Flowers from a Neighbor

Mary, my 4-year-old neighbor, rang my doorbell a bit ago and shyly handed me a gift: flowers she insisted on picking from her mother's garden for me.

I adore Mary, whose barrel-chested voice echoes across our joined yards and who has been known to ring and ring and ring my doorbell or exclaim "Robley!" as she and her family arrive for a Sewanee visit.

I adore having neighbors with three children and visiting family and guests.

I only wish they were here all the time instead of summers and holidays and random weekends spread through the year.

They are part of the reason I love living here, where neighbors are neighborly.