There comes a time in a young couple’s life when each half decides that the other is simply not enough to sustain the real human need for socializing.

For us, it took about two months after we moved to Salem – after everything had been put away, after we had settled into our new jobs, after we had gotten to know our house a bit (that trail of ants leads where?).

Recognizing that need is simple. Finding friends to fill the gaping hole you’ve created in your life by moving across the country to a place where you don’t know anyone? That’s a task that never ends.

Since Salem claims to have the character of a small town, but is large enough that no one is at our door offering welcome baskets, the task of building a social network must be self-directed.

And since my husband works long hours and I work at home, it’s my job now.

I’m a writer, and I’m incapable of doing anything unselfconsciously, so my plan to win friends and influence people has been hampered only by my shyness.

I started close to home.

When I first saw my neighbors in our northeast Salem micro-neighborhood they were up to their work boots in mud and dragging dirt around like it was there for the molding. I call them the constant gardeners because their front yard has been this evolving earth sculpture of raised beds since January. They never stop.

Every time I see them at work my heart soars a little bit. Young and full of energy, they are the kind of people who you look at and just ache to befriend. But though their home lies just a few yards from our own, my crush on them means that it took me weeks to work up the courage to talk to them.

Since we’re new in town, and newly lonely, this happens a lot.

It happens at the grocery store when someone standing next to me asks me how to prepare tofu – seriously, do I look like I eat a lot of tofu? (I do).

It happens at Venti’s downstairs bar when I’m out with my husband and instead of looking at my face, he looks achingly at a group of guys sharing beers.

It happens when I’m at the Book Bin and I see a young woman pulling out Ann Patchett’s Truth & Beauty (love at first sight).

It happens when I’m bent into a downward-facing dog at my YMCA yoga class and instead of retreating to that far-off place of peace and respite in my mind, I think: would that lady be weirded out if I asked her to coffee?

We haven’t been completely alone in our new home. Through some connections, we have a wonderful Salem family of four that has practically adopted us and that is introducing us to all things Oregon.

But the onus is generally on the newcomer to make nice. So I finally did it. I invited the neighbor, who is a winemaker, and his partner, who actually is a master gardener, over for wine and chocolate pots de crème one evening in March.

Within five minutes, my husband knocked over a wine glass, shattering it into a million little pieces.

The bottle of wine we had brought from Iowa had gone sour.

Our cat, who we had just said “loves everyone,” shifted uncomfortably in the winemaker’s arms.

But you know what? Appearances don’t always deceive – the constant gardeners really are awesome. They stayed for three and a half hours and when they left, we all promised to do it again soon.

As we closed the door, my husband and I looked at each other.

“That was fun,” he said, and squeezed my hand.