James and I have lived in the same house in the same neighborhood for most of our married life. We used to call this middle class neighborhood “teacher ville” because like ourselves so many of us were involved in teaching or education in one way or another. Our neighbors across the street were no different.
When we first moved in we had an elderly set of neighbors across the street (in all actuality they were probably our age at the time but younger people have a funny way of looking at age until they look around realize they are indeed the new “older couple.” But that takes time and I digress….)
For the sake of privacy I will refer to the couple as June and Jerry.
By the time we moved in June and Jerry had been retired from teaching for a number of years. Their children were grown and gone and it was just them. I have never actually even met the children as they either did not seem to visit very often or they did and I was busy raising my own boys. Nevertheless, I could not pick them out of a crowd.
June and Jerry had a number of retirement hobbies. They were very active in a bicycle club, enjoyed hiking and long walks and June even took up the ukulele and played with our local ukulele club (yes, we have one of those and no I am not a member).
To describe the yard one would have to say that the couple took a “naturalistic” approach focusing on sustainability, biodiversity and year round dense plant population. To the untrained eye like mine, it mostly just looked over grown and un kept. You say potayto and I say potahto. The view was never my favorite but being respectful neighbors we never mentioned the view from our windows to June and Jerry. It was their house. Their corner of the world so to speak and they had the right to “landscape” it any way they wanted. And so it went for years and years.
As tends to happen in life, Jerry grew older and died several years ago. June continued living in the marital home for several years past that time. She continued her “yard work” and took daily walks all around the neighborhood. She did not go as far but she still went. Having knees that were not as limber as they once were, and fingers that no longer cooperated their bicycles and her ukulele sat untouched in the house and garage.
A few years ago June was diagnosed with cancer and was recently placed in a skilled nursing facility to receive the care she needed. She never returned back home.
Last fall we watched as some people (her family?) stopped by and cut back some of the now really overgrown brush in the yard. The view had finally changed but I was used to it the other way and I noticed not with the excitement I would have once predicted.
This morning, an auctioneer’s truck and trailer pulled up into their front yard and strangers filled their lawn. Soon after the auctioneer began his bid calling and item by item, pieces of June and Jerry’s lives were auctioned off. Their bicycles, a spice rack, a lava lamp, corning ware, a typewriter, a jar of marbles and her ukulele were amongst the possessions that were auctioned up. And finally, the house itself. How many times had James and I talked about buying that house and re-landscaping the yard to better suit what we would have preferred our view to be? In the end, James was not home and I watched the auction silently from our son’s bedroom window across the street.
I watched as the couples entire lives were on the auction block. Their home. It’s furnishings. Their keepsakes. The items needed for their retirement hobbies. Everything.
And it struck me in a very melancholy kind of way. Perhaps it just hits differently after having recently lost my father. I’m not really sure. All I know is that something happened across the street today and I felt the need to honor it in some way. I felt the need to let June and Jerry know that someone noticed. That someone silently honored the lives they had built. That someone will mourn them as neighbors and friends.
