Our family could’ve wound up anywhere, but one day my husband Marty got a phone call for an opportunity to buy the house whose only previous owners were his very own grandparents, where his dad and four siblings were raised. | Britt Hueter
I could’ve written another version of this essay and blown the entire word count just describing how the canopy of trees changes from season to season, or the way the maple leaves scatter sunlight across our chalky sidewalks in bouncing dapples. Our neighborhood is surrounded not only by two incredible parks with all-year-long activities and camps, but is also within walking distance of grocery stores, a bookstore, coffee, a hardware store, bakeries, thrift stores, nightlife, and a mixture of casual and fine dining—everything the heart desires!
For me, what it’s truly made up of is tiny little moments of connection. Kids emerging from their houses with boxes of cold Popsicles for a yard full of friends taking a break from a front yard soccer match. Flowers on the doorstep of the neighbor experiencing loss. Days when we drop our kids off at school—whether on foot, by bus, or, on Fridays in nice weather, in our neighborhood Bike Bus, where we meet up and ride together—and the music teachers are outside performing an impromptu concert. Nights when I slide our windows open before bed, and fall asleep to the enchanting sound of choral singing from the home of a neighbor who directs the official vocal group of Michigan’s Renaissance Festival.
A mix of many family structures, incomes, and life experiences share these streets. We’ve got teachers, artists, journalists, and Realtors. We’ve got single mothers doing the hardest job with unmatched strength and devotion to their kids. We’ve got nurses, theoretical physicists, researchers, scientists, public officials, doctors, therapists, and musicians. We’ve even got a member of the RFD Boys!
I just want to take this moment and brag about all these wonderful people, and how they contribute to this community, and how much richer my life feels since landing within all of their orbits. I believe that what makes the Allen neighborhood truly spectacular is them. They are the secret sauce—with the poetry they write and leave for people to find in bushes, or their kids out there selling their homegrown garlic, wildflowers, lemonade, or art on the corner. It’s the tomatoes from their gardens they share, and the buckets of pride flags always in stock down the street.
What I know is that nine times out of ten I’m walking away from a chat with a passing neighbor altered in some fashion. Whether it was having my perspective shifted, or being taught something new—I know that every time I walk out my front door and let myself be in community with my neighbors, I will feel my humanity and compassion grow and stretch. To say that I live for moments like that would be an understatement.
Our family could’ve wound up anywhere, but one day my husband Marty got a phone call for an opportunity to buy the house whose only previous owners were his very own grandparents, where his dad and four siblings were raised. Watching our kids, Jo and Sam, grow up on this corner with all these families and wonderful schools feels like hitting the million-dollar life lottery.