Family Compounds

[gogo]

I especially like this, from the end of the article: "...for us, this isn't a strange new way of living. This is natural and expected. But sometimes my friends kid me about it. They'll say, 'You're crazy.' "

 

"A nice crazy," Patricia says."

 

Interview with the Tolsons on NPR: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.p...toryId=87854102

 

Relative Comfort

The Tolsons didn't set out to create a family compound on their suburban street in Columbia. It just happened.

 

By Linell Smith

Sunday' date=' March 2, 2008

 

THE LETHBRIDGES TRANSFORMED A FAMILY FARM IN BURTONSVILLE into a sprawling enclave with 11 houses and 31 family members.

 

Three women in the Simmonds-Hamilton clan shared the same house for nearly 40 years before moving into adjoining townhouses in a 55-and-older community in Laurel.

 

Gerry and Diane Tolson raised five children who initially sought their fortunes far from their Columbia home. Now three of them own houses on the same block as their mom and dad.

 

These folks live in different versions of family compounds, bastions of kinship and intergenerational support. Although this phenomenon isn't tracked in census data or home builders' studies, it isn't as rare as you might think. Even in a place as transient as the Washington area, the desire to remain close to kin leads to novel arrangements in unlikely places, as the families profiled below demonstrate.

 

The Simmonds-Hamilton Clan

 

ARIA SIMMONDS, ONE DAY SHY OF HER SECOND BIRTHDAY, gallops into her grandmother Margaret's kitchen in Laurel ahead of her dad and her brother, Colin, who's a bit under the weather.

 

Great-aunts Sonia and Audrey and cousin Marie are here, too, ready to smother the children with affection and tease them with an array of nicknames. Because of her dimples, Aria is Mrs. Wimples. Her 3-year-old brother is Collie-Wollie. And their 44-year-old father, Dean, is -- well, he'd rather not say.

 

On Thursday nights, Dean brings Aria and Colin by for a bite to eat between day care and bedtime; dinners on the weekends are more leisurely, but no less lively. As the children await a favorite meal of turkey meatballs and rice, their grandmother and aunties make funny faces and play Let's Pretend, just as they did 40 years ago with Dean.

 

Margaret's son Dean Simmonds, an account manager at Sprint's corporate office, settled in the Washington area in 1981 when he was studying engineering at Howard University. Now the household he grew up in has followed him south from New York, with one adjustment. When he was a child, everyone lived together in one big house divided into four apartments. Now his mother and aunts live in adjoining "villas" on the same block of the 55-and-older community of Central Parke at Victoria Falls.

 

"It's the same as when I grew up," says Dean, who lives nearby and visits often on the weekends. "Instead of all the visiting being vertical, going up and down stairs, you go down the street. Everybody rotates during the summer for lunch or dinner or tea. In the old house, sometimes you'd be having dinner on Mom's side or on my grandmother's side."

 

He remembers listening to reggae in one kitchen and to Roberta Flack, Gladys Knight and Leontyne Price in others. Along with a wide musical appreciation, he acquired a rich culture that stretches back to the family's origins in Jamaica. And he learned that the children come first.

 

As Sonia Simmonds sweeps up Aria for a kiss, the little girl cheerfully practices her latest expression: "Don't bother me!"

 

"Ah, so that's the new phrase, is it, Arie-Parie?" Sonia purses her lips playfully. "Are you going to the naughty bench, Mrs. Wimples? Say, 'No, Ona, I'm going to be a good girl.'"

 

"Good girl!" Aria says.

 

"Since when?"

 

The chatter of Sonia Simmonds, Audrey Simmonds, Margaret Simmonds and Marie Hamilton, all in their 60s, has the cheerful ease of people who already know what the others will say -- or think they do.

 

Three of the women shared the same house for 36 years -- Marie joined them in 1989 -- before they all moved together to Laurel in 2005. Each has her own house on the same block, a new form of independence. Devoted to one another, and to their family, the women have always navigated American life as a group.

 

Their journey began in 1962, when Sonia flew from Jamaica to Brooklyn, N.Y., for a three-week vacation and decided to stay.

 

She was soon joined by her mother, her sister Audrey, her brother Norman, Norman's wife, Margaret, and their two children, as well as an aunt and two cousins. Just as the family was getting its bearings in Brooklyn, tragedy struck. Norman died of a heart attack at 26, leaving Margaret pregnant with their third child.

 

The best course, the family decided, was to leave their apartments, pool their money and find a home to accommodate everyone. That year, 1967, the Simmonds clan purchased a house in Mount Vernon, N.Y., that was big enough for four apartments.

