On the Verge

The bees have been buzzin’! The energy this week has been exciting and enervating, like those early days when framing the house, with nail guns hammering, circular saws a-whirring, air compressors burping, and norteño music filling the air. We had a fair bit of activity last week, but this week it is as though someone hollered “Let’s get this thing done!” and kicked it into high gear. And suddenly appliances were in place, bed frames assembled, fixtures installed, furniture received. Outdoors, final shaping of the lot was completed, the pads for my pump house and propane tank were built, sprinkler system started. Concrete truck and mattresses arriving this afternoon.

I did have one surprise the other day. We had a torrential rain a few nights ago so the next morning I went to check on the rainwater tank to see if it was full. I opened the access hatch on top of the tank and the water level was nearly to the brim of the liner. That was the good news. However, the level was also above the point where it should have started to overflow and divert through the drain line. But the drain line was dry. After investigation, I learned that inside the tank, the drain line has an elbow directed upwards with a bell mouth, a flared connection to improve hydraulic efficiency. Thus the water level was actually on the verge of overflowing. Let’s call the tank 99% full. Next rain will tell!

And now, like the collected rainwater nearing the full mark, the house is on the verge of being complete!

When does a house become a home? You might ask when does a friend become a lover? I walked through the house this morning. I could feel the love, but it is an anticipatory sensation. Like the kid on a voyage who asks: “Are we there yet?” The reply comes back from the navigator: “Almost!”

Home is a very singular concept, but often transitory or illusory, like a mirage. It is a very personal place. For many, home is the place we are preparing for all our life. For others, home is family and friends, sharing time together. For me, it is both.

As the gravel trucks started to arrive this morning (to complete the driveway), I slipped out to my local coffee shop in Buffalo, the Coffee Nook. It is a comfortable and homey place, in the back of which is a library and reading room. Most of the books are teen fiction, romance and sci-fi, but they have a few that appeal to me, including The Medicine Woman of Galveston. On Thursdays, a group of women get together and play some kind of game with dominos. I met James the plumber there one morning and introduced them as my girlfriends.

On the way back to the wranch, I noticed what a beautiful country this is. The silent trees swaying in the breeze, dumbfounded cattle loitering in green pastures, the blue and red and yellow highlights of wildflowers in their final days of glory before the summer sun puts an end to their fleeting reign, the warm blue sky powdered here and there and which could be a menacing dark gray tomorrow.

And now I sit outside my trailer with a takeout coffee and a slice of Paula’s walnut raisin sour dough bread, toasted. The Beaty persists: Another gravel truck has just departed. Angel and his crew are digging trenches for the sprinklers. Sergio is setting the form for a last minute concrete pad behind my shop to work on my tractor or wash my gator. Norteño music wafts. I plan my chores: set the fridge on vacation mode to prevent the ice-maker from loading the freezer with ice, set the locks on all the doors, prep the space for the mattresses, make a few calls to follow up on rainwater pump and filters.

Time to get on with my chores. No rest for the Company Man!