LINDEMAN: The Summer of Our Discontent

By BRUCE LINDEMAN

September 26, 2012

“I wonder what this is — hope it’s not something that belongs here,” my neighbor Dave observed. I looked at the plant he had just pulled out of my yard.

“No, it’s definitely a weed.”

I had just arrived back in town to attend to the chores of moving to a new vacation home.  Although we were only moving from Monroe to Tazewell, there was still plenty to do.

We’re not full-timers in Cape Charles yet, but we’ll get there eventually.  We had kids a little later in life and they’re entrenched in their Richmond school and friends.

So, we come and go, but we come and go often.  We relish the moment we reach the bridge-tunnel, as the temperature drops and the briny scent tells us we’ve left the hustle and bustle of city life — if just for a while.

I had been weed-whacking our flowerbeds left unattended by the previous owners, who were residents for some 20 years.  Along the way they lovingly restored their home – our new home – to its 1890s glory.  But after time the flower beds had languished.

Dave had ridden his bicycle into our yard, beer in hand, and begun pulling weeds.  Almost an hour later, he was still weeding.

What Dave was doing would never play out back home in Richmond — at least not where we live.

Don’t get me wrong.  Richmonders are a friendly lot.  My wife and I love our neighborhood for its handsome architecture and abundance of neighbors out and about, quick to stop and chat. We have great neighbors.  But I can’t recall anyone pulling up in my yard and weeding our flowerbeds.

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I grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge, and Dave and I retired to the front porch. It had been a great afternoon to get some dirt under my nails in the Eastern Shore sun. And a cold beer with Dave was the perfect tonic for the Richmond workweek I had left behind.

These things happen often in Cape Charles. I don’t know all my neighbors, but I do talk to lots of folks. I may not know your name, but chances are we’ve traded pleasantries at the coffee shop, over a draft at the pub, or over a scoop or three of ice cream down at the Brown Dog.  It’s that kind of town where it’s hard to restrain yourself from indulging in good old-fashioned neighborliness.

But, juxtapose that neighborliness with the summer’s controversies, and you’d think Cape Charles had schizophrenia.

I’m talking about the soap opera events surrounding the sale of the old Cape Charles School, the Town’s offer and pending purchase of the old Bank of America building, and the blasphemous glass panels adorning the newly rebuilt Hotel Cape Charles — the horror!

My wife and I have done our share of complaining and rolling of eyes as we read and talked to our neighbors about these events.  When it comes to town issues, like politics writ large, there will always be at least two sides to every debate.  While it seems that most people come down against the Town in each of these instances, I believe the debate is actually healthy.

Do I wish we could all work together more harmoniously?  Sure.  We all do, I bet.

But at least there is debate.  In the absence of debate lies the ugly seed called apathy.  And when apathy takes root, it becomes a difficult weed to pull up.

This summer, more than any in recent years, was filled with controversy, harsh words between neighbors, and a lot of, well, discontent.  Yet at the end of the day, we all just kept on going.

Neighbors talking to neighbors.

New neighbors being extended a warm welcome.

Store owners greeting us with a smile as we step inside to see what’s new.

And a merchant putting our kids to work in exchange for treats on a warm Sunday afternoon.

In spite of the turmoil, everything is really OK. There’s the business of Cape Charles and there’s the living that is Cape Charles.  The two are intrinsically connected, yet distinct.

We can get all frothed up over Town Council. But then we all gather down at the harbor to groove to a great local band while tipping back a few cold beers way into the night, laughing and hugging each other as in the best of times.

It’s a phenomenon called perspective, and sometimes I have to force myself to remember to trust.

We live in a complex world. I try not to let the sleepy sway of the majestic crepe myrtles on Monroe fool me. The same turbulent air that flows beneath their branches can get under my skin and make my blood boil.

But when that magnificent orange Chesapeake Bay sun settles on the horizon, I smile softly as I remember that we’re all just neighbors tending to each other’s gardens.

Submissions to COMMENTARY are welcome on any subject relevant to Cape Charles. Shorter articles will be published as a Letter to the Editor.