Moving

By

Gerry Niskern

He was the first neighbor we met when we moved into our home on the North Phoenix Mountains.  Pacing back and forth along a wall on long, thin legs, he slowed and gave us a piercing look with bright cobalt eyes. Then he turned his back and hurried up the driveway.

Later that day, when I was on the rear patio, he darted across the top of the retaining wall above. The large roadrunner looked a little defiant, as if to say, “You can move in and live here, but this is really my house.” He appeared again at lunchtime. My son offered him some French fries. After picking one up daintily, the large bird proceeded to slam it vigorously back and forth against the ground. After he was satisfied that it was dead, he ate it.

I thought about the rude roadrunner, my first acquaintance in this area, when I read recently about the 75,000 people expected to relocate to our valley in the next year. Moving is always a tough job whether it is across the valley or across the country. It’s more gratifying to be greeted with a friendly wave and smile.

Looking back,  I remember when our family moved to Arizona when I was a kid; there was a war on. The carefully laid plans of having our furniture loaded by Allied Van and expecting it be in Phoenix a week later when we arrived didn’t work out. Our household goods were off loaded in Dallas for three weeks. Moving the  possessions of the Army officers’ families had priority in those days.

We moved into a big, empty three-bedroom house on West Madison Street near the State Capitol with nothing but our suitcases. The neighbors pitched in to help.  First they offered food, and then they brought mattresses for us to sleep on. One came with a hot plate for cooking. An electric roaster. Dishes. Towels. They offered the use of their washing machine when needed.

One fellow taught my Dad how to service our evaporative cooler that was in the living room window. With his help, our family adjusted to the 110 degree August temperature. The kids directed my sister and me to University swimming pool where we kept our cool.

The neighborhood ladies provided my mother with covered dishes for our dinner, a coffee pot for breakfast and most important of all, friendship and sympathy for my young Mother three thousand miles away from her ten brothers and sisters for the first time.

A couple of months ago a young couple in our family moved into their new home. The neighbors, in this subdivision still under construction, brought a huge pan of goulash that lasted through the weekend, garlic bread and a platter of brownies. One fellow even pitched in and helped unload their pickups.

Other young friends, on the opposite side of our valley, told an entirely different story. The people who did happen to be out in their yards looked the other way as they settled in. My friends are very discouraged to see their neighbors speed by, raise their garage doors by remote, slip in, and the next sound was the thud of the garage doors closing, as if to say, “I can’t be bothered with anyone new.”

I know, it’s tempting to say, “I’m just too busy. I have enough to think about without adding another person to my list.” But then again, you could ask yourself, when you see a moving van on your street, “Why don’t I take five minutes, step over and welcome them to the neighborhood.”

I will admit that our first acquaintance, the roadrunner, did have an attitude.

During the first few weeks here, we could count on seeing him below the house in the early morning chasing insects.  Once a flock of black birds landed in the  yard. He hunched down low to the ground, shot across the terrace like a blazing rocket and knocked one of the intruders end over end. Another bird met the same fate when they came back. Needless to say, they decided it wasn’t much fun at this guy’s house!

If he wasn’t looking for food, he could be found looking at his reflection in our glass door. He seemed to be admiring his brilliant blue eyes and brown and white stripped coat of feathers as he preened himself. “Maybe,” I thought, “he’s courting that bird in the door when he spreads his wings and ruffles his feathers from the top of his head to his extra long tail?”

Then one day, just as we were getting used to sharing our new property with a co-owner, he was gone. We haven’t seen him for many years. Maybe he knew the first mortgage payment was due.