“He pulled in, his trailer hitched to his Subaru, a familiar, welcome sight. I remembered the winter they’d had to haul water from my outdoor faucet, onto the same trailer, once or twice a week. And then, finally, how the well got drilled. I guess I feel proud of all my neighbors, for different things, for what they’ve endured. I’d say I know just a little bit of each story, but it makes me humble, anyway, to know that much about suffering. We had some undone work to do, on the outhouse, left at loose ends last fall, when too much was happening. My contribution will be the hand-painted sign that says: “Taj Mahal”. It’s quite an outhouse. A sign for later, when it’s got that step screwed on that was left off, and the clear, poly sheathing tacked up, as snow protection. The hand carved handles, and unique sheet rock bucket technology for collections, are brilliant, if I do say so. But getting bales of peat moss up there, however, is not my favorite solo enterprise. I can only get my truck within not even spitting distance, and so, there’s some lugging to do. At least when I had the mind to do it, I made that path worthy, with a thick layer of wood chips, to soak up the mud. I’m still glad we picked a spot with a view, rather than something more practical. Now, according to the town, it’s not an outhouse, it’s a playhouse. Because outhouses now are outlawed structures, that do not exist. This playhouse has fun things to do, in it. Anyway, I’m not teaching you anything you don’t already know. The rain had not yet started, and I was still convinced, as my neighbor pulled in with his trailer, that I was going to take my tools to Colby Hill, and put in a day’s work with a day lily bed. So as he went his way, pushing a wheel barrow with his tools up through the sedge grass & clover to higher ground, I tossed a shovel and a rake into the back of my pickup. That’s a happy feeling, for me, and off I went. Despite your enthusiasm, you don’t want to go too fast, away from my house. For you’ll soon hit a remarkable set of potholes, that could not have been more strategically placed, to disrupt a smooth ride. This meditative initial stretch, provides a kind of a brake, on living in the fast lane. So if you thought you could just “cruise” up here, and pick up chicks, think again. I was thinking about it, heading down the hill, also slowing for chickens as I was instructed to by another hand-painted sign, but this one done by kids, supervised by their chicken-loving parents, I suppose. After that, you can speed up a bit, unless you see Don. Running over neighbors walking on the road isn’t good. So, I guess the whole road is an exercise in zen awareness, that, though we are “one” with the universe, we’d sure as hell better watch out for it. The universe, that is. Or maybe the road. In mud season ... don’t even ask me about mud season. I still think of my stranded friends, every time I pass spots that were impassable last spring, a culvert completely washed away, a set of ruts with no bottom ... or maybe it’s just a conspiracy of traps set by evil urban planners who hate that we live here. Never thought of that before. It’s just there’s nothing we shouldn’t consider. Now that the “new normal” advertised as our copasetic future, is so completely, utterly, incomprehensibly, insane.”