As with most older neighborhoods, residents here put varying levels of effort into yard care.

Clairemont was created in 1950 by Carlos Tavares and Lou Bergener, and was named after Tavares’ wife Claire. San Diego’s need for housing at the time was enormous, thanks to massive growth in the military and aerospace, and Clairemont became San Diego’s biggest postwar subdivision. At the time, it was the largest development of its kind in the country. My street seems emblematic of what much of Clairemont has become in over following seventy years. And even though I have lived here for more than a decade, I still find it a fascinating place to live.

Our house is a very typical mid-1960’s tract home. We love it, and do our best to keep it maintained and looking good. Over the years, it has become my favorite home, completely customized for us and our tastes. We call it our “forever” home.

I know almost all our neighbors, and I like them. We talk on the street, wave at each other, trick or treat each other’s houses. We are tucked away, so that the foot canvassers really must work to get to us. Our neighbors are mostly middle-aged or seniors, but about a quarter of are young families. Many Accessory Dwelling Units have popped up all over our street. Formerly known as “Granny Flats,” they often look like second homes being added to a property designed for one.

What fascinates me most is how many of our neighbors live in the house they grew up in. Many have had parents pass away, or still live with one or both. So, this street is the only neighborhood many of them have ever known. The benefit of this is that our neighbors know each other well, and are, in some cases, more like extended family than people that just live down the street. The disadvantage is that, just as in extended families, some of these dynamics are not happy. In the best-case scenarios, neighbors will take part in celebrations and rituals that I grew up thinking were exclusively family related. In the worst-case scenarios, neighbors stew over years of dislike based on fear, mistrust, and ancient history. Either way, when they call to each other in the street, they use each other’s full names — perhaps to emphasize the extent of information each know about the other.

One of our neighbors has a front-yard art-installation that is always evolving.

This familiarity also causes some boundary issues. Residents have been known to gawk over the fence at night at neighbors enjoying the backyard hot tub. It’s rare that anyone addresses these issues face to face. To avoid an unpleasant discussion, the hot tubbers simply install flood lights pointing at the neighbor’s fence to discourage further peeping. Problem solved. Some life-long neighbors are so comfortable here that they have no issue with walking up to a house’s window and peering in to see if anyone is home while calling out their names. Combining the two, we had a neighbor who would wait for us to go out of town, then help himself to our spa. After we returned home to a muddy, trashed spa, installed security cameras and started locking our gates.

As with most older neighborhoods, the residents here put varying levels of effort into yard care. There is a property on our street that we lovingly refer to as “The Boo Radley House.” One of its residents have lived there his entire life. The house can barely be seen from the street – the grass, bushes and trees are all wildly overgrown, and it all looks very out of place here. But every Christmas, Boo Radley turns on his holiday lights, even if the only way a passerby can see them is to peer through the dense thicket.

Another house of note is lovingly known as “The Hoarder House.” My introduction to its lifetime inhabitants included a look at the in-garage art exhibit, which consisted of what seemed like a hundred Barbie bodies hung by a string from the ceiling. I asked for an interpretation, and was told that each body symbolized a different phase in a mental health process.

The people of our street are generous. Over the years, everything from food to half empty wine bottles to backyard fruit has appeared on our porch. Every summer, a block party is held, and neighbors assemble to get a current body count on who is still living (and living here), and to talk about what houses are now selling for. It’s a bit ghoulish, but then, I don’t have the perspective that comes from being a lifetime resident.

Clairemont is built alongside many canyons, which brings lots of wildlife onto our street; one normally sees it at night while walking the dog. And given our large older population, it’s sad but not surprising to hear the San Diego Police helicopters flying over the streets and canyons, announcing the details of a missing person — often last seen headed into one of the canyons.

A neighborhood wouldn’t be complete without some tea to spill. We do have an active, if irregularly scheduled, booty call in progress. Romeo rides a skateboard down the street to Juliet’s house, then rides back a little later. We’re going to call it romance. We’ve also had our share of tragedy: since our arrival: our street has seen a suicide, and just a street over, there was a full-blown filicide.

Still, there is more happiness than sorrow here. I love it when the kids come out on weekends or on school break. The sounds of their play and laughter on the street remind me of my own childhood. Both their parents may work, but these latchkey kids seem to have it figured out. They look out for each other. They stay in touch with the neighbors that are home. It makes our street feel like a complete neighborhood. Our street reverberates with kindness, compassion, and a kind of neighborly love that I haven’t experienced elsewhere. I like and trust the people on our street, and we are thankful to live here. No matter where we travel, the best part of our trip is always coming back home.