The Allure of the Alley

Crunch, crunch. It is the sound I hear as I walk the graveled alleys in town. I miss living in the country, but one of the positives of moving to town after the Alabaugh fire is the enjoyment I feel when walking the alleys of Hot Springs. As I hike them on my way to a store or to the river walk, I remember.

I grew up in northern Minnesota in a small location of about twelve houses rented by the mining company for their employees. The alley ran down the middle of the location and all of the activities took place there. Neighbors visited in the alley, walked the alley, and drove the alley. We kids ran the alley, biked the alley and played in the alley. We made our daily plans in the alley, chased our dogs and walked it each day to catch the bus to school.

Years later, after my mother died, my father moved in with my sister. She died soon after and he moved in with us. Our house was too small to give him his own space so we looked at houses to better meet his needs. While searching, I researched on how to take care of your elderly parent and was focused on finding a home with a bathroom close to his bedroom and living area, and large windows allowing a lot of light.

Bob, on the other hand, had his sights set on a house with an alley. "Neighborhoods with alleys are important in making friends". The rest of us were at work or school, barely having the time to greet our next door neighbors. My father would be home alone with his dog and hobby of chopping wood and keeping the fire roaring during the cold weather. He was a very outgoing person and had always made friends easily.

We found the house with the extra bedroom and bath, a large window, a fireplace and, most important, an alley in a neighborhood with many retirees. We ordered wood for my father to cut and pile for the fireplace and settled in to our busy lives.

His birthday was on the horizon and I wondered out loud to Bob, "Who can we invite for this occasion"? He had left his old friends miles away, and my brothers lived states away. We thought we could invite the next-door neighbors who we barely knew. We heard my father talk about them. When I invited them they asked, "What about Barney and Doris? They love your Dad".

We had only lived in this house for a few months, but we asked them to invite any neighbors who knew my father. His birthday arrived, and fourteen neighbors came to celebrate. They had met and grown to admire their new neighbor as he walked his dog down the alley, stopping to visit with each and every one of them along the way. It was a neighborhood gathering, the first of its kind, and five more to follow until he left us a few months after his 92 birthday.