Neighborly

The fence is about half-done on the south side of the yard. I've been stacking the posts and rails of the old split-rail fence on our side as I take it down and replace it section-by-section with recycled posts, 2x4s, and barn siding. The old fence was ON the property line, so no one was sure who it belonged to. The new fence is a few inches inside the line. It's my fence.

When Gven and I were heading out the back door to start cleaning out the garage, we saw our neighbor Bill and his brother Alan in Bill's yard surveying the damage. I went over and asked Bill if he wanted the old pieces of fence, since I had no use for them. Alan jumped right in and said they would be just right for his next-foor neighbor Jim Bob to extend his rail fence from the front yard to the back. Deal. I tossed the old rails and posts over the new fence for them to do with what they wanted. Jim Bob came right over and helped Bill and Alan take apart the remaining rail fence and load the lot of them into Bill's truck to transfer around the corner to Jim Bob's yard.

Gven and I returned to our task of sorting and rearranging stuff we've been storing in our second garage (future workshop). She designated several boxes of stuff as give-aways (clothes, kitchen implements) and several other items as throw-aways (old desk and stereo), and several more as keepers (Jess and Helga's clothes, books, and childhood art). Gaven took the give-aways to the Brethren College Thrift Store, I hauled the throw-aways out to the curb, and we cleared some space among the stored boxes.

Later that evening, as I relaxed on the patio with a Michael Chabon book and a gin and tonic, Brian, another neighbor, dropped by the borrow back his weed whacker and invite us to his and Amy's house for a cookout on the Fourth. All of Amy's tribe of extended family would be there, they would grill and provide drinks, we could bring a side dish and libation if we wanted. We noncommittally said it sounded like fun.

Come Monday, the West Methodistville parade kind of took over. Gven's yoga buddies at the Factory launched a spur-of-the-moment plan to march in the parade, and I offered the use of Hank the truck, so I got up and gave Hank a bath. We went down State Street to the starting line past throngs of townspeople lining the parade route eight-deep in places and found our place in line between middle school cheerleaders and the Ted Strickland for Governor campaign. The crew of yoga teachers pounded the pavement in the midday heat for the two hours it took to parade about two miles, while I rode the clutch in first gear and spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd. They passed out a ton of fliers, answered a ton of questions (yes, yoga, right here in West Methodistville), and no doubt it was great advertising.

We retreated to Om Shanty for the duration. Helga got home from Grinders and went to a friend's backyard cookout. Gven and I ended up watching the fireworks from the patio through the pine trees - a brot, a gin and tonic, and thou.