This week’s topic makes me a little nervous.
I am trying to pay tribute to a good neighbor, but I worry that somewhere along the way I am going to sound like Mister Rogers singing, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” or perhaps like a State Farm commercial.
Still, some ideas are worth risking a little sentimentality for.
The truth is, I am not a particularly good neighbor.
I am not a bad neighbor, either. I can be a friendly neighbor. A pleasant neighbor. A neighbor who waves from the driveway and enjoys a conversation at the mailbox. But when it comes to the practical skills that often define great neighbors—fixing things, building things, repairing things—I fall woefully short.
I am not especially handy.
In fact, if a project requires tools, measurements, mechanical knowledge, or anything beyond locating the correct end of a screwdriver, I am usually in trouble.
And that is why I am so grateful for people who possess those skills.
Recently, Brenda and I found ourselves on the receiving end of a neighbor’s generosity.
This year we installed a new boat lift at our slip on Lake Petenwell. As we carefully guided our boat toward the lift for the first time, we quickly discovered a problem.
The side rails were too narrow.
The boat wasn’t going to fit.
As Brenda and I stood there trying to determine what to do next, our neighbor noticed our predicament. The remarkable thing was that he was already entertaining guests of his own. He could have easily offered a quick wave of sympathy and returned to his company.
Instead, he came down to help.
After surveying the situation, he disappeared into his garage and returned with a collection of tools and a confidence that immediately suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.
An hour later, the lift was adjusted, the boat was properly positioned, and our problem had been solved.
Throughout the entire process he remained cheerful, patient, and encouraging. Not once did he make me feel foolish for lacking the skills necessary to fix the problem myself.
To be fair, I spent plenty of time making fun of myself on his behalf.
What struck me most wasn’t simply that he had the ability to help. It was that he chose to help.
That choice matters.
One of the things I have always appreciated about boating is that the boating community often operates according to an unwritten code. Boaters help stranded boaters. They stop to check on people. They lend a hand at boat launches. They share tools, advice, and expertise.
In short, they act like neighbors.
Which brings me to one of the most misunderstood lines in American literature.
In Robert Frost’s famous poem Mending Wall, Frost quotes a neighbor who repeatedly insists, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
The line is often cited as proof that boundaries, divisions, and separation are what allow people to get along. But when you read the poem in its entirety, it becomes clear that Frost is asking us to question that very idea.
The poem isn’t celebrating walls.
It is examining why we build them.
Yet every year, someone inevitably invokes Frost’s line to justify another fence, another division, or another reason to keep people at a distance.
My recent experience on Lake Petenwell reminded me that the opposite is usually true.
Good fences don’t make good neighbors.
Good neighbors make good neighbors.
Good neighbors are the people who stop what they’re doing to help when they see a problem.
They are the people who share their time, talents, and knowledge without expecting anything in return.
They are the people who remind us that community isn’t built by property lines, fences, or walls.
It is built by people.
I may never become the kind of neighbor who can repair a boat lift, wire a garage, or fix an engine.
But I can certainly aspire to be the kind of neighbor who shows up when someone needs help.
And maybe, even at the risk of sounding a little like Mister Rogers, the world could use a few more people trying to do exactly that.
For now, I simply want to say:
Thank you, neighbor.
That’s the Perspective from Petenwell this week.
Until next Friday,
Chad
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