How to be a dependable neighbor

In the middle of a Sunday dinner in April, we heard a knock on the back door. A tall man in full motorcycle gear stood in the carport.

“I just wanted you to know I saw a cow running loose on 99,” he said. “Then it got off into the field over by that red barn.” He gestured toward the big hay shed to the west. “I just thought I’d come to the nearest house and let someone know.”

He seemed relieved to transfer this responsibility to me. I thanked him for telling us, returned to the table, and told the others. None of us had any idea whose cow it might be or where it broke out.

“Call Darrell,” my daughter suggested. Of course. There was an excellent chance he would know who owned the cow, which field it belonged in, and, who knows, probably even the name of the cow and why the electric fence was down. I saw no need to call law enforcement, because the cow was off the road, and also because the deputy would probably call Darrell to identify the owner.

Darrell Smucker and my husband, Paul, are cousins. In typical multiconnected fashion, we are also near-neighbors, and Paul used to be Darrell’s fifth-grade teacher and, later, his pastor.

Darrell and his wife, Simone, live in the house that his grandfather, Orval Smucker, built. They also farm his land, raising grass seed, hazelnuts, and a variety of experimental crops, plus the occasional flock of sheep or goats.

After the cow problem had been successfully transferred from the motorcyclist to me to Darrell, and I had returned to the dinner table, my daughter said, “I wonder how Darrell came to be the neighbor that people call for things like this.”

While I didn’t interview every Kropf and Coffey and Krabill up and down Powerline Road, I’m assuming what’s true for us is true for most: Darrell is the neighbor we call when we need assistance. Thanks to his combination of willingness, tools, skills, connections, and resources, he is someone who will show up and help.

When a car slid off the road by our house on an icy morning last winter, I asked Darrell if he could come pull it out with his tractor. A few weeks after I called him about the cow, Darrell brought his tractor over and tilled my garden and dahlia bed, as he does every year.

Because he prefers baked goods over cash as compensation for tilling, I made a pan of sourdough cinnamon rolls and walked over to deliver it a few days later.

“Did you deliberately set out to become ‘that neighbor that everyone calls?’” I asked Darrell, and he laughed, unsure that he even fits the description and certain that he never sought it.

“He knows everybody,” Simone told me. “Farmers are always out there comparing notes. They drive around to see if anyone has started cutting yet, and they talk to each other about how the crops are doing and when to start combining. And they loan equipment to each other and share information. Hazelnut farmers are especially generous for some reason. So if something comes up, they can call him, or he can call them.”

“My goal is to be approachable and humble enough to learn from other people,” Darrell said.

“And interruptible!” Simone interrupted. 

“Yes, that too,” he said. “I think there’s value in helping neighbors, not so much as a ministry specifically, but just how you should be. I see value in community, in how you make people feel.” 

I asked him what he would say to someone who would like to have a role like his in their own neighborhood. Maybe not the tractor and tiller part, but how do you become the person to call on if someone falls and needs help getting up or their car won’t start or a tree falls in a storm? If you wanted to be that person, what should you do, beside buying jumper cables and a chain saw?

“Look up from your phone and notice people,” Darrell said. “Be available. Talk to neighbors who walk by if you’re working out in the yard. Be willing to listen and maybe don’t take yourself too seriously.”

From our experience, I would add: Be reliable and do a good job, consistently.

Foundational to the relationship among our neighbors is trust, which develops over time with repeated interactions. In our case, it goes back generations. 

It’s important to Paul and me to give as well as receive, even if we can’t reciprocate equally to Darrell and Simone, other than baking rolls and trading dahlia tubers, canning supplies, and recipes. We try to contribute what we can to the whole neighborhood, even if it’s only listening to someone who needs to talk or inviting the neighbors to stop by and pick dahlia bouquets.

I picture a world where neighborhoods turn into communities, and everyone not only knows who to turn to when there’s a problem but is also willing to be called and to use their skills and resources to assist others.

Here on Powerline Road, we know it is a blessing to have good neighbors, and it is no small gift to have someone to call on a frosty morning when a car slides into the ditch, on a warm spring day when it’s time to plant a garden, or on a Sunday afternoon when a cow is ambling south on Highway 99, headed for Harrisburg.