I've lived in North Carolina for 15 years, but just recently experienced Southern hospitality for the first time. It took a severe ice storm and the frigid fallout for me to realize how powerful the connection between neighbors can be.
My husband and I have enjoyed a very pleasant relationship with the couple next door, particularly in the three years since their daughter was born.
We have shared backyard barbeques and swapped Saturday night baby-sitting. Our kids have attended each other's birthday parties and exchanged small holiday gifts. And we've passed teething stories and hand-me-downs back and forth freely. But it wasn't until last week that we truly became friends.
When we began preparing for our move to another state, we made a special effort to let them know how much we cared, and how much we would miss them. In fact, to ease the transition for them and for us, we contemplated allowing them to adopt our cat, who shuttles back and forth between our houses constantly.
The dilemma about whether Christopher Robin (our orange tabby) should stay with them or leave with us intensified as packing day approached. And then, it was suddenly decided.
The temperature dropped, the snow fell, the power lines froze over, and our cat was curled up on one of their beds to make his cozy home for the night. Within a few days, we would do the same on their living room couch.
While millions of North Carolinians were living without the modern conveniences, we found ourselves fortunate enough to live next door to a family that was stocked for the apocalypse.
They had tapped into their gas line and were ready with a small furnace, a huge camping stove, a 40-gallon propane tank and hot water.
Far from hoarding their good fortune, they wanted to share it. In fact, they needed to share it. It would have been unconscionable to them to appreciate the warmth while others nearby were cold.
For us, so accustomed to being independent, it was difficult to accept such tremendous and essential assistance. Nevertheless, after some gentle prodding, we relished the comfort of hot food and showers and spent a candlelit evening enjoying the camaraderie.
Spending the night under the same roof (when we could have been freezing under our own) thawed some protective barrier that we weren't even aware separated us.
I now believe low fences make good neighbors. There should be some recognition of where the boundaries are -- what lawn you mow, what garden they tend, when it's OK to come over and chat and when to stay away -- but the boundaries should be permeable, not permanent.
I've learned this lesson just in time to apply it to our new neighborhood.
One of the first things I did upon arriving at our apartment in Florida was seek out the family that lives downstairs. As it turns out, our good luck with neighbors is holding. The single mom beneath us not only gave me the real scoop on the pet policy and the laundry room, she introduced me to her sons, a third- and first-grader who go to the same school that mine started the following day.
The boys were instant friends, and there is no doubt we will have much to share in the future, including a new neighborly vehicle for me: carpools.
Along with my other mementoes and memories, I am bringing some North Carolina hospitality to the Sunshine State. And while I didn't leave my heart in Durham, I did leave my cat, and I'm counting on him to extend a neighborly paw to the family that moves in next door.
This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.