After we retrieved the log splitter from our across-the-street neighbors, and dropped off some of our excess heirloom tomatoes on Sunday, we were invited to meet them for dinner Monday night at a restaurant a couple of towns away. We knew exactly where it was, had eaten there before a few years ago, and agreed. Figured they were going to insist on paying, but we offered, and would have, if they’d accepted.
Turns out they were at the outdoors bar area, and we had no trouble finding them. They also met their son and his girlfriend there, and there were others they knew. Those people paid their own bills. Not one person they knew there was someone we had not at least briefly met at the Christmas party last year. Of course, there were so many people at that party that we probably met half of them at most, and half the people we did meet, we didn’t remember.
OMG, we were there at the bar for a good three hours sharing appetizers and a couple of entrées between the four of us. It was after dark before we left, and we had parked in the high school lot, more out of habit than anything else, because it’s free. It’s a known quantity, so to speak, rather than cruising around for 20 minutes, looking for a parking spot. It was only a five block walk to the restaurant from there. Our neighbors gave us a ride back to the HS to our vehicle. It was on the way out of town, anyway.
I appreciated the assist on that; I was not looking forward to walking half a mile uphill the whole way on mostly unlit streets to get back to the vehicle on a very full stomach. I had a flashlight in my pocketbook, and wasn’t worried about getting attacked, but the brick sidewalks are so uneven that’s it’s easy to trip, especially in sandals.
I learned a few things talking not only to our hosts, but also those they knew. One of them was a county historian. Evidently, our farm was originally large enough to take up half the neighborhood, including the relatively new subdivision that has a couple dozen McMansions on two acres or less apiece, the nearest of which is not within 200 yards of us, as the crow flies. It was a dairy farm, with pastures and fields for hay. My guess is that it was alfalfa grown for the hay; that’s the most commonly grown here for that purpose. There are loads of hay fields around here, but there aren’t many dairy farms left, so the hay fields are for the horses.
Also, the house across the street was not named what it was before my neighbors bought it. It had no name, other than its street address, so they named it, and put up a very nicely painted wooden sign at the street end of their driveway with its name. I’d wondered about that, but never had asked them before. As it turns out, I like what they named it, and the reason. It fits the property.
Great neighbors are so wonderful to have. Of course, we must return the favor. They might like the Publick House, which is one of our favorite pubs. They’re not into fancy places any more than we are.