I have been adopted. At least, it feels that way. A couple have elected to work in our garden, bringing it back from neglect, and tickling the potential that lies beneath the dirt. The very notion makes me tingle. Could there be raspberries? Sunflowers? Sweet potatoes? How is it even possible that where there was soil there could be food? Beauty? It feels like the epitome of undeserved. 

For my part, I have the golden opportunity to sew for them in exchange. Which as you may have noticed I am prone to doing in my free time anyway. Hence it can hardly be considered difficult.

This informal agreement works for us. Most of society hinges on more formal contracts, involving wages, clocks, invoices. A man handy with tools repairs my bathroom. John writes the content for a small group the worker attends. There were paychecks as intercessory steps to keep things equitable. 

Since I live in a small town some of these glorified barters are more obvious. I have taught the children of the people who have taught my twins. The girls have babysat for professors at my son's college. That son works in IT, fixing computer glitches for that same faculty. 

There are couples who make an effort to spend time with younger couples, just to connect. It can be a double blessing. Newlyweds remind me to have fun. John and I can illustrate what partnership looks like. 

It creates a web of connections when people serve one another. Which is entirely more lovely, and strong, than a landscape of isolation. It is only when we feel completely alone that we are left with hearts that bleed.