 

Over the years, Audrey and Sonia helped raise Margaret's children while working in television and publications. Five years ago, with the children grown and gone, the four women realized their beloved big house was finally too big. At the urging of Margaret's daughter, Denise Simmonds, 43, a federal prosecutor, they agreed to put down new roots about a half-hour drive from Denise's Takoma Park home.

 

The women selected their townhouse villas, priced in the mid-$300,000s, because of the models' airy, yet cozy, feel. It didn't take long, they say, to settle into 7214, 7216, 7218 and 7222. (7220 was already taken.)

 

All four women work part time. Margaret, Sonia and Marie are food demonstrators at Costco in Arundel Mills Mall. Audrey works as a general office assistant at First Insurance Services in Burtonsville. The fifth member of this family compound is Veta Wright, who lives with Margaret. Veta began looking after Dean and Denise as babies back in Jamaica, moved with the family to New York and now helps mind Aria and Colin.

 

The women travel frequently: Jamaica, New York, St. Maarten, Hawaii. They enjoy sewing, painting and tennis "when the bones can stand it," says Audrey.

 

"Moving to Laurel has not changed our lives and interrelationships, as far as I can see," she says. "When one of us is hurt, the rest still bleed."

 

The Lethbridges

 

WHEN YOU TURN INTO THE DRIVEWAY FROM MARYLAND ROUTE 198 IN BURTONSVILLE, you wind past a volleyball court and a softball field, past a group of houses clustered like old friends at a party, past barns storing construction equipment and past two swimming pools before reaching woods filled with fox and deer, and four custom-built houses, each one spacious and soaring on a five-acre lot.

 

You've traveled the spine that connects three generations: 11 houses, 31 people and 15 dogs.

 

The Lethbridges call it "the neighborhood." Farmed until the 1950s, its 44 acres originally contained two family farmhouses. Another group of houses was built in the 1950s and 1960s. Construction of the newest houses began in the 1980s.

 

It's a family compound in the self-sufficient, rural sense rather than the pinkies-up Hyannis sense. There's nothing cultish or religious about it -- unless you count the shared faith in family and land that has defined this place for nearly 100 years. The operating system is simple: Lethbridge men are usually builders and carpenters. Lethbridge women usually stay home to raise children or teach in their children's schools. The oldest generation helps look after the youngest.

 

But the neighborhood can seem complicated at first, especially for newcomers such as 44-year-old Lynn Lethbridge. A military child who never spent time with her cousins, she had little sense of extended family. When she fell in love with her husband, Kevin Lethbridge, more than 20 years ago, she married not only him but also his family and the five acres he had claimed as his own.

 

"I started making payments to my grandparents on this property when I was 18 years old," Kevin says. "I paid them $200 a month."

 

Eventually, he built his own house with help from his father, brothers and brothers-in law. Kevin, 45, owns JM Development. His older brother Keith is Lethbridge Contractors. His nephew Kenny is RK Remodeling. His brother-in-law Dale is a partner at Sturbridge Homes. His older brother Ronnie is a partner at Classic Community Corp., where his brother-in-law Allan also works.

 

Most of the folks in this extended family went to Burtonsville Elementary School and Paint Branch High School, and they have made a point of sending their children there as well. The Lethbridges are big on supervision, which can be the same as minding everyone else's business. If you live here, you really know your neighbors.

 

"There's no drugs and alcohol, things like that," Kevin says. "And it's not like, if the kids were to have a party, someone wouldn't know. Anytime a car comes in around here, you get a phone call: 'Why's this car coming in? Do you know who this is?' There's always a neighborhood watch."

 

The properties are individually owned. The older family members, in their 60s and 70s, still live in a cluster of older houses built on lots of one to two acres.

 

In Kevin's generation, Keith, Sherry, Stacey and Hal each built on a five-acre lot. Their cousin Dawn just moved into the last new house that zoning laws allow on the 44-acre property.

 

When Kevin was growing up, he says, the family spent more time together than it does now, eating dinner every Sunday at his late grandparents' home. Although the family still congregates -- Christmas breakfast at Kevin's mother's house is a revered command performance -- traditions have loosened slightly as the generation that remembers Victory gardens yields to the one that instant-messages.

 

"We lost my father in '97, two days before Thanksgiving, of a massive heart attack," Kevin says. "He was only 66. Things changed a lot when he passed. Then my Aunt Betty's husband passed, and the neighborhood really changed."

 

His grandfather's death, he says, further altered the generational balance. But it all remained in the family until a few months ago. In December, one of Kevin's elderly aunts moved to Virginia to be close to her children and sold her house to an outsider. At the time, no Lethbridge relative was in a position to buy her house, Kevin says. One grandchild had already moved into his great-grandparents' home. Another had agreed to take over the home of Aunt June, who died last summer.

