Between 2 and 3 pm each day, it seems like all my neighbors are out of their homes and walking around the neighborhood. Exchanging soft smiles and small waves, or maybe even a quick, “Hi, how are you?” I make sure to give them enough space, typically crossing to the other side of the street, as we pass each other. We occasionally exchange small talk across the road. About how their grandchildren’s high school and college graduations have been canceled, their river cruise on the Rhine was postponed, their granddaughter will never get to wear her prom dress, how they came back from Florida just in time. Knowing that I’m the youngest person in the neighborhood and possibly a carrier, I don’t want to be responsible for a potentially fatal encounter. None of them expressed concern about contracting the virus.

My parents moved to this neighborhood when I was going into my sophomore year of college. They wanted a smaller house and quieter lifestyle so they decided a 55 and over community would suit their needs. Every house has the same mailbox, the same light post in the front lawn, the same vinyl siding in different shades of grey or beige, and some iteration of similar exterior design. It’s the kind of neighborhood that has blocks of granite lining the black asphalt road instead of the typical cement curb. Every Wednesday, the landscaping crew descends on the neighborhood, tending to the uniformity of the lawns, shrubs, and flowerbeds at every home. Despite the hard work these men do to keep their neighborhood immaculate, some of my neighbors never extend the pageantry of a soft smile or small waves. The neighborhood is a constructed utopia, oozing with elitism and exclusivity. Most of my neighbors are retired, white, in heterosexual relationships, and, although it might not appear so from the size of the homes, wealthy. Every day, I feel reminded that I don’t belong.

At this time of year, the ornamental pear and cherry trees light up the neighborhood with white and pink blossoms. Baring no fruit, these trees seem to serve no purpose other than beauty. On my almost daily walks around the looping streets, I encounter a surprising amount of life, popping up all over the place. The eastern cottontail rabbit scurries across the path, nestling under the vibrant forsythia in full bloom. Gray squirrels feverishly dig to uncover nuts they hid in the fall for this very moment. There’s a constant chatter of small birds, robins, cardinals, blue jays, and the occasional goldfinches, swooping above the trees, perching in the branches or on the ridge of roofs. They fill the air with noisy, yet joyful song. I tilt my head higher to get a view of what looks like a heron, with long, thin, outreached legs trailing behind slow but steady wings.

This area was once a dense forest, a refuge for wildlife surrounded my small farm fields and housing developments. In the middle of the forest lies a small but lively pond full of frogs, ducks, and other life below the surface. Activists tried to block the destruction of this oasis but their efforts were crippled by the strength of one of the largest home construction companies in the country. The entire area was cleared except a thin ring of trees around the pond. Now, there is a walking path circling the pond and signs around the stormwater retention areas stating “protected land for wildlife”, almost mockingly.

The wildlife and my neighbors now must cohabitate. They complain of geese and various species of ducks wandering through their backyard or defecating on the sidewalk. After a contractor broke a berm, releasing pond water that swallowed up the remaining rim of trees separating the ponds from their newly constructed homes, they complained about that too. They complain about problems with water seeping into their basements even on days without rain. They have to screen in their porches because of the gnats and mosquitos that congregate near the water. They complain of the frogs croaking from dusk until dawn, so loud it sounds like a siren. Maybe, a siren calling for help.

I don’t belong here. None of us belong here. This is not our land. What belongs here is the lush forest and lively ecosystem that once was. That is now forced out of their homes so we could live in ours.