Hard Work!

So here I am; finally clean, upstairs, and writing for my blog.

Today, the first of my three days off (I am lucky enough to work a 4/10 schedule), was spent at "hard labor." Hence I am not posting for Friday until late in the evening because I was, shall I say, "otherwise occupied" for the bulk of the day.

Some asshole in my community managed to back his dually pickup into my fence (I noted the dual acceleration tracks), breaking his taillights, and then left four of my fence posts broken. I can only hope that the damage to his truck ran into the millions of dollars but I suspect not.

In any event, in anticipation of winter approaching, I had to repair my fents (common spelling) but needed assistance. Finding same, he and I took two complete days over the past two weekends to merely demo the fents and attempt to dig out the concrete for the four broken posts.

I live at the 4,000 foot level in the Sierra Nevada mountains. All around me there was mining, hydraulic and otherwise -- to the tune that, earlier this year, a man living in his house, following some rains, was killed when, whilst watching TV downstairs in the living room, the entire floor collapsed beneath him into an extant mining pit sinkhole. Emergency responders were not even able to retrieve his body for two days until the site became manageable and more stable. He left behind a new wife, pregnant with their first child. It was so completely tragic.

And therein lies the problem: this area is rife with round rock mining tailings and worse. Yes, I live in the proverbial Red Dirt area. We tried to dig down over a number of hours and encountered first red dirt, then round rock cobble, then hard-assed clay. It rained over the past weekend so -- instead of what one might first think -- the rain only served to make the clay more determined and resolute against our two modern shovels and two breaker bars. One breaker bar was taller and damned near heavier than me.

I only had to excavate and remove four posts and their concrete footings. Four holes took me two weekends.

With help. Good help. No, great help. Inspired help. Fabulously welcomed help.

Man. Things like this remind me that not only am I not in Kansas anymore, but I'm not 25 anymore. Two guys pushing 60 -- yeah, we were raining sweat. We took some water breaks and shot some shit. But you know what?

We made four holes and we were proud of them.

Where's my Ibuprofen?

BZ