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This visual of a neighbor situation does not reflect my childhood upbringing, though I can't be sure about this. Years one through six are hazy at best. However, I do recall my paternal grandparent's home. To this day, I remember the address, and in my fifties, I returned to that house and amazingly secured a tour because the house was undergoing an upgrade before going on the market. And, yes, it did resemble this picture.
Then my family moved from the mountain states to the Pacific Northwest, where we ended up on a rural farm in a quasi hippy community. There were no side-by-side houses, no picket fences, or immediate neighbors. I was six and don't recall anything until I was eleven. I learned farm living moves by then — lifting and carrying heavy objects, scooping stalls clean, digging fence pole holes, clearing scotch broom, and chasing down escaped stock.
When I purchased a home in my late forties, it was in the city, and, now that I think about it, it did resemble the visual selected for this short read. A side-by-side situation. (House on the right)
At age 63, I retired and moved to a Northwest seaside town. I rented a cottage with close neighbors, but it has taken me three years to recognize the concept of neighbors. So, how does a writer fit into a neighborhood? Good question.
