We name stuff; it’s what we do. I don’t know why; we just always have. Remember Barney, the purple truck? (See A Truck Named Barney) And Flyrock — well, I think we spent more time naming it than we did our three children. (See Naming Flyrock Lake) So it came as no surprise that, when the truck hauling our shipping container made the first curve into Flyrock, my thirty-something-year old son said:
“We could name it Calvin.”
“What?” I wasn’t tracking with him yet.
“Or Kevin”, he added.
Then I saw the “K”Line on the side of the container and I caught on. I joined in with, “How about Re, De or In?”
I think Kevin works best, for obvious reasons. And if it isn’t obvious, well then, it doesn’t matter.
Yep, we finally decided and bought a shipping container. It’s an 8′ x 40′ high cube. That means it’s nine feet tall instead of eight, which is good for driving the tractor into it without having to take the roll bar down first.
After over-thinking where to locate it, we spent several weekends clearing the area and building a pad for the container. We had to buy a couple of loads of gravel. I think that’s a little ironic: we own an old rock quarry and yet we have to buy gravel. And it isn’t cheap. I mean it really isn’t cheap! I can definitely think of more fun and interesting things to spend money on than a truckload of gravel that we dump in the dirt.
The delivery guy took it as a challenge to get through the trees we so judiciously left and set Kevin just where my husband wanted it — or at least where my husband thought he wanted it. It took backing up, pulling up, backing up again several times but he managed to maneuver the big load between all the trees and on to the pad. With a proud grin and an “I love it when a plan comes together”, which told his age and love for a TV show to still be making references to the A-team 30 years later, he took the check I had written him, crawled back into the cab of the semi and drove off. It was then we realized that we were going to have trouble backing the tractor out of the container without hitting a tree. We had a choice of either moving the 8,875 pound container or getting rid of the tree. We hated to cut the tree down, because it provides a lot of shade to help keep Kevin cool inside. So, a few days later, working by himself, my husband used his trusty winch (see My Husband Says He Needs a Wench) and moved Kevin a foot or more, but doing it a half-inch at a time. It took several hours of jacking it up, then pulling it over, then jacking it up, then pulling it over, until he got it exactly where he wanted it — for the second time.
Now we can lock up the tractor, tools, kayaks, rafts and camping gear. No more hauling stuff back and forth between home and Flyrock. Well that’s an exaggeration, not as much hauling stuff back and forth would be more accurate. Our plans are to put a walk door in the back end. Maybe build a small room for a composting toilet, also a beer deck and an outdoor shower off that same end. We thought we might paint the exterior a nice light color, maybe a nice tan, but I’ve decided I kind of like Kevin the way he is. I think he looks cool. Because everyone is used to seeing these “K”Line shipping containers stacked on trains in the area, the color and half-worn graphics on the corragated red metal sort of gives it a railroad feel, which definitely ties in with our property. The railroad is right there, in your face and in your ears and it was intrigal to the limestone quarry from the day it was born back in the late 1800s. So maybe we’ll just cover the rusty parts with some red paint and call it good.
It feels good to have Kevin at Flyrock; a reminder that we’re making some progress, no matter how slow it seems at times. Maybe it’s because this is something we see when we drive in that feels a little more tangible than just cutting down weeds, that will grow back again, or trimming trees, that will have to be trimmed again, or moving junk and trash and rocks. Look something big and red and rusty with locks on it — we’re making progress.