Neighbours

Generally speaking, I take the first day relatively slowly whenever I cross multiple time zones. I focus on catching up on sleep, getting myself situated in whichever environment I find myself in, and trying to stay less active. Occasionally, however, life seems to think it’d be fun to throw a curveball in the mix, and such was my day yesterday.

On the farm, we have a mixture of trees: ash, maple, hazelnut, and a few others that I’m probably missing. Mixed into all are the mosses and ivy, which seem to be almost everywhere around here. While beautiful, they’re a proper menace when it comes to maintaining healthy tree stock and, on occasion, are influential in a tree’s untimely demise. Getting ahead of the problems before they occur is generally advised, so our Monday was taken up with preventative maintenance.

Our neighbour’s shed is a masonry and steel affair, nestled a scant meter behind the fence separating our properties. It’s relatively ancient, with rust having chipped away at its galvanized facade, but the contents it protects are still held intact. Sitting on their side of the fence is a three-trunked ash tree, held fast by English ivy winding around trunk and branch and posing a relatively outsized hazard to the shed behind. The problem is, there’s no place to fell said tree except into our paddock, and that’s where we found ourselves standing about yesterday.

Imagine, if you will, the most dedicated troupe of neighbours coming together to topple the grandest of trees. Now imagine that this troupe comprises a single family (brother, sister, nephews, nieces, in-laws, and out-laws) and us. It was a family affair made all the better by the stirring cries of “Move over there!” and “Cut this branch!” by the brother in charge. In the image above, you’ll see his red coat, albeit briefly, as he took the outsized role in ensuring the tree fell “just so” into our field, held in tension with corded nylon rope attached to his tractor.

The principle trunks being felled, it was on to the slicing and dicing, and, dear reader, the thrum of a chainsaw in hand is something to marvel at. To be able to surgically remove a limb from the trunk in the space of seconds to clear out the detritus from your field is a sight and sound to behold. I suppose being put to work in a somewhat somnolent state of existence (having come off the plane a few hours before) isn’t ideal, but the revival of having an instrument of destruction is heady.

Eight people, four hours, two chainsaws, and a tractor were needed to process this mess. Reducing three massive trunks with their intertwined ivy to piles of logs, branches, and effluvia, moving them to various places in the farm yard, and not getting hurt is quite the feat. It shows the power of togetherness, cooperation, and neighbours’ role in looking out for one another.

I find that this level of cooperation is sparingly applied these days. We’re much more involved with our own stories, works, and maintenance, and we tend to be insular with them. Breaking down the barriers between ourselves and others takes effort, and we often don’t necessarily recognize the payoff immediately. In essence, it flies in the face of that rugged individuality we’re taught about, the Sinatra-esque “I did it my way” tokenism that has done such a disservice to our modern society.

If we stop and consider that our actions toward each other have rippling consequences, perhaps we’d act with more intentionality and graciousness at all times.

The husband of the family that owned our place before us wasn’t known for his charitability towards others. He didn’t engender himself to warm feelings of help and understanding. He was, from all that we’ve learned, an asshole of the highest degree. But it’s incredible how just a little effort in trying to know our neighbours, to be helpful and in turn helped, has turned the perception and tides. When our horses escaped over a different neighbour’s fence, they were well cared for until we could get them back. When a tree needed to be felled onto our property, we stepped in and pulled our weight alongside them. We don’t worry about our animals when traveling because our neighbours provide overwatch. The little things burst out of the seams, a richness told from the effort.

The tree’s absence leaves a gap, a more visible path between us and them. But it’s a gap filled with respect, understanding, and gratitude because we all came together in one wind-filled afternoon, shoulder to shoulder, neighbour to neighbour, family to family. May you find, through effort, big or small, the same connection with those around you to build a connection.

May it ever be so.