One of my favorite things to do is walk around our neighborhood. Witnessing the weather, the sky, and the way the landscape changes throughout the year brings me huge amounts of joy. Greeting our neighbors and noticing how their kids’ vocabulary and height has doubled in a week is the cherry on top.
When Huck was born, one of the first things I did after getting home from the hospital was go for a walk. It was late June and I was walking the straight road into our neighborhood. On this road there is a small brick house with a well kept yard that has country grass, blueberry bushes, and fig trees. It was dusk in June and one of the blueberry bushes was studded with berries, which forced me to pause, notice, and take some deep refreshing breaths.
We would see the man who lived in the small brick house on occasion. Whenever we saw him, he was either sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway, mowing the grass, or pulling weeds. His clothes were well worn, his posture one of a long life, and his hair all white.
During Huck's first few years of life, I got to spend a good deal of time with him at home, and we went on lots of walks. I still do, actually, and a neighbor recently referred to me as "the walker," which makes me think of a zombie, but we won't go there today.
Fast forward to a steamy August day two years after Huck was born. Huck and I were walking down the main road of our neighborhood. The man who lived in the small brick house was on a riding lawn mower in a straw hat with the sun pressing down on him. He looked up and then waved us down. We walked with him to the fig trees. They were heavy with fruit. The bushes hadn't produced in 3-4 years, but this year was prolific. I responded "YES" when asked if we wanted some. The shirt I was wearing was big enough to use as a basket and we walked home with a load of fresh figs - Grown in the yard of a kind neighbor, and fresh off the tree in August.
Figs were something I only heard grandparents discuss and I had only tasted processed and packaged Fig Newtons at that point. I couldn't wait to bite into one. Huck and I experienced our first summer figs together. They were perfectly ripe, purple and amber, sun warmed, seedy and sweet. I enjoyed mine more than he did his.
Even now, when I walk by this yard, I can't help but recall the memory. Sharing fruit with a neighbor. Simple, sweet, and branded into the story of our lives.
The man has since passed and his house and land are for sale. I hope the next owners will treat them as wholesomely as he did, and that we all continue to have good reason to pause and notice the world around us.