I am engaged in an unspoken sign war with a neighbor.

In 2020, we put up a Black Lives Matter sign at the end of our driveway; our neighbor responded by promptly putting out a Trump sign. After Jan. 6, he took it a step further and crossed out “Pence” on his sign with spray paint. A few years prior to this, he had given us permission to tap the maple trees on his land to make a small batch of maple syrup. As a thank you, I would leave a quart of maple syrup on his porch. We had flagged the trees we found to be the most productive with green tape.

After our sign war commenced, our neighbor proceeded to take the green flagging off of the trees and lay them in front of our Black Lives Matter sign. We found other trees to tap. I was determined to not give up on our relationship, though, as passive and combative as it had become.

We have two very productive peach trees in our yard. A couple of years ago when we had a bumper year and more peaches than we could ever eat, I gifted a box of peaches to all of our neighbors, including our sign friend. In response, he left a note in our mail box, “Thanks for the fruit, from Yuri Bezmenov”. Confused, I looked up the name and realized he had used as his alias the name of a Soviet defector known for his warning against communist ideology in America.

On Nov. 6, like many others across the country, I was heartbroken, deflated, confused and angry. I begrudgingly dragged myself to school the next day to be met with my high school students waving a Trump flag and shouting their support for someone who I felt was the antithesis of the values that I was trying to instill in them: inclusion, connection, compassion and community care. I felt so disconnected and distant from half of the country, including my own students, and didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

A few days later I took the students on one of our weekly community service field trips to a retirement home to play bingo with seniors. The students listened to a resident recount her life story about being orphaned when she was a teenager and growing up in the depression. The next week we volunteered with our second-grade reading buddies class, putting to rest for the season the garden beds we built with them. I watched my students, who I felt distant from, connect and build meaningful relationships with people from totally different worlds and life stages.

This past summer, we had another bumper crop of peaches and I decided to distribute them to my neighbors again. My husband discouraged me from including our sign neighbors on my rounds but I was determined to to not give up, deeply believing that food and the gift economy is stronger than fear and divisiveness. They were not home; I left the peaches on their porch with a note. A few days later, I came home to find a pot of mums on our porch and note thanking us for the peaches. Later on, after my father passed away, I received a card in the mail with their condolences. We have very few verbal conversations with our neighbors; I don’t know how they knew that he died, but that is the nature of small towns — word spreads.

Our town is split pretty much down the middle between red and blue; elections are frequently decided by a handful of votes. Local candidates often win based on who they know and who can vouch for them. I did a lot of canvassing with my mom leading up to the election. Being part of a family that is very involved in the community, we would knock on the doors of people we knew or who knew us. We would often end up in trailing conversations that would start with local or national candidates and end with town goings-on and checking in on people we knew in common. These relationships and connections across political lines, generations and lifestyles are the glue that holds small-town communities together.

After the dust settles from the polarizing fear tactics, hateful rhetoric and pointed “othering” of national elections, we still have to show up to work together, attend the tree lighting ceremony, and dine at the same singular restaurant in town. I continue to feel heartbroken and dismayed at the values our country has chosen to promote but I will keep investing in and believing in the power of connection and community. When other systems fail us, I have to hold onto the hope that it is our shared humanity that will save us.

A few days after the election, we took down all of our political signs from the end of our driveway, leaving one that says “You are on Indigenous land.” My neighbor put up a new sign directly across that says “Trump — Secure Border.” The signs stand there in a silent face-off over whose land this is and who belongs here.

While there is no winning that debate right now, I will keep harvesting peaches, tapping maple trees, growing flowers and spreading the abundance of this land with as many neighbors and community members as I can.

Victoria Hugo-Vidal is away.