Enter Phase Hole-In-One: After weeks of shoving and drilling, Plaid Shirt Nation has arrived right next door, as in the corn fields to the right AND the cow pasture to the left of our house. I get to see men in yellow hats traipsing the ground from dawn to dusk. Why, one morning, when there was a heavy fog on the ground, I had no idea there was a little conglomeration of men in my back yard until the fog lifted. Suddenly, Poof! There they were. I sure am glad I closed the blinds in the bathroom that morning.
As the back hoes, earth movers, rock shakers and wood chippers work diligently in Tonka Town; our quiet little slice of heaven has turned into a nearly fatal disaster. One morning, driving down my own driveway, I crossed paths with a dump truck and was nearly broadsided. Somehow, our driveway has become a busy intersection through which the big trucks cross to get to the field on our right. There they created for themselves a little dumping ground, a ceremonial graveyard for the ravaged farmer’s property.
They dig big holes, fill the trucks with dirt, drive across the driveway, dump the dirt and drive back for free refills. The only thing in their way is OUR HOUSE. In order to enter and exit one’s place of residence, we prefer the method of OUR DRIVEWAY, through which we exit the giant pit of destruction.
Men in big, yellow, beeping trucks always get the right of way, even in one’s own property. They should’ve put up caution signs in our driveway; perhaps a crossing guard.
The lesson I learned that morning was two fold: 1. Don’t wait until I’m in the car to put on my lipstick. Seeing a yellow behemoth bearing down in one’s peripheral vision is not good for makeup application. 2. Always look both ways before crossing MY driveway.