Neighbors and Woodchippers…

This is not my neighborhood. Can you image coming home drunk to this place? It reminds me of the theme song to Weeds…

I met my neighbor yesterday. It was one of those weird encounters where I wandered into his yard looking for Fiona and we ended up giving each other the short version of our entire lives while dressed in our pajamas and snow boots. I have to admit I was hoping I’d have a roguish fellow next door, like Jude Law in The Holiday – all natty, pilled sweater and glasses; an accent; a dead wife…

I’ve been hearing the sounds of buzz saws and wood chippers through the trees, and though it could mean my neighbor is resourceful and someone to call upon if my car won’t start, it could also mean he is a psychopathic killer. I’ve seen Criminal Minds and Fargo. This is the perfect spot to dismember bodies inconspicuously.

There’s even a place to wash your hatchet…

As it turns out, Bob is a big ole, kindly Texan in a ten gallon hat and mukluks. He used to deliver sail boats in the Exumas. He told me to wear orange if I’m walking in the woods and make a lot of noise as it is hunting season… He says bear cubs will play on my porch.  He told me I will not be able to drive my car up my driveway in the winter and that if it rains heavily, I should hightail it home because the creek becomes impassable. He told me to stock up on food for the winter.

Bob said he gets up at four and he told me to give him “a holler” when I was ready to hike to the wellspring of Hall Creek Falls a few hundred feet above our houses. I do not think he intends to kill me or eat my vital organs with fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Mountain dog…

He said, “That happens all the time,” when Fiona puked on his welcome mat, and that is neighborly.

Maybe I’ll ask him over for a drink of red wine and sniff his glass (who’s the weird neighbor?). I have a feeling I’m going to need his friendship when the snow runoff comes and according to him we all have to get to town in canoes…