The Gift of Good Neighbors

Love Notes

by Marianne Love

for The River Journal

December, 2007

Back in the 1950s, the Clarence Best family lived down North Boyer Road from us. They had a Holstein dairy and a television while our family had just a couple of cows and no TV. When Gorgeous George and his opponents were going crazy on the pro-wrestling mat, Mrs. Best would call up and invite us down to watch.

She also called whenever she had a new supply of her rich homemade cottage cheese. My brother would walk the half mile to her house and retrieve the gallon pail, always filled to the brim. Then, he and my mother, who always smothered hers with several layers of pepper, would feast on the stuff for several days.

Mrs. Best also served as a gauge for the level of decibels we sent into the air while playing or screaming at each other. “Yell just a little louder, and Mrs. Best can hear you,” Mother would advise. Mrs. Best and her husband represented my earliest notion of “neighbors.” That notion has not changed much in 60 years, regardless of where we’ve lived. I still view having good neighbors and being a good neighbor as a necessary fabric of life as well as a much overlooked blessing.

In any good neighborhood, most folks just mind their own business, going about day-to-day details. They do that because most of other folks appreciate being left alone. Just have something go wrong, however, and those same seemingly aloof neighbors will drop whatever they’re doing to help.

They also keep track. They keep track of anything that seems amiss at their neighbors’ homes. Often they’ll be on the phone just checking to see that everything’s okay. Occasionally, some neighbors even send us samples of their caring and friendship through simple thoughtfulness or unsolicited favors.

I look back on the era of old-time neighbors like the Bests and can easily cite some great and poignant stories associated with names like Gooby, Roberson, Dusty, Best, Hudon, Delamarter, DeGroot, Paulet, Allen,Watts, or Burnham, etc. I can’t leave out old Joe Carter in the little cream-colored house a quarter mile beyond the Best farm, always wearing those bib overalls, a work shirt and a fedora. Joe hired me once to mow his lawn with one of those push lawnmowers. That was one of the first paying jobs I ever had.

The Goobys, over to our west, were always around for farming advice and for farming help. Basil Gooby advised my dad to buy the Harney dairy, which bordered our original 40 acres. Basil figured it would be a good investment, but I figure, if he were still alive, he’d be pretty shocked at just how good. My folks did earn a respectable profit off that $15,500 real estate transaction.

Actually, I could write a book about all those neighbors of the good old days. In fact, I have mentioned quite a few of them among the stories in my first two.

Moving on to my adult life, I’ve found that good neighbors continue to be treasured. Among those, I always think of Karen Feist who, 23 years ago just before Christmas, struggled her way through a field of drifting snow, cradling her baby boy Chris in her arms, to alert someone that our house on Great Northern Road was burning down.

Karen continues to have one of the biggest, most caring hearts in Sandpoint. In that neighborhood, there were also the Thorpes who worried about our dogs, and the Goobys who extended their neighborly gestures to a second generation in more ways than I care to calculate. The Larry Books of “wolf-crossing” fame continue to earn their immortality in my own published books.

Before moving to Selle, we met Howard who had just relocated here from Twin Falls. We got acquainted with this displaced Eastern Montana cowboy when he boarded his horse at our old place. Since then, Howard has gone out of his way on our account with countless helpful and much-appreciated gestures.

During our last few years on Great Northern Road, Quest Aircraft Co. moved to the land east of us. Even as the manufacturing facility continued to grow, its managers and employees always made a concerted effort to extend us genuine respect and consideration.

When Quest eventually bought our place in 2006, and I jokingly suggested that they throw in a ride on their Kodiak prop jet, along with the purchase price, CEO Paul Schaller had the contingency written into the contract. Just before this year’s Thanksgiving, they scheduled a trip, which took us to Spokane to pick up our daughter. We all enjoyed a magnificent late afternoon flight in that state-of-the-art plane, which is sure to put Sandpoint on the map worldwide with its missionary and recreational use.

Since moving to the current Lovestead, our neighborly good fortune has continued. Community Assistance League president Helen Baker was the first to stop by one morning and welcome us. The Meserves next door welcomed us with cucumbers from their garden. For two years now, the Taylors have brought us honey harvested from Chad Moore’s hives which occupy the Taylor pasture across the road. Gary Finney hauled my Amish cart home from the Draft Horse sale last year.

The Heynens have dropped off little surprises of a musical nature, while Ron Britton came over one day and volunteered some house repairs. Jack Filipowski showed up with his tractor when he heard we had a horse in trouble. The Kaubles next door helped me through that tough situation.

Betty Anderson called me one morning this past summer, wondering if I owned an Appaloosa. It seems that a rather colorful young mare had just escaped certain death by dump truck on Selle Road near her home. Sure enough, we’d left a gate open, and Miss Lily lived to escape another day, thanks to the Anderson family who rounded her up, gave her some hay and made the phone call.

And, speaking of the death of horses, we’ve regrettably suffered such a loss a couple of times this year. My sisters said good-bye to one longtime friend from their herd too. I can think of no less appealing job than to bury a horse, especially when you know it’s a much-beloved family member.

We have a neighbor named Jim who’s done just that three times for our family this year, adamantly seeking nothing in return. My husband stood with him as he so compassionately and carefully brought each animal to its final resting place, topping off the chore by descending within the grave, patting the horse, saying a few words and wishing each an eternal gallop through the Heavens.

So, at this Christmas season, I continue to be overwhelmed by the cherished gift of good neighbors. I want to publicly thank them all for the special impact they’ve already had on our lives and will surely continue to have until we hopefully find ourselves on our own journey through the Heavens, bumping into them from time to time.