Neighbors and Weeds

Posted on May 28, 2009 12:00 AM MST by Tiffany Kinerson

I stole a handful of weeds from my neighbor’s yard. But, shhh.... I let you in on my little secret only because I trust you won’t let them know. You see, they have this property dispute that’s been going on since I’ve lived here. Actually, it’s more than a property dispute, it’s gotten quite ugly in the past, involving Child Welfare and the police. But that’s what happens with neighbors and bad fences, or at least that’s what Robert Frost says about it.

On one side of their shared property, the grass is perfectly green and trimmed. On the other, it’s patchy but getting there, and quite frequently the neighbor has a cluster of weeds here and a dandelion there. Down the middle of the two yards, in the community property, there runs this perfectly straight line. Anyone who walks by can see the division as if it were bricked in as deep a green as hatred can go.

At what point do neighbors cease loving each other as themselves?

Perhaps it was the time the one called the police on the other to report non-existent garbage bags piled in the backyard. Or perhaps it was the time the other called Animal Control because the dog got out of the fence. Again. Or maybe it was because one began reporting the other to Child Welfare because...well, I’ve never been quite clear why that happened. But the kids are still there, the family thankfully in tact and healthy. So I imagine that report, too, was bogus.

But at some point in time, that Mason-Dixon line of theirs has to meld into a smooth field of unity. So, when will it be? Because I’ll tell you, what’s happened up until now hasn’t done a lick of good. Just the other day, I greeted one neighbor (because I do, indeed, enjoy both parties—separately of course), and the first thing she pointed out was a cluster of weeds that had crept past Mason and into Dixon. “Look. Look at this. They’re keeping this right here so that everyone can know these weeds are ours. Can you believe it?”

And, no. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that she didn’t just pull them, couldn’t believe that the other would leave it. I suppose after a while, it’s not about the weeds any more. It’s about preserving the threatened family. Or maybe it’s just about seeing who can be the bigger bully. But what’s the ultimate point here? Will they drive each other away? I’ll go on a limb here to say the economy probably won’t allow either one of them to move. So, what is the point? If they can’t get along, I wonder if they walk out of their doors, their stomachs churning, their hearts racing to see the newest atrocity the one has done to the other. And then I have to wonder how life would be like that.

This morning, both Mason and Dixon were neatly trimmed. The Hatfields had even fertilized, I noticed. And the McCoys? Looking spiffy as ever. But those weeds? Standing like sentries to a modern-day family feud. Sometimes you can’t see the neighbor through the weeds, I suppose.

So I pulled them. Just up and ripped those weeds out of the ground. But you can’t tell either one of them. Because maybe this time one will step out the door and smile, thinking the other one backed down. For once. And maybe the other will come out the door in calm, thinking—maybe way down deep—perhaps we can work this out after all. Because, as Robert Frost says, good fences can make good neighbors. But sometimes a fence isn’t made out of sticks and stones.   

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