It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood....

but, oh! not a happy one. This week, neighborhood resentments are like hot lava, just looking for a crack in the earth from which to spew forth. Since Neighbor A is planning on digging a ditch, the lava just may spew sooner than later. The battle? Property lines. Our property lines. Neighbor B has always had a "this is my hill and I am barely letting you live here" sort of ambiance about him; we have worked hard to smile, wave, and listen only as long as he doesn't lead us into the twisted darkness called gossip. We try to keep our conversations short. His sons and grandsons are carrying on the family tradition of hostility. A gun pointed at the meter reader, cuss words flying hot and heavy across the property, and a truck parked across the road to prevent access are just a few of the tricks up their sleeves.

So, Neighbor A is going the legal route: he's paying to survey our property, planning on placing the property line stakes with a sheriff present, and hopefully he can dig his ditch for electricity and build his house very soon. But for now we keep the south facing windows closed (too many vocabulary words I am not ready to have floating through the house) and do our best to stay out.of.it. Life is short. I refuse to spend it listening to slander and venom.

The children were discussing what would happen if Neighbor B's property line is as far into our supposed property as he says. He speaks so confidently, and I think they finally got to thinking he might be right. Scary thought. So, my mom distracted them by suggesting all of this was good fodder for a novel. I told her we should write it together and call it The Property Line. The problem is, truth really is stranger than fiction; perhaps it could be a fantasy novel with an evil twist?

I sure love my fence, but I hope I learn soon that it is actually on my property.