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But Aren't We Too Young for a 55+ Community?

Kind neighbors and shared interests outweigh the fact that I can’t paint my front door red

By Eileen Vorbach Collins

Two decades ago, when I met my husband, a few years my senior, he was widowed, I was divorced. Eventually, we sold both our homes and left Baltimore. We'd agreed we wanted a home on one level, but now we had an acre of land. A koi pond!  Although I was still working, I plowed space for a huge vegetable garden. I dug up the tired old bushes in front of the house and planted lots of flowering perennials.

Neighbors talking to each other. Next Avenue, 55+ community
"We didn't have a lot of time to decide unless we wanted to put all our belongings in storage and rent for a while, so we made the decision to buy."  |  Credit: Getty

We got a dog. And another dog. It was a lot of work but we loved our home. My husband, a man who'd never had a garage, bought himself a John Deere and drove it around our one acre like he was the owner of a thriving cattle ranch.  

There's a name for people who retire to Florida then move again to somewhere north but not as far as where they came from. We're Halfbackers. 

Then we decided to move to Florida. I became a master gardener and planted native ground cover that required little water and seldom needed mowing. The bees loved it. But after a decade in the Sunshine State, and evacuating for a few hurricanes, we decided to move again. We looked into North Carolina where I envisioned a little house in a treed neighborhood with sidewalks. A yard big enough for a small garden and our one remaining dog, Sugar, who at 17 is possibly the oldest Lab on the planet. Sugar agreed we should stick with one level.

There's a name for people who retire to Florida then move again to somewhere north but not as far as where they came from. We're Halfbackers. 

The housing market was booming at the time. Our Florida house went under contract days after the listing went live. We looked at a dozen houses in two days. The one we finally both agreed on was in a 55+ community just outside Raleigh. We hadn't planned on that, though I'd soon be turning 70 and harbor enough titanium in my body to make my earthly remains a valuable asset to the aerospace industry.

"Aren't we too young?" I asked my husband who'd had one knee replaced and had since given up golf and kayaking. The same husband who'd given up his John Deere ten years earlier. We weighed the pros and cons. 

Pros:

A pool and clubhouse
People our age
No lawn maintenance

Cons:

HOA fees
Old people
Manicured lawns — not bee friendly

We didn't have a lot of time to decide unless we wanted to put all our belongings in storage and rent for a while, so we made the decision to buy. 

The day we moved in, a neighbor brought freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The next day the neighbor on the other side brought cupcakes.

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The Kindness of Neighbors

Two weeks after our move into a two-year-old home, the air conditioner stopped working. Though still under warranty, the problem was a coil which despite "a nationwide search," was not available. There was no information about when or if said coil might arrive in this ninety-degrees-and-rising lifetime.

Had we moved into a neighborhood where most of our neighbors were rushing off to work and getting kids to activities, we'd likely have met no one those first weeks.

Like many of us, I grew up without central air. But that was then. I asked on our community Facebook page if anyone else had had a problem with their builder-installed AC. Then I headed out to buy a fan as my husband loudly lamented the fact that he'd never be able to sleep in the sweltering inferno that had replaced the primary bedroom.

By the time I got home with the fan, there were a number of comments on the Facebook page. Two were from neighbors we'd never met offering to let us sleep in their spare bedroom. Our cookie-baking neighbor suggested this as well.

While we couldn't accept this generosity, we were so touched by the kindness. Then someone offered to loan us a portable air conditioner until we could get our unit replaced. These neighbors have since become regular breakfast companions when they're not off traveling the world. 

Had we moved into a neighborhood where most of our neighbors were rushing off to work and getting kids to activities, we'd likely have met no one those first weeks.

There's a garden club in our new community. The first time I went to a meeting, I met a woman who would soon become a good friend. She invited me to go to a nursery and lunch along with a few other women. Our husbands all like one another, and we get together at each other's homes for cards and dinner. When I went off to a writers' retreat in the mountains, my husband was invited to dinner with those friends several times.

Other neighbors included us for Thanksgiving dinner, then Christmas too. A new friend built and installed a bluebird house. That listening to or making music supports brain health is well documented. A woman who plays the lap dulcimer has offered to teach me and comes to my house toting her instrument and music she's printed out for me. The same friend who built the bluebird house loaned me a dulcimer he never got around to playing.

Community Spirit

When my husband had a hip replacement, a friend brought sandwiches and sat with me in the hospital cafeteria for a few hours during the surgery. Another friend volunteered to walk Sugar while I was at the hospital. She left a delicious dinner in the refrigerator.

A woman who plays the lap dulcimer has offered to teach me and comes to my house toting her instrument and music she's printed out for me.

I joined a neighborhood book club. My husband gets together once a month with a veterans' group. If we wanted to and were able, we could play bocce ball or pickleball. We could have country line dance lessons or practice tai chi. Bible study. There's a gym, fitness classes, and water aerobics. There's a group that travels together, Friday night food trucks and a Sholom Club.  

Don't misunderstand. We haven't discovered a modern-day Utopia. I wish we had the option of some native ground cover that supported pollinators and didn't waste water. These pristine lawns are no friend of the planet. How wonderful if our community embraced a commitment to environmental stewardship. Our garden club, though, has taken one small step for mankind and started a composting program to help lessen our giant footprint. 

The Declaration of Covenants, Conditions and Restrictions, a long list of things we can't do, is tempered by those we'd never want to do and are glad our neighbors won't either. I can't have the small backyard flock I've long dreamed of. Three chickens I'd already named Hazel, Harriette and Henrietta. But my neighbors are prohibited from trapping or shooting wild animals and, unlike our Florida neighborhood, political signs must adhere to size restrictions and be removed within seven days of an election. That'll be nice. 

I can't paint my front door any but the HOA-approved dull, uninviting color. This rule irks me and makes my teeth itch. But like many things in life, it's a trade-off. The inside of my door is fire-engine red. 

Eileen Vorbach Collins
Eileen Vorbach Collins 
Eileen Vorbach Collins is a Baltimore native. Her work has been widely published, receiving several literary awards and two nominations for a Pushcart Prize. Her essay collectionLove in the Archives, a Patchwork of True Stories About Suicide Loss, received the 2023 Sarton Women's Book Award for memoir. 
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