That evening, I sat watching “The Gilmore Girls” on my laptop (How did I miss that show when it was on?) while my husband vegged out on something more manly (but not nearly as good) on TV. Neither of us were thinking of Flyrock. We were settled in for the winter. Hibernating. Our camper is winterized, and so are we. We’ll get back to Flyrock in a month or two. After all, we have kitchen cabinets to keep us busy. Or so we thought.
The phone rings. My husband: “Hey, what’s up?”
Caller: “We’ve got a little break in the weather. We’re going to move some yellow iron out to Flyrock tomorrow.”
My husband: “What?’
Caller: “Most of our big equipment is Catepillar. We call it ‘yellow iron’.”
We’d been waiting quite awhile for our excavation company to get back to the property. I’m wondering if somehow they found out I was in the midst of a big project at home and thought it would be funny to hit us with a huge project at Flyrock at the same time. Or maybe it really was because of the gorgeous Spring-like weather we were having in mid January. Whatever the reason we were suddenly jerked back into Flyrock mode.
The plan was for a road on the high side, a quarter mile long, so while a big trackhoe ripped the turf off the top, we started setting culvert pipe and building the turn-off from the county road. Cutting the old fence seemed significant because suddenly there’s new access that vehicles could drive in.
We set gate posts and hung a new ugly gate (that I promise you will be replaced with a pretty gate someday). We set the gate in far enough in to be able to pull in with a trailer behind the truck. Then we wanted to build dry stack rock walls from the gate out to the fence that borders the county road. For us, it’s a huge job: two walls 35 ft. long, 30 in. wide, 4 ft. tall. Everyone that stops to watch us as we get the first few rocks in place, stands with jaws dropped muttering something that lets us know they think we have rocks for brains. We’ll see how it goes. At one point I remember we discussed how cool it would be to have a rock wall fence all along the county road. Yeah, that’s not going to happen, not in my lifetime anyway! There’s not enough of it left for a rock wall that big!
As we haul rock from different areas of the property, the yellow iron churns away, rumbling back and forth across the property, working on our new road. They have a grader shaping ditches and crowning the road, getting it ready for the first loads of gravel to be laid down.
Of course, there are always surprises. We had noticed a spot on the high side that stays wet. One of the excavation guys told us we have a “wet spring.” My husband keeps saying “Well ain’t this place a geological oddity?” He thinks it’s funny cause it sounds like Everett on “Oh Brother Where Art Thou”. As I hear him say it again for about the third time, I think to myself, he’s got dirt on his face like Everett had, but that’s about as close as it gets to having George Clooney standing here talking to me. We got all excited thinking, “A spring? Can we get water from it?” Excavation guy explains, “No, it’s not enough to use, just enough to make a big muddy spot.”
For the past three years, we’ve found ourselves caught in cycles of circular thinking. I guess it’s because we try to keep our options open, as long as we can. Overthinking every choice. In reality, it just keeps things from happening. But when you have big equipment running and three operators on the time clock, decisions have to be made immediately. We’ve discovered that being forced to make decisions is a good thing: suddenly, we were forced to decide where we wanted the road to go; where our house site is going be; where we’re going to set a cabin (before we build our house). All of this is good. We’re moving forward.