Down the Road a Piece: A New Bridge

Since 2001 a thousand times on walks I crossed that crumbling concrete asphalt-topped Doc Sargent Road bridge across the creek, maybe 15 feet wide and 18 inches deep at that point, and maybe 50 times I waded beneath the bridge to hunt fossils, once scooping up a crawfish that bit me, a couple of times treading quicksand, and then after a storm one of the two ducts under the bridge got clogged with sand, and at the next serious rainstorm the mild-mannered LaBarque Creek began flooding in a foaming hurricane rush like I'd never seen, tore up stuff, then two years later did it again.

They're replacing that bridge. (Here's my 2018 post with a photo of the old bridge.) Work began in August. At 7 a.m. weekdays they're backhoeing and scooping and whatnot. Naturally I wanted to see, went over and asked a construction worker when they'd finish. He said, "Round Christmas." Here are some pictures. Where the bridge was is a tangle of naked, rusted rebar.

Considering that those toothpick-and-tar-paper new McMansions are built in two weeks from start to finish, they must be building a very good bridge here. Notice the pure-white sand. That's the sought-after St. Peters vein of sandstone than runs in a strip from Minnesota to here, and is still mined today in Pacific.

My Beautiful Mistake

A treacherous stretch of rural Highway F ran in front of my house, and on slippery-weather days I eyewitnessed imprudent drivers skating their cars off the road, landing them upside down or sideways in the shoulder. For the first few I called the police. The cops wanted only to be called if there were injuries. The drivers, mostly kids and uninsured, wanted to see anybody but cops.

The turn from F into and out of my lane was entirely blind. Gathering courage, I would commit and stomp the pedal and by the grace of God was never hit. My neighbors at that time needed the firetruck and it could not make the turn. Thus in 2002 this section of F was raised and widened. This property lost an acre and some old sycamore trees, half the sandstone glade, a shady rill with a tiny waterfall in which birds bathed and drank. Blasters took great hunks of the cliff and pictures fell from my wall. This took two months. The road was closed just 600 feet from my house and for a month was impassable. Putting my car in my driveway required an 18-mile detour. The charming, crumbling one-lane bridge was replaced.

Before it was replaced, I went down to the creek edge and dug up some of the daylilies there that I thought were so beautiful, to save them. Fulvous Daylilies (Hemerocallis Fulva) are in fact invasive "junk lilies," botanical terrorists hated by gardeners and eco-people. I planted them next to my house, where they thrived and delight me every summer, spreading by runners, taking over the side yard and the soil clinging to the cliff top. Now I have several hundred. Each daylily blooms for one day. There's a message for me there. It is the most beautiful mistake I ever made.

Port-a-Fortune

Leaking water heater sops the towels that I cover the floor with. Changed em once a day, now change em twice a day. Disaster is imminent. Handyman Darryl says the reason the place is going to hell in a handbasket is that I live here all the time, don't I ever travel around the world or something and leave him to shut off the water supply and update the bathroom and this whole house? And he strongly hinted I ought to.

So I did look into world travel, but can't afford to go gallivanting even to Wisconsin for ten days to two weeks, and furthermore don't want to -- this is the only place in the world I want to be -- so thought about renting a portable outhouse for the duration of in-home construction. Emailed for a quote on the simplest model. It costs $120/per. It didn't say "per" what, but studying it hard I realized it costs $120 per DAY to rent a port-a-potty. Pardon me, but since the facilities would be outdoors anyhow, an empty coffee can makes more financial sense.

The First Tomato and the Flag Man

With awe I watched the hard little green pearls of May turn into the fat green beads of early June. Then one of them grew fat and soft, took on a lemony tinge, and then a red. And here it is. Gem of all gems. Summer's first tomato.

This is better than an award, better than a military decoration. It's beautiful, shiny, and fit. God, who is an artist, packaged this little, special gift of food. Not only is it wonderfully colored and crafted -- it will taste good and nourish the body. Great work, God! (Applause.) And, God, I'm sorry I've been tied up in the rush and details of life and not seeing the depths and wonders of your creations.

When I'm sitting in traffic waiting for a flagman to direct the rush hour around road construction, I like to remind myself that the flagman, who stands in hot sunlight on hot asphalt and deals all day with irritable and inconsiderate drivers -- is one of God's wonderful creations, is doing God's work of caring for us regardless of who we are, and that someone loves him very much.