Little Village

So this morning, early AM, I am toddling around in my jammies, sipping some coffee and adhering to no schedule whatsoever.

Our dog, Biserka, begins to bark. Odd, in that she rarely does that, and odd, that it's on a Sunday morn.

I amble out to quiet her. (Me, in my jammies. It's only 8:30 am on a Sunday morn..)

It's our neighbor down the way, out of his pickup. (The pickup, I think, is Biserka's bugaboo to bark at.) He has my bundle of mail.

What???

He, from west of us, was sitting in his pickup last night watching the guy north of us finish his soybean harvest just across the road from us, when the USPS guy pulled up, and announced that he could not fit my mail into my mailbox: could someone take it for me?

OK.

A: Yay that I have good neighbors.
B: These neighbors are honest.
C: These neighbors did not bat an eye even if they read that the package addressed to me came from Evil Empire Books & Records.com

(Really: I bought a DVD of Helen Mirren's 90's Prime Suspect mystery shows.)

But, honestly, where in the world do I live, that people:

A) hang out on a Saturday night watching soybean harvest.
B) accept whatever the USPS hands them, asking them to deliver it to their neighbor??

There is no C to this. I am just happy that I got my Helen Mirren DVD, and that Biserka did not bite my neighbor this morning.

That's all I have to say.