Come visit my neighborhood

Lily B. Clayton Elementary School

across the street from my house

Picture by Polly Hooper

Several years ago, my younger son who lives in a big house in a suburb north of Dallas, said to me, “I want to live in a neighborhood like you do.” I do live in a neighborhood, with all that implies, the kind Mr. Rogers meant when he asked, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” The houses are old (mine was built in 1922) and probably the red brick bungalow dominates, but we have two-story houses and even a McMansion or two with zero lot line (working to stop that trend); our houses also come in tan brick, stucco, painted brick, some with arched windows and vaulted ceilings, others with tall ceilings and crown molding.. But they all have charm. We always hope add-ons will be done tastefully to fit in with the décor; similarly, we hope each home owner will maintain his or her property to the level of the neighborhood.

From my front porch

Tall trees arch over our streets, forming a canopy that seems to shelter us. When I sit on my front porch, I can block out traffic and pretend I’m in a tree house, surrounded by oaks, crape myrtle, pecan, the great elm in front of my house (which is very old and worries me every time we have a storm). And I can listen to a railroad train a couple of blocks away—many would complain about that but I love trains and find the sound comforting.

We have an active, even pro-active neighborhood association with monthly meetings and a monthly neighborhood newsletter. Recently a national chain has started producing a slick magazine for the neighborhood, but I’m prejudiced—I like our traditional newsletter (maybe because I’m about to become editor). Our neighborhood association deals with the issues of buildings that don’t fit into the neighborhood “style,” from an office complex on the edge of the neighborhood to contemporary houses built in the middle, or the narrowing of the main road that runs through the neighborhood, a commuter route for many in our city, and the zoo, which is on the edge of our neighborhood. It sponsors everything from Easter parades and ice cream socials to Christmas gift baskets for shut-ins and the elderly. We also have a busy email list where people post about lost dogs and cats and stray dogs seen wandering. Neighbors looking after neighbors.

I live across the street from an elementary school, the building so old and beautiful that it’s on one or the other register of historic places, with its art deco touches and a goldfish pond in one of the basement kindergarten rooms. That school anchors the neighborhood and is the focus for many activities. I am lucky that grandson Jacob goes to school there. Every day I walk across the street to get him, and we spend our afternoons together doing homework.

My house in the snow

Photo by Susan Halbower

It’s the kind of neighborhood where a small group gathers each Tuesday night at the local café for supper. I love it for the camaraderie and because Tuesday night is meatloaf night.  A few years ago, when we had a heavy, wet snow, my neighbor across the street sent her teenage son to shovel my walk. When I tried to pay him, he said, “Oh, no, thank you. This is what neighbors do for each other.”

Last night my grandson and his playmates “discovered” a hole in my fence where my dog could escape. One of the little boys’ fathers came promptly to fix it, saying the boys hadn’t just discovered the hole—they made it and then tried to block it when they (probably Jacob) realized that Sophie might get away.

So, thank you Berkeley and Margaret Johnson and son Atticus and Jason Brown who mended the fence and Mary Dulle who encouraged me to go to dinner (and made me newsletter editor) and the Barrs and the Harrals and Lyn and others who join us on Tuesday night. And thank you to Jay and Susan, Greg and Jaimie, terrific neighbors who kind of watch after me. I can’t think of a better place to live.

My Kelly O’Connell Mysteries are set in a neighborhood, but it is not Berkeley—it’s Fairmount, which is just adjacent to us. But in writing of that neighborhood and the community spirit, I very much had Berkeley in mind. The houses in Fairmount are a bit older, with lots of Craftsman homes, and the streets are wonderful and wide, like they used to make them. But Fairmount and Berkeley share many characteristics.

Nope, I don’t want to live in a development or a high-rise or a condo in assisted living. When people ask if I’m considering selling, I say, “No. Not until my kids make me.”

An almost perfect fall day

Fall is coming to Texas. The temperature is finally below the low 90s. Today it was humid, really so in the morning, but stiill a perfect morning to drive around with the top down. I had a haircut, and my hair really looked cute when I left the salon--but then I finished my errands top down, and there went that. Still it was worth every minute of driving with the air blowing around me.
Tonight I took a book and an extra glass of wine to the front porch and sat and enjoyed the breeze and the view. My neighbors across the street have the most amazing tall cedars--they lost one in a storm this year, but the others have fiilled in. My crape myrtle, usually slow to bloom and then never blooming profusely, is bursting with flowers, as those trees are all over town. Greg, my botanist friend, tells me it's because of the cool spell we had last week. They're beautiful but messy! I have a  wonderful big but very old elm in front of my house. It used to lose branches from time to time, but it seems stable now. Every time I called the city to take away a  fallen branch, I quaked in fear they'd take the tree down but they said it's still healthy. I hope it lasts as long as I last in this house. To the west of my front yard, I have a lovely lush maple that was small when I moved here eighteen years ago. I must talk to Greg about raising the canopy, but for now it looks really wonderful. The whole street is tree-lined, and I sort of feel I'm in a forest when I look around. My porch plants have come back amazingly after the horrible heat--my fern hanging basket is particularly wonderful. And the hanging sweet potato plant has sent a shoot up the chain the holds it. My only regret is that it gets dark so much earlier these days.
Porch party Sunday night for sixteen. I worried that it would be too hot. Now I'm worried that it may be too cool. High predicted for Sunday is 78, with a low that night in the 50s. Yep, fall is on the way. Meantime, I did some savvy shopping at Central Market and got a whole brisket for $6-something instead of the trimmed ones for $15+ a lb. My gosh!
Looking forward to the weekend. I'll have Jacob from noon Sat. until supper Sunday--hmmmm. How to keep him amused? His other grandparents take him to movies, the state fair, things I'm just not up to alone. Yet he seems to love to come here, so we'll see.