How many neighbors does it take to roast a pig? Not as many as it takes to eat it. However, the residents along 83rd Avenue North, near the Maple Grove Community Center, never worry about whether they’ll have leftover meat. Instead, they worry about whether or not there will be enough food to feed the crowd.

This neighborhood takes its annual gathering very seriously. Over the past 20 years, the residents of its 15 homes have nearly perfected the art of a summer block party. For one day each July they shut off their street to traffic, get everyone involved in a rousing game of kickball, put up a dunk tank and stay up long into the night eating barbecue, lighting off fireworks and telling jokes. Families with out-of-town cabins give up a weekend for the event. College kids road trip to make it back on time. Children who’ve grown up, moved out, gotten married and had babies of their own also head back to the nest. In fact, ask anyone fortunate enough to call this street home, and they’ll tell you this isn’t a neighborhood. It’s a family.

“My neighborhood is my social network,” says Diane DeSplinter, a longtime resident of the street. She moved into her home about 20 years ago. “I have made great friendships living here. I know I can count on my neighbors. Everyone is concerned about everyone else. I feel so fortunate to live among such unselfish people.” DeSplinter has witnessed firsthand the unselfishness of her neighbors. Sadly, a few years after she moved into her house, her husband passed away. “Suddenly I was a single mom,” she says, “but my neighbors watched over me. The men would come over and help with yard work or house projects. The women helped in the kitchen. At one point, I did think about moving, finding a smaller home, but I just couldn’t leave my neighborhood.”

These supportive relationships started long before tragedy struck. “We all moved into our homes when we were young moms,” DeSplinter says, thinking back on how her neighborhood friendships began. “Our kids were the same ages, but we were the same ages ourselves, and we were all looking for play dates,” she says. Roughly 20 kids—all about the same age—were growing up on the street. As the children gained in years and were able to ride their bikes or wander through backyards, the parents kept in touch, DeSplinter says, because they were trying to make sure they knew where their kids were. One year, in an attempt to streamline the phone calls, she collected contact information for each house and compiled a neighborhood directory.