Gratitude
“It seems Thanksgiving Day is upon us.” — Charlie Brown
This post is about a recent Friday and the way a single day can capture everything you’ve wanted to say for a year. It’s a story that comprises three simple, but powerful acts. Let’s dive right in:
Act 1: Movers and Shakers
Nearly every Friday morning during the school year, DHC hosts class time for a dozen or so Community School of Davidson High School students who are interested in the trades. They work with a teacher and an incredibly generous local builder who donates his time to serve as their mentor. This year, the group is building new trash corrals that will enable us to reposition trash pick-up service at The Bungalows so that the quality and level of service mirrors what owners of single family homes in Davidson receive. A local architect is also working with the class to help design the new space so that it reflects the high quality look, feel, and functionality all of us expect in Davidson.
So, it would be reasonable to ask why last Friday included a deep-dive into the hard and heavy labor offered by professional movers. It’s a task that appears nowhere on the syllabus. And yet several of the students willingly peeled off from the main group to load a resident’s furniture into the back of a truck at a storage unit she’d rented and then carry it into her new apartment. They stepped in with good humor, with care, and with the utmost sense of respect for the woman who asked for help. She offered to pay them. They refused.
Scene.
Act 2: Who’s Hungry?
Last Friday marked one of the best traditions in Davidson: the cooking team from Davidson Presbyterian Church hosted its annual BBQ lunch and dinner service. It is a ticket my family chases down every year. At the heart of the event is a full plate of finely minced, expertly smoked and cooked pork, beans, slaw and one of the best selections of homemade cakes you’ll see in the whole year. We enjoy the spirit of community the church brings together at its long tables in the fellowship hall. It’s a fundraiser for the congregation, but it is, as importantly, a community builder for our town.
So, mark me down as gobsmacked when a local civic group reached out to say it had collected over $800 and offered not only to purchase BBQ tickets for residents of DHC communities, but also to deliver those meals door to door. Our residents responded enthusiastically. By 4:30 pm last Friday afternoon, volunteers had spread the joy and the calories all around our neighborhood. That it all happened when food budgets are stretched to the breaking point and roving raids and arrests make even a trip to the grocery store a risk for some of our neighbors made the gesture all the more poignant.
Scene.
Act 3: Sharing the Wealth
Just as I was basking in the pleasure of watching BBQ meals arrive on doorsteps in the neighborhood, one of our residents pulled up to the curb at 220 Sloan and called me to her car window. She told me that she had a 21-pound turkey that she wouldn’t be able to use for Thanksgiving. She asked if I knew of someone who might appreciate it. I offered her a couple of ideas, including a neighbor with whom she’d not connected but who lives in one of the homes just on the edge of our Creekside community. The neighbor includes in her embrace, at her table, and on her porch a huge extended family. Our resident asked me to reach out to connect the two of them.
By Saturday morning, they’d met to do the turkey exchange. It was that simple.
Scene.
I’m often asked: How can DHC hope to stay relevant in a landscape that includes far bigger nonprofit and private developers with vaster holdings and more ready access to capital?
I think these scenes tell the tale.
If the metric for impact is transactional, maybe we can’t rise to the top of the fray. But we’ve never held ourselves out as aspirational in that sphere. Instead, we’ve made our primary focus the quality of relationships we’re attempting to build even as we build affordable homes.
That’s where the emphasis shifts from numbers to stories—and it may be that the choice we’ve made opens us to easier criticism. When a deal collapses, the parties move on to find the next deal. When a relationship falters, the fallout can be visceral. Honoring the obligation to stay and do what’s necessary to repair the damage is daunting, but it’s where we’ve staked our claim as neighbors.
Last Friday is reason enough for me to be grateful that my work allows me to make that choice everyday. It’s humbling work. But it also produces whole days that stand as testament to the value of choosing relationships over transactions.