Portrait of a Terribly Good Neighbor

Years ago my friend Billy called me, desperate. It was summer, and he was feeling overwhelmed trying to take care of his yard and gardens. Billy had been a homeowner for only a year and was looking forward to planting heirloom tomatoes, herbs and raspberry bushes in the large plot the previous owner had tucked behind the garage, but flowers? He didn't know where to start.

I am his only friend who gardens, and he wondered if I would come over and help him out. I was happy to help.

Billy had bought his house from an elderly woman named Ronnie, who died a few months after she moved. What precipitated the pleading phone call was a comment from his next-door neighbor, Diane, who said, "Ronnie would be rolling in her grave if she could see what you've done to her garden, Billy." This was spoken in the robust baritone most women can achieve only after at least 50 years of smoking. Think Patty or Selma from The Simpsons.

Billy and I laughed about that later, but he's a good guy and wanted to be a good neighbor. The yard didn't look terrible, but Ronnie, with the help of her daughter in the later years, had kept up everything so meticulously, anything less than perfect was a mess by comparison. I gave the gardens a good weeding and redug the borders so everything was neat and tidy. Billy stayed on top of mulching and mowing the yards, and kept everything in pretty good shape for several seasons.

He gave gardening a shot, planting some shrubs and trees, and for a few summers he put in enormous vegetable gardens with more than 30 varieties of tomatoes. But he found it all hard to maintain. He travels a lot, sometimes for weeks on end. The flower gardens he ignored entirely. We talked about my coming again to sort through the plants he wanted to get rid of and those he wanted to keep. I was more than willing, but he was gone so much, and I was busy with three children, not to mention maintaining my own yards and gardens. A few summers passed without my coming over to help him out.


The gardens were already looking scruffy when one of the two towering pines at the back of Billy's property was hit by lightning. The top 20 feet fell over but not completely off. Billy owns a portable sawmill and considered milling the boards but never got around to it, so almost half the tree dangled there with a mess of branches under it for a couple years.

In the meantime Diane, his neighbor, had been diagnosed with lung cancer. Billy took over meals and frequently checked in. Although Diane kept up her spirits up, the prognosis was grim. One day, when she and Billy were both outside, she pointed to the pines and said, "I'm afraid I'm going to die and that tree will still be there."

Billy was preparing for the weeks-long trip he takes every summer for work. It was the worst time for him to deal with a big project, but he called a tree service to cut down the top of the tree and a friend to help him haul away the brush. Then he begged me to come over right away to tackle the gardens again.

It was a steaming-hot day. I knew he was about to leave on his big trip. I also knew the beds had been neglected all summer, at least, and it was already August. I thought he may as well wait a few more weeks until the weather cooled and just do a big fall cleanup. I was happy to lend a hand, but what was the rush?

He explained about Diane. He didn't know if she would still be alive in another month, and he wanted to do anything he could to help her. As ridiculous as it sounded, getting his yard cleaned up was probably her dying wish.


The next morning my daughter Eden and I got to work. I brought a tarp and weeded ruthlessly, pulling out many of the plants I knew Billy didn't like. It was a hot day and the soil was hard, so it was a lot of work. Eden was only 5 years old, but she worked like a champ, hauling away debris and laying mulch. Billy mowed and trimmed some of the shrubs that were most overgrown. It wasn't long before everything was shaping up and looking good.

Diane noticed and came out to watch, dragging her oxygen tank and smoking a cigarette. Billy tried to introduce us, but she cut him off — she remembered me from the last time. She came over to where I was on my knees weeding and shook her head.

"Alison, don't bother," she said. "You're going to do all this work, get it looking so good, and Billy's just going to ruin everything." She took a long drag and shot him a look of disdain.


I smiled. "I know what it's like to make a mess of things, and Billy's been there for me many times through the years. I'm happy to help."

"You're a good friend." The clear implication: better than Billy deserved.

She stuck around to watch while we finished up, and it was clear she was delighted with the result.

Diane died a few weeks later. At the funeral her husband told Billy how much she enjoyed sitting out in the yard while she was still able to leave her bed. She commented several times how glad she was Billy had gotten everything cleaned up.

You may be wondering, did he keep up the garden? No, he didn't. Diane was right; he ruined everything. A case could be made that Billy is a terrible neighbor, but I think there's an equally persuasive argument to be made that he's one of the best.

More: The Unsung Power of a Good Neighbor

URL: Portrait of a Terribly Good Neighbor http://www.decor-ideas.org/cases-view-id-21408.html