We used to live in a rural area in the middle of thirty acres. We could see one neighbor across the creek. When we moved to St. Michaels ten years ago, we bought a house in a neighborhood. I wasn’t sure if I’d like having neighbors so close.
Yesterday, late in the afternoon, I was out watering my garden. This isn’t a cicada year, but I could hear the insects that thought it was churring in the trees. Our backyard is planted so it’s quite private. I usually can’t see anyone else, but can hear activity: somebody a few yards away was mowing, the distinctive sound of a weed-wacker came from across the street, and, then, clear as a bell came the four part harmony of a barbershop quartet.
This happened twice before on a summer’s evening. The first time I went searching for the singing. I wandered through a neighbor’s yard, peered through fences and finally found a bar-b-que in full sing. This time I shut off the water, sat on my deck, closed my eyes and listened to the music. Living in my neighborhood has unexpected benefits.