Friday evening, Farmer H left the Mansion at 6:15 to go down to the mailboxes for the road meeting of our enclave. The meeting was supposed to start at 6:30. It takes one minute to get there, but I guess he wasn't taking any chances on it starting without him.
I figured I'd be downstairs in my lair with my Chinese food that The Pony brought home, by the time Farmer H returned. But I'd just gotten my tray ready when Farmer H stomped in the kitchen door. To be fair, that is kind of the way he walks. Like he doesn't have feet on the end of his ankles. But I could tell something was wrong. He wasn't his cheery (!) self!
"Oh, you're back already?"
"Yeah. Good for them if they have the money. They can get gravel and fix the roads."
"Did you mention about the bigger rock being the base?"
"Yeah, and the guy who called the meeting said, 'That's hard for cars to drive on.' So I seen right away that they're going to do what they want to do. It was the young people out here that are new." [That could be anyone younger than Farmer H, and "new" is anybody who wasn't here when we built the Mansion in 1997.]
"Huh. They don't want to hear anything from an old man!"
"They figure, 'These old people have been out here for 20 years, in charge of the roads, and look what they're like now.' So let them do it their way. They didn't want to hear nothin' about putting the rock in the center of the road, so there's a crown, and letting the water run off the sides, not down the middle of the road."
"Oh, well. We paid our part."
"That one lady that lives down here behind us, who said she'd be at the meeting, gave $200. I didn't notice the rest of them giving nothing. And I don't know who put that other load of the little stuff over mine yesterday."
Yes. On Thursday, when I got home, there was a load of 1-inch minus on top of the 2-inch plus that Farmer H had delivered. Which is how it should be. Big rock, then smaller rock. But like Farmer H says, when you get the 1-inch minus, you're paying for a lot of dust. Because that's the "minus" part of it. Less than one inch. Indeed, that load did not cover the entire amount that had been spread out by Farmer H's load.
Anyhoo... we'll see what they do about the road, and see who complains the loudest. Which is the main reason Farmer H didn't want to be in charge, because there's never any thanks, only complaints. From freeloaders!
Let the record show that any time I see someone on a tractor blading the road, I always stop and thank them. Same as when that one old man lived out here, and filled in potholes with a shovel and a bucket of gravel from his pickup truck.
Poor Farmer H. Tried to do what was right, and came home with his nose out of joint, and his feelings hurt.
7 comments:
If only there was some way to concrete the whole road and it would be good for decades. And I do mean concrete not blacktop which doesn't last nearly as long. Those young'uns will learn soon enough that the old ones know what they're talking about. I guess they still don't realise that slowing down to get over the big rock section makes it easier to drive on, just a bit bumpy is all, until the smaller rock is placed.
Maybe you should treat him extra special to make up for this rude and ungrateful treatment. Make him his favorite meals. Pick up his dirty clothes and do his laundry. Wave around his CPAP hose while you sing his favorite song.
Do SOMEthing to get his nose back into joint...
River,
If a couple hundred thousand dollars fell out of the sky, we could concrete that road up to the Mansion's driveway. Then again, people would be snatching up that money, and wasting it on things like food and truck payments.
That big rock section only takes a few days, or one rainy day, to jostle itself down into the packed dirt. Of course those young 'uns can't be slowed down for that long! I told Farmer H today that I bet most of the one-inch minus had already washed away, after last night's rain preceding snow. I'm pretty sure the big stuff is now level with the mud surface. Even though I didn't venture out today.
***
Sioux,
Oh, I'm treating him extra-special. But I'm staying away from his nose... more on that coming up.
If I wave the CPAP hose, it's not going to be song-related! It'll be whistling through the air like one of those stone-throwing doodads used by primitive peoples to hunt game.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Kathy,
You ain't a-woofin'!
Only a couple of hundred thousand? I'll keep that in mind when I win millions in the lotto draw. Ha Ha.
River,
That's just for the main road, and our offshoot. We don't really care about the part that runs past where HOS (Farmer H's Oldest Son) lived, over to the back gate. Farmer H doesn't drive out that way to work any more! So most of your lotto jackpot will be safe to use for yourself.
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