In our rural community, our block was an anomaly. It was not square. We lived on a north-south rock road one mile long with a total of four houses on it. To the south was a paved road. This road had a low maintenance rock road one mile in, but it was a road with an old one room schoolhouse and only one residence. (Not a road frequently traveled.) To the east was another paved mile and the last side of the rectangle was two miles of rock.
Our block was six miles: 3 of rock and 3 of paved road. It took a bit on a bicycle road. But what I remember was the hours that our block added to our bus route. Not only were we scheduled to go the long way around the block but we ALSO had to go straight north on our road another three miles and back before the bus delivered us home at the end of the school day. We could see our house from the corner. Sometimes the bus driver would let us walk the three-quarters of a mile to our house. Many times we were flat out told No when we asked to walk home.
Walking cut at least half an hour off our bus trip that was almost 10 miles from that corner. It wasn’t like we were rushing home to watch TV (black and white), and not allowed after school. We weren’t really in a rush to do chores: feed and water chickens, cows, pigs, horse, and hens, etc. We just weren’t that fond of sitting in the dusty, old bus that rattled and squeaked with every bump in the road.
The house on the corner had a neighbor who occasionally cut our hair. We knew them but never lingered there. The next house was our cousins. Our moms are sisters (Baby Ruths) and our dads were brothers. Sweet. We had the potential of always knowing someone at our family reunions.
Then there was our house. Until high school it was an old story and a half two bedroom house that was remodeled to carve out space for the parents and the 6 of us kids. Wallpaper on the walls. Heating stove in the living room. And one bathroom shared by eight people.
And then the last house on our block was on the other side of the road (mailbox side) with neighbors who hired us as babysitters quite often (especially at $.25 / hour).
Four houses on our block. Each uniquely different. Each included some farming acreage. And each included kids whether they were our ages or not. One mile. One block.
This post was inspired by Sally’s post about her neighbors and her street (link
).
My block (half a country away) looked a bit different. What was your street like?
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I love this nostalgic look at where you grew up. Communities and the people wo live there shape our lives without us really realizing it at the time. I grew up in a coal mining patch. We had three streets and nothing you could call a block.
Love your seacriptor of a patch! Neighbors matter and maybe are more critical as we age.