The Gate That's Gone

This property once had gates at its entrance on Highway F, with gateposts of pink Missouri granite. The gateposts had been wired to have lights on top, but I never saw them with lights. Only these two photos of the gate were taken, because within a year of my moving here permanently the gates were dynamited for highway widening. Today I found these printed photos from early summer '02 and wanted to show you and preserve some of the history of this place. The concrete top of one gatepost got dropped in the yard where it still is, sinking into the earth. I took a few bricks of pink granite as souvenirs from the rubble when the dynamiters were gone for the day. They actually did yell "Fire in the hole!," and pictures fell from the walls, and explosions at random every day for two weeks (we were honeymooning at home) made us jumpy.

Highway F was torn away down to rock, the rusty one-lane bridge destroyed, and the intersection was closed so that after work we either parked at the barrier and walked a quarter mile to the house, teetering on broken rocks, or drove an 8-mile detour to get to the house from the other side.

The highway department told the landlord it'd take the land by eminent domain if the landlord didn't grant or sell the 1 acre needed to widen the highway, shortening our lane by 20 feet. I think in exchange the landlord asked that the first 100 feet of the lane, from Highway F up to my house, be freshly paved. It sorely needed paving.

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.