiled.