Are we the people next door, or are we neighbors?
Last week I was Barb Focht’s guest at the yearly “Montgomery County Past Homemakers’ Lunch” at Viking Lake’s restaurant. I felt privileged to listen as 17 women recounted memories as members of various local neighborhood clubs.
Some clubs had “noble” purposes, like improving society or the lives of other neighbors, doing practical things like tearing rags together for rugs or quilts during the Depression or providing scholarships for future generations.
Some met Bible or book studies. Some gathered as support groups for women dealing with life-altering situations.
And some were just an excuse to catch up on gossip, have fun, and when hostess, a great incentive to give the house a thorough cleaning and try that fancy dessert on the cover of a magazine.
The women’s clubs generally weren’t large, though they were sometimes part of a “federated” organization until the members opted to stop paying dues and accomplish goals locally.
Several women became leaders in 4-H after being members as youth.
A lot of neighborhood clubs gradually dissolved because women took jobs or began caring for grandchildren whose moms were earning a paycheck. A few, like church women’s ministries or sororities, the American Legion Auxiliary, Entre nous, and even some bridge or pitch clubs have remained active for decades.
Looking back, the luncheon group spoke of how beneficial clubs were to women who spent most days somewhat isolated from others as they helped out on the farm and raised children. Women, the group said, could meet as a part of good mental health by sharing burdens and blessings that life brought their way.
Listening to their memories and Focht’s history of county clubs, I was reminded of Mom’s “Social Circle” whose members were women from farms within perhaps five square miles.
When Mom prepared for Social Circle, we all helped get things ready, but Mom spent hours thoroughly preparing for inspection. Nothing escaped, including basement corners and dresser drawers. New shelf paper covered the shelf above the stove and three “seasonal” napkins were placed “just so” under the old mantel clock. The best towels were saved back, washed curtains were ironed, freshly waxed floors were buffed and the yard was prepared, too.
You’d thought roll call was to find an unkempt corner in the hostess’ house.
On Mom’s trays were colorful napkins, an appropriately decorated nut cup, fresh buns or a slice of a wheat/white “ribbon” sandwich, and the ooh-ahh dessert, different from the common cake or pie.
Contrast the rural neighborhood with the urban one.
In Chicago, my sister and I tried to meet our neighbors. You’d thought we’d come with a multi-level marketing scheme.
I understand both lifestyles, but when a person’s peering back from the other side of a chained door, it’s harder to share joys and burdens.
After knocking on a few doors, we went back to our apartment. We weren’t in Kansas anymore. True, we found friends in other settings, particularly at church and at work.
But that “let’s meet our neighbors” experience had been met with one question from the person mostly out of view: “What do you want?”
Our reply was that we lived next door and wanted to meet them. After a “hello” they closed the door.
Perhaps we’d threatened their way of existence.
We’d wanted to change them from being the person next door into being our neighbor, like people used to do.
Marge Warder is a general assignment reporter. E-mail her at news@redoakexpress.com.