Opinion
Nobody has moved over the road, but it’s busier than downtown Tokyo. Something is up
Jo Stubbings
Writer and reviewerMaybe I’ve been reading too many spy novels, or perhaps I’m just a nosy parker at heart. (Well, curiosity is the root of all knowledge, isn’t it?) Thing is, I reckon the neighbours over the road are growing weed. That’s weed with no “s” and plenty of blinds-down windows.
Marijuana? Dope? Mary Jane? Whatever you want to call her, our new neighbour has arrived in style. And unlike most neighbours, she’s probably growing centimetres by the day.
Should we keep a cautious eye on our neighbours or determinedly mind our own business?Credit: Luis Ascui
My son thinks I’m imagining things. He tells me to “chill out, girl scout”. But how can I? Nobody appears to have moved in, but it’s busier than downtown Tokyo over there. One night, a white van’s in the car port; the next night, it’s gone. Couriers and removalists come and go. A young student emerges with a backpack and is never seen again. And here’s the clincher: an elderly guy in a beret mows the nature strip almost every week and hand clips the edges.
This is surely proof positive. Something’s going down in that house and it’s definitely not the water bill.
This isn’t the only local weirdness. A few doors up from us, a renovated house was auctioned. The first Christmas following the sale, the new owner introduced himself with a box of pink cupcakes. Right neighbourly of him! He said that he and his family would not be moving in until May. A second Christmas and a second box of cupcakes have come and gone. So have tradies and junk mail and a skip filled with weeds (real this time). But no sign of residents.
What is going on?
I’ve no idea. But it does get me wondering – how much should we know about our neighbours? I don’t mean on a social level. Much has been written about our 21st century hibernating tendencies – especially post-pandemic – and, yes, it would be lovely to borrow sugar from Katie and Anne and Grace on a regular basis. I’m talking about moral responsibilities and spooky stuff.
Is there a grow house on my street? Should I care?Credit:
Let’s do a Geoffrey Robertson, KC, hypothetical. I put to you that the house over the road has indeed become a grow house (houses that are kitted out to grow cannabis on a commercial scale). Would you (a) report your suspicions to the police because you’re a law-abiding citizen, (b) report to the police because you morally object to the selling, hence use, hence harmfulness of weed as a starter drug or (c) do nothing at all because whatever happens in that house is not directly affecting your way of life and is none of your business?
It’s so tempting to opt for (c). As long as there are no barking dogs or stoned residents weeing on your camellia bushes, I’d say move on. Keep walking and just enjoy the view in other people’s gardens.
A side note: In some states of America where it’s legal to use medicinal and recreational marijuana, grow houses are happily encouraged. Hansen Buildings of Browns Valley Minnesota has a website dedicated to helping you construct the hash house of your dreams. “We have grow houses for sale in three different size ranges: small, medium, and large. Once you know roughly how big you’d like your grow house to be, you’ll have an idea of the price range…”
But back to the hypothetical. Yes, easier to say nothing and go about your business. But what if the stakes are raised and the neighbour looks like they’re involved in something much more sinister than farming wacky tobbacky? I’m thinking (reluctantly) of the Josef Fritzls of the world. Would inquiring neighbours have busted his crime – imprisoning his daughter and their children in a sealed-off section of the house – when even his wife seemingly had no idea?
A few years ago, I rented out my old second-floor apartment which had an equally old separate garage. The lease was signed, and the tenants moved in right away. A few days later, I get a phone call from a senior sergeant of the local constabulary. He’s wondering if I’d give his people permission to search my garage.
I contacted the new tenants toute de suite. “Hi”, I said. “I hope you’re settling in okay. I’m just wondering if you’d mind giving the garage key to the police this arvo. There’s been a murder in No.4, and they’re, um, looking for the body.”
Happily, it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. Yes, there had been an argument. Yes, it had been heated. But all involved in the love triangle festering under my flat were still alive and kicking and had gone their separate ways. A nervy neighbour had tipped off the police who took it from there.
The moral of the story? In the words of the old campaign, be alert but not alarmed. And for goodness’ sake, raise your blinds now and then.
Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer and reviewer.