Welcome to the Neighborhood

Rebecca Birch

W hen we moved to the suburbs, I was ready to enjoy the slower pace of life. Wildlife outside my windows. Tidy yards, bundles of domesticity, and a quaint woodland between our neighborhood and the county reservoir next door where I could walk. I might even be able to convince Jeff to let me get a cat.

Then the Homeowner’s Association president, Patty, stopped by to welcome us with brownies and lemon bars, a neighborhood watch invitation, and a reminder that HOA bylaws prohibited garden gnomes.

I’d been looking forward to peopling my front yard planting beds with the little ceramic statues. Just regular ones, of course. None of the racy naked guys I’d accidentally found down an internet rabbit hole.

But Jeff and I wanted to make friends. He convinced me not to ruffle feathers. Not yet.

So I was good, until my birthday rolled around and my mom – who remembered I’d wanted to start a gnome colony – gave me a chubby, rosy-cheeked, red-hatted gentleman just six inches tall.

She’d gone to such trouble that it felt wrong to keep him inside, but I’m also not a rule-breaker, so I really surprised myself when I snuck out on a foggy midnight and placed Toby – yes, I named him – deep inside the branches of our holly bush out front.

W hen I picked up the newspaper the next morning, Toby was gone.

For the first time, I felt uncomfortable in our peaceful little oasis. Was there a thief among our neighbors? Was Linda across the street peering through her blinds in the wee hours of the night, looking for something to nab? Was Patty of the HOA more like Patty On Patrol, purloining contraband yard art?

I took myself for a walk through the woods by the reservoir. The smell of evergreens and the soft rustle of small creatures in the underbrush calmed me down. I was being paranoid. There were wild animals here. One probably thought Toby would make a good toy. Linda was a perfectly nice lady. Surely Patty was, too.

Later that day, I found a package on the front porch. My name was scrawled on it in green ink. There was no return address.

Jeff was still at work, so I went ahead and opened it. It held an oscillating sprinkler head. We’d been talking about getting something for the summer watering season. Jeff must have ordered it, but what was with the strange way it was addressed?

A small scrap of paper at the bottom of the box caught my eye. In the same green ink it read, Thank you.

Unnerved, I tossed the note into the shredder and recycled the box. But I wasn’t unnerved enough not to set up the sprinkler.

Then I ordered another gnome.

She arrived, green-hatted and beaming, and I named her Poppy. Beneath the cover of darkness, I put her under the holly bush, hardly daring to breathe, lest someone spot me hiding my contraband.

The next day, Poppy was gone and another box arrived, this time with a rather nice stained-glass mobile and another note. Thank you.

Okay, it couldn’t be an animal. It had to be the neighbors playing some sort of prank on me and giving us a few more welcome gifts. We’d installed a small gazebo in the back yard and it needed a centerpiece. I hung the mobile and smiled. Perfect.

I couldn’t stop grinning all the way through my now-daily forest walk. I could almost have imagined tiny voices laughing along with me.

B y the time the next gnome was on its way, a flier had gone up at the community mailboxes with a reminder to review the HOA bylaws. There had been some reports of violations. Oh, and Patty’s cat had a litter of kittens almost ready for adoption if anyone was interested.

I’d have to talk to Jeff when he got back from his company retreat. A kitten would make our home complete.

When the gnome – Rufus – arrived later that day, I hesitated. He came with a wheelbarrow and was a little bigger than the others. Harder to hide. And the reported HOA violations… but the adrenaline rush of clandestine gnome-planting was more than I could resist.

Under the holly he went.

I wasn’t surprised when he was gone the next morning, but finding the box in a full-sized wheelbarrow on the porch was new.

The box mewed.

I brought it inside and tore open the lid. A tiny silver tabby stared up at me with wide green eyes, flexed its little claws, and yowled.

It was in my arms before I could think. I read the note out loud: “Thank you.”

The doorbell’s ring was so unexpected I jumped, startling the kitten. I tightened my grip, cradling it close with one arm so it couldn’t escape, then cracked open the door.

Patty waited on the other side, arms folded across her chest. “Which part of ‘No Garden Gnomes’ wasn’t clear?” Her foot tapped a frustrated cadence on the concrete.

“I—”

“Don’t deny it. I have you on Linda’s doorbell camera. And Paul’s sprinkler is in your yard, Maggie’s mobile is in your gazebo, and Bob’s wheelbarrow is right here on your porch.” She pointed to the wheelbarrow and the clearly spray-painted BOB in the bottom, where the box had hidden it.

My stomach lurched.

The tabby yowled again and Patty squeezed the bridge of her nose. “And my missing kitten. Of course. Listen, if you swear there’ll be no more gnomes, you can keep the cat.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I’ll return everybody’s things.”

“No more gnomes. They only bring trouble.”

When Patty was gone, I regarded the kitten, who batted a paw toward my nose. “I think I’ll call you ‘Rufus’.”

The next time I walked the overgrown path, I studied the underbrush. I’d always assumed the rustling I heard there was rabbits or birds, and maybe some of it was, but when I caught a flash of red out of the corner of my eye and found tiny footprints leading into the base of an old tree, I smiled.

Maybe they were trouble to some, but they were magic to me.

I set down a wrapped box of tiny brownies and lemon bars and whispered, “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

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