Change Happens

Today I had the kind of day I recently wrote about. I wrote about the Chinese farmer whose stallion ran away. What his neighbors initially thought was very bad news, soon became good news in their eyes. The stallion eventually returned bringing several wild mares with him. The new mares substantially increased the farmer’s wealth.

That story contains a wise lesson about perspective as it demonstrates a back and forth that can happen between “bad news” and “good news.” Is it really one or the other? It depends.

So “bad news” happened to us today. We woke up this morning to the sound of bulldozers and brush being cut nearby. I unraveled inside. The lot beside the lot behind our house was being razed. We only recently bought this house based in large part on the “back forty” behind us which is full of trees and bushes. It is essentially a forest.

The prospect of seeing this forest disappear before we’d even had time to enjoy it caused my stomach to turn and my heart to drop into my stomach. The dream we had for our home and cozy, private surroundings was falling apart before my eyes.

I did what I usually do in a crisis. I went into crisis management mode. “What can I actually control in this situation?” The bush whacking was happening. The trees were coming down. Outside my control.

What was in my control was information gathering. Who was building? What are they building? What is the plan for the “natural forest” in our backyard? My mind was racing. Would it all be ravaged and cut down to make way for a bunch of new houses?

First, I called the county property assessment office. I found out who owned the lot. I researched the adjoining lots. Different owner. Still the distressing niggle: is there a development going in back there?

Then I called the president of our homeowners’ association. What does he know about what is being built there? How could he help? Could he help? Would he help? All big question marks.

I finally found the name of the new owners on the county property assessors website. But no phone number. No email address. Just a street address. About a fifteen minute drive away from here. I jumped in my car and fired up the GPS.

I turned off the main highway and down a twisty road. One more turn and I landed in what I thought was the address I was looking for. No number on the house though. I was initially wary of the dog on the front porch. That was until I saw him wagging his tail so hard I thought he would fall over.

Encouraged, I braved the porch. My hands and legs were promptly and enthusiastically licked nearly to death. By, I later learned, Groot the dog. A love hound if ever there was one.

The nanny who met me at the door confirmed that her employers were indeed the owners of the lot and they were planning to build a house behind our house. Sigh. I gave her my name and address and phone number and email address and what I hoped was a cheerful note to the impending house builders.

Back at home, I comforted myself I had done all I could do and learned all that could for the day. I resigned myself to the uncertainty and started licking my wounds, inspired by Groot.

A couple of hours later, our insipid front door bell rang. (I really must do something about that.) Acting on the note I had left with the nanny, the builder/homeowner came directly to see us at the end of his workday. The stallion brought several mares back with him.

A standup guy. Concerned about some of the same things we are, specifically, taking down trees. Losing the “natural” vibe. We talked mitigation strategies to make up for our compromised view. Vibernum vines. Night-blooming jasmine. He even wants to do extra planting before the building begins. To give it a head start.

We shot the breeze for awhile. Found out where he came from. What his wife does for a living. The names of their two kids. And, of course, I reported on my near-death licking experience with the dog I then learned was known as Groot. His owner grinned. “He’s full of love.”

Look, if I could, I would revert to what we had yesterday. An unfettered view of natural overgrowth and old oak trees. The endless peace and the quiet. But in a nod to the inevitability of change, our new neighbor made all the right and wise moves.

Showing up immediately as he did and being as concerned about as many things as we are went a long way to soothing our distress over the impaired view.

In only a few moments, it felt like a friendship and alliance was made. The day ended much happier than it began. With a minimum of hand-wringing and drama. If change is inevitable, today was a master class for me in how to handle it. I look forward to meeting the mares.

Build on, Macduff!