On Tuesday, August 6th, 2025, a “National Night Out” block party was held in the 900 block of Hawthorne Lane, on the lawn of my neighbors Karen and Todd Davis. This was an opportunity to “be neighborly,” and to meet the police officers who patrol the area. Neighbors were encouraged to bring potluck food and lawn chairs, and I went next door with a bowl of slow-cooked, barbecued chicken wings.
National Night Out, which is observed on the first Tuesday in August, grew out of the National Association of Town Watch, an organization established in 1981 to provide communities with information and resources to stay involved in their community; as it grew, neighbors and their law enforcement partners met to socialize and discuss their mutual needs. Established in 1984, National Night Out is now recognized by 38 million neighbors in 17 thousand communities across the country; Indianapolis is one of 63 cities in Indiana to observe the event, and as a Crime Watch block co-captain, my neighbor Karen Davis sponsored a magnificent shindig. Many of the neighbors in the 900 block of Hawthorne Lane plopped down in camp chairs on her front lawn to chat and to meet with the officers who patrol our ‘hood.
The weekend following the block watch meeting was the August gathering of what my youngest granddaughter calls “Vegetable Town,” the Irvington Farmer’s Market at Ellenberger Park. On Sunday, August 10th, having missed the opportunity to hawk her wares to the visitors to “Vegetable Town,” Myah convinced her mother to let her set up a lemonade stand on the corner of E. St. Joseph Street and N. Hawthorne Lane, in front of the house that I rent. Of course, her grandfather folded like a cheap tent and agreed to the plan, and as her mother drove off, Myah was camped out on the “hot corner.” Her table was adorned with a sign advertising $1.50 for “Myah’s Super Amazing Lemonade” and ladened with two great pitchers: one of pink lemonade, another of regular lemonade.
“Lemonade! Lemonade!” Myah called out to passing cars and pedestrians as her grandfather waited on the porch. Myah’s first customer was the mother of a 3-year-old boy who, when on his walks with his parents and his baby brother, rings my doorbell, looking for Myah. Mom was driving by and pulled up to get some juice for her oldest son. As Myah continued to bark out “Lemonade!” her grandfather nervously monitored her attention to the details of sanitary delivery of food products. Myah’s next sale was to the “dog whisperer,” Jeff Tucker, who made the grandfather’s eyes light up as he poured out pounds of quarters (which are suitable for use on pool tables.) Jeff also taught Myah that “1.50 plus 1.50 is 3 dollars,” a lesson she put to good use on another customer. “Auntie Karen” bought 2 lemonades for herself and “Uncle Todd,” and delivered a donation from Steve and Katie Wright. Two other people stopped by; one was on a bike, the other was walking. They bought Myah’s wares and made an astonishing payment.
Myah’s two big jugs of lemonade were almost empty — some of the lemonade was poured onto the table — when the grandfather called an end to the enterprise. She had a lot more money in her cup than the customers she had served, and I walked her down to Steve and Katie’s house to thank them for their donation. As for the walking man and the woman on the bike:
Myah thanks you, and her grandfather will sing to you, for your contribution epitomized neighborhood generosity.
cjon3acd@att.net