And then there was concrete…
Saturday morning started LOUD, with a lot of engines, sputtering generator for the spotlight, and the coffeemaker. (God bless coffee.)
We stayed at the property Friday night along with the builders who have their own trailer parked on the land. Before retiring to our respective trailers, they warned us that the show would start no later than 4am and trying to sleep through the chaos would be pointless. Go to bed now – they said – before they themselves went to sleep at 8pm. Although we planned to come out eventually and watch the action, neither of us actually made plans to step outside in such wee hours. But there was no sleeping through the engines of the first three (of 14) concrete trucks, idling outside the door.
We pulled ourselves out of bed, fumbled around the coffee pot until some of the precious liquid was brewing, and stumbled out the front door onto a scene that I can only imagine is equivalent to a movie set. Huge lights shone a spotlight onto our little building spot while a pump truck, countless diesel engined machines, and several concrete trucks lined the front yard.
Men crawled over equipment and the home site like angry ants swarming when their hill’s been poked with a stick. It seemed ridiculous, in a way. This little house we’re building causing so much drama and labor. The early start time added to the heightened sense of drama but is necessary when so much concrete’s poured in such high heat. You pour it when the sun shines and things crack before they’ve dried.
Jer captured a series of shots before the camera we’ve had for years pooped out – right there during the most noteworthy moment of our lives to date.
After a day that seemed not to end; it finally ended. This morning we woke up and took our first steps on the porch. The porch.
We managed to scratch a note in the slab before it dried completely. I was planning on the ‘ol initials and date route, as people are so inclined to scratch their own letters into something that will last beyond themselves. But Jer thought it was better to keep things anonymous and maybe more meaningful.
So there you go. Just a little reminder that Five Year Plans won’t always wait five years, even if waiting is safe. And responsible. Maybe life’s a little too short for safe and responsible when what you’re dreaming about’s got a for sale sign and a fire sale price and is covered in weeds and junk that just aren’t enough to scare you. Here’s to Five Year Plans, and to changing them.