Dear Family and Friends,
Two weeks ago, there was a news article with our street name in it.
To understand our surprise: we only have 4 houses on our street. Our house is the only one that is not a farmhouse. There are only three families.
According to the news article, a forest worker was cutting trees alone on an incline. Apparently, the tow rope slipped, the tree fell out of the sling and trapped him under its weight. By the time he was found and help was called, it was too late and reanimation was unsuccessful (it just sounds better that way).
The lead photo seemed to be the forest directly above our house.
What is the etiquette in this case?
You really can’t call around and say: “Hi, we’re the new neighbors. Have you suffered a loss in your family in the past week?”
Forest and agricultural land is often leased out to other farmers.
We did not know the neighbors. Yet. We haven’t moved. Yet. We are not integral parts of the neighborhood. Yet.
But we are going to. We are going to be a part of this new (to us) community. We will be entering a very small community of families and traditions.
So we decided that the best way to deal with it was to ignore it for now. There would be time when we have moved in to get to know the neighbors and we could deal with it then.
A few days later, the weather was gorgeous with the winds blowing the mists out of the dales. So we headed to the house for an attempt at photos. We have been wanting a “real” copy of the photo on the website, as it is just a scan of the sales brochure.
We parked the car at the bottom of the hillside and walked up the fields to the forest edge. I was carrying the camera in the hope that a) we were going to get great light and b) I wasn’t going to screw up the aperture (again–I am not a professional photographer).
We were walking along the field with me stopping to take photos of the scenery or of the very first wildflowers to peak out after winter. It was so wonderful to be outside in the spring air after a dusky winter month.
After a while, we noticed a couple at the farmhouse watching us and pointing. We were obviously interesting and a topic of discussion. Of course, when you are walking along a farmer’s field. You will be a matter of interest to the owner of the field.
As we headed down the drive of the farmhouse finishing our route, the man was just heading into the house.
Thomas turned to me: “Should we introduce ourselves? We haven’t moved in, yet.”
That sounds silly now, but at that moment it really was more awkward than it sounds when writing it over a week later.
I was raised to be polite and friendly and, hey! I’m American–I can always use that as an excuse for being overly friendly. I nodded.
We sped up our steps and spoke up.
“Hello. We don’t want to disturb you, but we thought we would introduce ourselves. We are the future new neighbors…”
That awkward wait that always feels much longer than it really is while someone is sizing you up. OK. I think it was about 2 seconds. Then,
“Hi. My name is Thomas… and this is my girlfriend Marlies. Nice to meet you.”
And it was over. The awkwardness turned into a friendly introduction amongst two couples: Thomas and Kristin new neighbors meeting Thomas and Marlies.
As it turned out, we WERE the topic of discussion but not in the way I had thought. The worker in the woods was our neighbor and this was his nephew and one of the heirs of the farm. Agricultural land is rare and sought after. Their concern was that we were going to try to get hold of the land or figure out a way to up the price of the ground. Not exactly positive thoughts while preparing a funeral and sorting legal and emotional terrain.
A few minutes later, his mom, Victoria, and then Grandma both came outdoors. We introduced ourselves and offered our condolences. We also talked about our move and just got to know each other a little bit better.
Within a quarter of an hour, we were integrated in the neighborhood–in thought if not reality. Before we left, Victoria was already preparing a “neighborhood party” in the summer with us and the closest four families. Apologies were given for not having a proper coffee and cake prepared to welcome us “then-and-there”. We replied that we would never want to impose on the family and that we would be more than happy to join them at another, happier time.
Taking our leave, we walked down the drive, and as we turned back, we saw grandma waving goodby from the patio.
Thomas turned to me and said, “I think we lucked out on our neighbors. Victoria reminds me of my Aunt.”
So why did I wait to write about this “Monumental Step” in moving in?
Because it wasn’t monumental at all.
So why write now? Because sometimes knowledge comes later and in retrospect.
Saturday was beautiful. We decided to stop and explore the woods behind our new house for a bit. Instead of going up to the house or the farmhouse, we decided to stop and park where the hikers would start up the hill onto the trails; where we always have parked the past few visits.
We sat on a bench looking out across the fields to the mountains and were eating our soft pretzels and just enjoying the view when suddenly a car came down the road.
It drove past. Suddenly, it swerved around, parked and Victoria got out. Smiling.
She thanked us for the condolence card we had sent and told us how special it was to have neighbors you can talk to—even about difficult subjects. We could hear the honest and heartfelt friendship in her voice.
She repeated how happy she was that we were moving out to the country and that we were getting to know the area (us being city-folk and all).
As we were chatting, young woman walking a dog came over from across the field. She was promptly introduced to us as “Christina, my youngest daughter and a natural talent with animals.”
Anonymity is over. We are “the Nice New Neighbors from the City”.
YAY! (I think.)
Thinking later, I realized just how important that first “Hello” had been.
In an alternate universe, Kristin and Thomas decided not to say hello.
They figured that the best response would be to “lay low” until moving day in a few months’ time.
They walked down the drive, chatting happily about moving in and how beautiful things are out here. They continued down the road, got into their car and continued on their day.
A young man watched them curiously and yet carefully, not sure what their reason was for walking his family’s grounds before his uncle had been buried and the memorial service was over. He overheard them talking about living out here in the idyllic countryside. He watched them taking pictures of the forest and fields.
Questions of scouting out the property had been floated by other family members; farmers in the region all had a story to tell about people wanting to pounce on land and using tragedy as a means to achieve their goal.
He and the family discussed this couple (neither old, nor young) walking the property, camera in hand taking photos of the aspects and discussing future plans.
A week later, his mom driving into town passes this same couple sitting on a bench at the foot of the hiking trail up into those same woods. An area no longer frequented by “outsiders”—certainly not a city couple.
Who are they? Vultures preying on family tragedy? Stuck up city slickers? Those are the worst neighbors in the country—everyone knows that.
Questions with no answers but allowing for fantastical speculation.
Fortunately, we did say hi. We shared about ourselves and listened to them. We offered friendship and support before it was necessary.
We talked about moving in and changes that will effect both families. We got a great start in our new neighborhood—even at the worst of times.
Moral of the story:
Country manners count—especially in the Bavarian Alpenland.