 

Aunt Shirley's move to Virginia took the family by surprise, Kevin says, adding that the woman who bought her home intends to use it as a guesthouse rather than a residence.

 

"It's right across from my mother's house," he says. "It's definitely going to be different."

 

And the sale is enough to spur thoughts about how else the neighborhood might change. What about the next generation? There are 14 grandchildren -- seven boys and seven girls -- who range in age from 7 to 28. Their allegiance to the family compound is uncertain.

 

"The whole family might pick up and go somewhere else," Lynn says. "That has been talked about."

 

Kevin says that his generation of Lethbridges has explored the notion of one day resettling in a place such as Asheville, N.C., if everyone decided to move. But Danny, the oldest of Kevin and Lynn's three children, doesn't want to hear it. He wants to live in the neighborhood and teach history at Paint Branch High after college. As he talks about his plans, the 17-year-old senior wears the satisfied expression of someone who just played five pickup games of volleyball and two games of ultimate Frisbee.

 

"I love it here," he says. "There's always someone around to do something with. And there's always something to do."

 

Halloween means trick-or-treating at about a dozen houses, some of them done up like real graveyards. In the summer, the cousins play flashlight tag and go swimming at night. In the winter, they sled down the hill guided by moonlight and maybe a bonfire.

 

There are plenty of lessons about self-reliance: If it snows, the Lethbridges plow out the neighborhood. The time Uncle Hal's house caught fire at 1:30 a.m., Danny's dad grabbed a fire extinguisher and put out the blaze before the fire department arrived.

 

And there's something else. The Lethbridges hold on to their marriages the way they do their land. Kevin says he can't think of any Lethbridge who has gotten a divorce.

 

"When my friends come over here, they feel really happy," says Deanna, Danny's 15-year-old sister. "Most of them have divorced families. Either they don't have brothers and sisters, or they're not living with them."

 

Her friends aren't sure what to make of the neighborhood at first, she says, but they keep coming back.

 

The Tolsons

 

AS THEY GATHER FOR POP-POP'S BIRTHDAY DINNER, the Tolson family tunes up like an orchestra seasoned by years of performance. Music from the kitchen swells as mothers and daughters wash vegetables and clatter pots. At the grill, where husbands and sons flip hamburgers, there's a steady flow of wisecracks. And from the hot tub on the deck come the high-pitched squeals of grandchildren.

 

Gerry Tolson, tall, handsome and newly 64, listens to the cacophony around him with amusement and pride. This richly textured soundtrack accompanies life as he and his wife, Diane, began crafting it here 37 years ago. They never guessed it would follow them into retirement.

 

When they moved to the then-new Columbia community of Oakland Mills, the Tolsons were the first African Americans on Pamplona Road. They settled into a five-bedroom house, raised a small village of children and launched them into the world beyond their idyllic suburbs.

 

Now, to everyone's surprise, the natives have returned. Sons Todd and Evan bought houses on each side of their parents' home. Daughter Patricia bought a house down the block. Son Marc, a mere 10 minutes away, might as well live there. And if Stephanie, recently back from deployment to the Middle East, ever decides to leave the Navy, she might be tempted to return, too.

 

"The neighbors tease us," says Gerry Tolson. "They say, 'How do you like the empty nest?' I tell them we're working on it."

 

Some history:

 

In the summer of 1971, Gerry and Diane Tolson moved from Northeast Washington to the vast construction site that became Columbia, a planned community of about 100,000 known for its good schools and its racially diverse population. Within walking distance of the elementary, middle and high schools, Pamplona Road eventually attracted 21 families with 61 children under age 18. It was the sort of place, recalls neighbor Judy Pittman, where grown-ups played volleyball with one another after the kids went to bed.

 

The Tolsons, who were then 27, brought sons Todd, Marc and Evan, all under 6, as well as Diane's twin siblings, 15. Several years later, the couple adopted daughters Patricia and Stephanie.

 

Gerry spent his career with IBM, eventually retiring from a division that was bought by Lockheed Martin Corp. He worked as a strategic business and financial planner, while Diane managed their lively household.

 

As preteens, the children hosted foreign students on Pamplona Road, then tasted life overseas on exchange programs. After high school, the military beckoned. Some entered through service academies or after college; others tried civilian jobs before signing up. Eventually, all five had left behind "their sheltered lifestyle," as 36-year-old Patricia calls it, to serve their country.

 

As often as possible, the Tolsons would rendezvous around the Christmas holidays, often at Disney World, their favorite vacation spot.

