Here comes Lizzie with a brand new hatchet!
I've mentioned many times that I love (most of) our neighbors. I do. I well up with joy every time we all congregate outside and yell at our kids together.
The neighbors directly behind us, I don't know well. Vic has had a little more contact with them, but not much. Their sons mowed our lawn for a few years. They had a puppy when our kids were toddlers, and K&J loved to talk to her through the fence. They're a perfectly nice family, they take good care of their yard, and we have no complaints.
Some time ago they got one of those fire pits that can be set up on a patio. There were many summer nights I could smell smoke wafting in our open windows and worried briefly that our house was on fire (if it ever is on fire, I will assume it's the neighbors' fire pit and will surely not get out in time). Once I got used to it, it was actually quite pleasant, almost as if we were enjoying the fire right along with them. They sit outside and chat until late at night and although we can sometimes hear them talking, it's rarely very loud and doesn't bother me. We keep our windows closed most of the time because of the A/C, so we don't even hear them some evenings.
They must have run out of firewood in the last few weeks because lately I've heard them chopping wood in their backyard almost every day. And the strange thing--the impetus for this post, in fact--is that the others root the chopper on. Every couple minutes I hear a big THWACK and then "OH!" or "YEA!" or "GOOD ONE!" or guffaws. Sometimes there's applause. After several chops I can tell that more people have joined the praise band. And when the THWACK-ing stops they all sit down to enjoy their fire.
Is my confusion over chopping firewood being an exciting spectator sport just because I simply do not understand? Because I do not understand.
I'm not complaining. I just don't get it. But I do know that I'm going to be veeery nice to these people. They have sharp things.