At Baldwin High School in Guaynabo, we read Robert Frost’s “Mending Wall.” I remember not understanding the statement, "Good fences make good neighbors."
The sound of the words themselves were good; "Good fences make good neighbors." The rhythm of the words stayed with me; good and solid. But the meaning was lost on me.
Why would a good fence make a good neighbor?
Many years later I would see that Frost was asking that same question while engaging the competing sentiment of “Something there is that doesn't love a wall.”
It is this statement that I felt was true: “Something there is that doesn't love a wall.” I remember feeling that was truer than, "Good fences make good neighbors."
The poem, for me, was about these two ways of experiencing relationships; fences that separate clearly and something that doesn’t love that separation, but what to do?
I remembered “Mending Wall” again today.
A neighbor, who shares an easement, came by to tell me his thoughts on where I parked my car. I had parked there to keep him from driving too fast past our house, past the garden, past the cats, and baby deer because that is what he had been doing for two days for no apparent reason.
He says the driveway that is in front of our house is his and that he wants to drive down it because, “I want to. It’s mine.” I say to him, “But you have a good driveway that you have paved that you can drive down.” Ours is gravel and then turns to grass, why would someone drive down that instead of smooth tar? “Because it’s mine. Because I want to.” The easement technicality is the rationale I see.
He is on the front deck. I am talking with him through the kitchen window with no intention of going outside the house. What has brought this on?
He says he will call the sheriff to have my car towed. I say that’s fine, call the sheriff. I am thinking how can my car be towed from my driveway by a neighbor? None of this is making sense.
He goes on about how eight years ago we didn’t let the water and sewer lines go through our lakefront and how that cost him thousands. What is true is that we did not let a sewer line go through the lakefront of Cayuga Lake.
Then he raises his hand and wags his finger at me yelling, “You fucking dykes are dumber than a box full of rocks.” He walks off and gets in his truck. Later I will see what he drove over.
I stand in the kitchen wondering if he will be back. After a while I think to call my sister. I have been standing at the window for twenty minutes. Call the police, she says.
My partner gets home from the airport. We call 911 because it is Saturday and there is no answer on the office line. A Deputy will come when there is one available, but if he comes back on your property call again and it will be considered an emergency. That makes sense to us. We wait. Within a half hour, a Deputy drives up. I tell the Deputy was has just happened.
The Deputy drives over to tell him that he cannot set foot on our property. That he cannot use name-calling and trespass. When we ask what he said regarding his telling me I’m a “dumb dyke” the neighbor said, “Why not? It’s free speech.” To which the Deputy replied, “Technically, it’s harassment.” We file a report.
He drove around my car through the wildflower garden. He thought it was fine to walk up to my door to call me a “dumb dyke” and then crush our plants.
"Good fences make good neighbors."
“Something there is that doesn't love a wall”
By Gale Courey Toensing
