Growing up, I lived in a small, rural town in Western Maine. We didn't have a neighborhood, but we had wonderful neighbors. There weren't any other girls my age nearby, so I often had to choose between Tonka Land with the boys (a sand pit filled with testosterone and Tonka trucks) and spending time with my gray- haired women "friends."
Mrs. Grant lived across the busy street, so I could only go to her house with my mother. I remember feeling really special when we did so. She had a large family, but didn't often have visitors, so she was always so glad to see us. She loved to show us old pictures and reminisce. She always wore dresses and pantyhose, with lace up shoes and an apron. I couldn't wait to grow up so that I could wear pantyhose! Her hair was short, curly, brownish gray, and always neat. On Halloween, my brothers and I were some of her only trick-or-treaters, so she encouraged us to take handfuls of her bowl full of Dum-Dum Pops. Mrs. Grant's claims to fame were not dying of a heart attack when a car crashed into her bedroom, and not dying of cancer when doctors told her she had only months to live.
Mrs. Trebilcock lived just down the dirt road, and she was (still is) the hardest working woman I knew. She was a school teacher and the mother of four boisterous boys (of Tonka Land fame). She grew giant vegetable gardens each summer, and she was always outside working in her gardens or sunning herself, slathered in Johnson's baby oil. She was an excellent seamstress, and she made the most beautiful braided rugs. She loved it when I stopped by for a visit, and she would say "bless your heart" and tell me how she had always dreamed of having a girl. I loved her weird velvet paintings, her baked goods, and her warm, sincere hugs.
Mrs. Loungeway was my most special friend. She used to make excuses to take my brothers and I for walks in order to give my mother a well-deserved break. She taught us how to catch hornpout in the mill pond, how to find the best wild strawberries on the edges of the pasture, and she shared her love of flower gardening. She had lilac bushes surrounding the perimeter of her yard, lavender and white, with one or two deep purple varieties (much coveted by the other ladies in town) closer to her house. She had the most beautiful zinnias for cutting, lovely irises, daisies, black eyed susans, hens and chicks, and, my favorites at the time, forget-me-nots. Her basement walls were full of canned food from her vegetable gardens, and her house smelled like cookies - which I usually got to sample when I was invited in for tea. I was never much of a fisher-woman, but I think of Mrs. Loungeway whenever I work in my own flower gardens. After several unsuccessful attempts, I finally got to plant my own forget-me-not seedlings last summer.
When my husband and I bought our home in Scarborough, we didn't think much about the composition of our neighborhood; we were simply excited to join families with young children on a quiet, dead-end street. Now that our development is complete, we are surrounded by families much like ours, and we love them all, but I regret that my daughters will not grow up with a Mrs. Grant, a Mrs. Trebilcock, and especially a Mrs. Loungeway. I'm not sure who will teach them to catch hornpout, but I assure you that it will not be me! Any takers?
On this day, I would love to hear your ideas for fostering meaningful inter-generational connections.
I don't even know what hornput is :-) In my neighborhood, besides my own grandmother next door, we had Miss Lily. Every day was Halloween at Miss Lily's house and we rarely missed a day!
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