 

Then a military reassignment, a broken marriage and financial troubles brought three of the children back.

 

During the last six months of 2004, Todd's family, Patricia's family and Evan lived in their parents' home, a feat made possible by a major addition Gerry and Diane built for their retirement. Suddenly there were nine people in the house and seven cars parked outside.

 

"We had to set up time and space agreements to allow for privacy and logistics, but it worked out very well," says Gerry. "If we had a problem, we just talked about it, and it was resolved."

 

"We survived," Patricia says. "We definitely stepped on each other's toes at times, but we worked it out."

 

"You can see it was such a failure that they decided to scatter to the four winds," Gerry quips.

 

Instead, Todd and then Evan bought the houses next door -- in a very different real estate market than the one their parents knew. In 1971, the Tolsons paid $41,480 for their house. In 2005, some houses on the block were selling for more than $400,000. Recognizing that they wouldn't have been able to buy a house at that price when they were younger, Gerry and Diane helped Evan and later Patricia buy their houses.

 

"Diane and I realize parenting is a lifetime endeavor," Gerry says. "Our children are not bashful about asking our advice when they think they need it. It's not overly burdensome, and it's what we signed up for."

 

Todd, 43, newly retired from the Army, is a financial manager for a missile defense agency. His wife, Bernadette, teaches English at Howard Community College. In 2004, they were poised to buy a house in Northern Virginia, when Todd heard he might be deployed to Iraq. Instead, they moved in with Gerry and Diane and, when Todd got another assignment, bought the house next door. They plan to live there at least until their two children, 15-year-old Todd Jr. and 12-year-old Tyler, graduate from Oakland Mills High School, Todd Sr.'s alma mater. The boys study with some of Todd's former teachers.

 

So does Patricia's son, 14-year-old Anthony, who attends middle school half a block from their home. Last summer, Patricia, an Army veteran who works as a tele-service representative for the Social Security Administration, became the third family member to buy back into childhood turf. It happened in an unexpected way.

 

Patricia was considering how to move out of her parents' home, yet stay in the Oakland Mills school district, when Gerry found a community notice about a special housing lottery for moderate-income Howard County residents. The county had purchased and renovated a four-bedroom house on Pamplona Road. Patricia knew the house well. She'd babysat there as a teenager.

 

On the day of the lottery, the names of 28 applicants were turned in a clear plastic container in the auditorium of Oakland Mills High. County Executive Ken Ulman reached inside and pulled out an envelope.

 

"When he first read 'Patricia,' I thought 'No way!'" she recalls. "I can't remember if I screamed or not, but my dad's mouth fell to the ground."

 

The lottery allowed her to purchase a 42 percent share of the house for $200,000. Its estimated worth is $475,000. The rest of the mortgage is held by the Howard County Housing Commission.

 

The story of Evan Tolson's house purchase is less dramatic. The 39-year-old network engineer, who is single, was already living in a nearby townhouse when the other house next to Gerry and Diane came on the market. For the moment, Evan rents it out and continues to live in his townhouse. He says being a landlord so close to home presents certain problems.

 

"It's a huge factor to find the 'right people' to become my parent's neighbors," he says. "I am definitely more critical of potential tenants because of my parents and old neighbors who have known the Tolsons for decades."

 

Todd, Evan and Patricia praise the benefits of living so close to their parents and one another. There is always someone around to keep an eye on the kids, and they've been able to forge close bonds as adults.

 

They say that any friction -- such as grandchildren getting conflicting orders from well-meaning grown-ups -- occurred when the families were sharing the same house. Now Gerry tells his kids to phone ahead before they knock on the door, the same courtesy he extends to them. But, as the row of recliners around the TV attests, this family is always ready for sleepovers and football moments.

 

"I'm one of five; Diane's one of three," Gerry notes. "Our parents did everything they could for their families. So, for us, this isn't a strange new way of living. This is natural and expected. But sometimes my friends kid me about it. They'll say, 'You're crazy.' "

 

"A nice crazy," Patricia says.[/quote']

[Preferred B]

Hee hee! You guys have my favorite compound, though.

 

There was a mini-compound going on the street where I grew up. One family owned one of the first houses built in the neighborhood back in the early 1920s, and two of their children grew up to buy houses on the same block. One lived next door to us. I think they're all gone now, though.

[ms. yvon]

just reading the dialogue interchange between the toddler and grandmother made me soooooo glad that i have a little distance between my relatives and myself.

 

 

some friends of mine in burbank have family on every block for about 4 blocks. whenever they can't come out b/c they have family plans, we tease them buy calling it a barn raising.