Welcome to Ask Frank & Jane, a lighthearted advice column where domestic dilemmas are reviewed thoughtfully, often by a very small frog, and always from a place of concern.

 

Dear Frank & Jane,

I live in such a great little neighborhood.  Everyone watches out for each other. Everyone cares well for their property. Everyone, except for just one house. Unfortunately, that one belongs to my next-door neighbors. On one side of me, I have lovely neighbors, a precious little family, and they maintain their property so well, but the other side? They rarely cut their grass, never edge, and there are always piles of debris. I once almost flew head over heels, letting out a yelp as I tried to navigate their wet-leaf-slippery porch to leave a misdelivered package. 

Over the years, there seems to be a penchant there for large broken objects: a mildewed boat and trailer living in hope and denial, several restaurant heaters who retired abruptly and without a plan, and a trailer standing oddly confident with its stack of old mattresses. And they’ve all been parked at one time or another, directly beside my driveway. The backyard is worse. There’s a large RV sitting very close to my fence (trying to feel included) and having lovingly adorned itself in Virginia creeper, all lush, enthusiastic, and flourishing. Also, within view is a large, carport type structure made of missing pipes sitting slack-jawed to its side, and a large treehouse whose bottom fell out and now the whole structure hangs wompy-jawed, midair, from 12 feet up, committed to the idea. The rest of the yard contains very little open ground at all. It’s packed with treasures similar to these hereinabove.

Until very recently, the situation existed mostly as background scenery and something to discuss with commiserators. But quite suddenly, my little granddog Mitzi, lost her mind. Practically overnight, she became fixated on a section of the fence line. She’s a Boston terrier, so digging comes naturally, but this has gone beyond. She paws, digs, freezes mid-motion, ears up, her fur in a Mohawk down her back, listening. She barks furiously and endlessly, (I’m talking hours) listens intently, then resumes digging with renewed purpose. This behavior has shown no signs of moderation. Even a peanut butter kong with added bacon bits doesn’t do a thing to dissuade her.

The neighbors have no pets, nothing has visibly changed, and yet Mitzi is now treating this fence as her full-time occupation, taking to her station in a millisecond of opening the back door, and going nuts trying to get at the unknown on the other side. Eddie, our dear handyman, has repaired and reinforced the fence line carefully, but nothing has made the slightest difference in Mitzi’s obsession.

This escalation is what finally prompted me to write. What should I do?

Sincerely,

Watching the Fence Line

Frank, at our desk, is absorbing your letter while perched in a bowl of paperclips, holding a clipboard and a single sheet of Jane’s letterhead clipped upside down. He has not attempted to read it but appears reassured by its presence as he chews on the end of his pencil and contemplates.

Dear Watching the Fence Line,

Jane here. Once a yard contains a boat that does not float, multiple restaurant heaters hoping to somehow heat the front yard, a trailer of mattresses enjoying the fresh air, an RV in a long-term relationship with weeds, and a treehouse that has partially entered the afterlife, it has crossed an important threshold: this is no longer a yard. It is an important collection awaiting the County Historic Society to bestow its plaque.

In the meantime, Frank has briefly consulted a measuring tape at the desk as he considers the issue and has run through some numbers with his calculator, but it is unclear his conclusions. He’s put on a headlamp “for focus” and adjusted it twice, all while assembling what he describes as “protective gear” on the corner of the desk – gloves, goggles, tweezers, and a great deal of concern.

Back to the matter at hand. You’ve already done what reasonable people do. You repaired the fence. You reinforced boundaries. You attempted to mind your own business. That is the full list of reasonable responses. But, there’s something else to consider here.  It has occurred to me, and now to Frank, that we may be misreading the situation entirely. There is a real possibility that your neighbor is not overwhelmed, but inspired.

Your neighbor may, in fact, be a working artist, and this is not neglect at all, but curation. Seen through the right lens, the boat, heaters, mattresses, and RV form a cohesive body of work. And we mustn’t ignore the matter of value. Frank has run some numbers, loosely, and believes the collection could be worth a small fortune once the market catches up.

In light of this, Frank gets to work, crafting a modest hand-lettered sign for you to post near the driveway. indicating that the gallery is open to the public:

OPEN STUDIO
Viewing Hours: Dawn – Dusk
(Weather Permitting)

Not content to stop there, Frank also prepares a small exhibit plaque to be mounted to the side, offering visitors the proper interpretive context:

Entropy, Arranged | Mixed Media

This work challenges conventional perceptions of reality, inviting the viewer to reconsider the boundary between intention and accident. What may initially appear unresolved reveals itself as a deliberate rupture of traditional form, privileging endurance over completion. The installation resists explanation, asking instead what it means to let something remain. 

However, to the point regarding your dear granddog, Mitzi…

We can’t help but believe that she (always in charge, it sounds) has assigned herself the role of curator-in-residence. Thereto-wit, we suggest you let her work henceforward, and get to digging. Payment for investigative services, canine and otherwise, will be in the form of treats.

Sincerely,

Frank & Jane