“As I’ve said, water pours out of these hills, & you’re either aligned with it, or it’s going to ruin your plans.The most exalted location for a yurt, with Feng Shui up the Ying Yang, may yet pose issues. And who among us isn’t tired of dealing with issues? Still, those very same issues lead to solutions, solutions that ooze out of the pores of a naturally brilliant, collective humanity. We ended up with a crew of five: Logan, Julie, Brian, Wilder and Gus. One thing I’ve learned as a landscaper is the joy and camaraderie of leaning on a shovel handle and staring into a hole. In the early morning hours, tramping over volunteer grasses, plunging boots into marshy, fertile, possibly ravaged acreage, I feel alive. It’s here the vision begins to unfold. Looking up, we see our keepers, peaks that dominate our geographical sector: Mount Abe, Mount Ellen, Moose Mountain, and some with presidential names like “Grant” & “Roosevelt”. Below us, landscape fabric, a gas powered gravel tamper, cement block & logs cut off stumps, a scrappy burn pile, the tractor’s over-sized ruts, boulders askew, and a few well placed curses. I haul soup overland to the rock wall by the old smokehouse, bowls and spoons, paper towels, a basket with cheddar, oat bread, raw butter, and hummus, for a communal break. In the cool, almost warm mid-day, we sit back to marvel at the view and continue to battle black flies or eat them inadvertently. I swallow my share, cough & nearly choke but I’m not alone. The site pumps spring water despite itself, as our rock goes down, is lost, is found, while workers measure the 20’ parameter in a circular rotation, lay spray paint and mark the points of the compass, using rudimentary flags. I seem to be thinking of Monica, as I tromp the wetland, returning to my truck to fork out the last of the bark mulch, for paths more amenable to traffic. Somehow I’m sure the yurt will become her palace. At least for short summer respites, with her children in tow. Sometimes you thank your lucky stars you can finally offer your friends a place to land, to recoup, something you’d wanted for yourself so many times, but didn’t have. At the end of the day, the back window of Gus’s tractor suddenly shattered, on a bump, out of the blue. I raked the safety glass then swept the dirt with a broom, making sure to push all of it off roadway. I winced to think of my quiet neighbors across the road, quietly enduring all the noise of the day. If I could, I’d mail them silence and peace, harbingers of what I’m creating. Gus was only doing his job, jinxed a little. I’ll gladly pay for the damage.”
