Pondering pyramids

Several days ago, I watched a man maneuver the back of his tandem truck into the entrance of my driveway. He delivered two pyramids of top soil. No easy task.

These narrow, dirt roads demand an experienced hand at the wheel–as that of the guys who drove the huge concrete trucks onto my property. Fast and efficient, they poured wet concrete into the frames of my new driveway last month.

I watched the progress for two weeks with great expectation and thanksgiving.

Swiftly, without a spoken word, the team formed the concrete into a perfectly smooth surface with a wood tool resembling a wide, brushless broom. Then, for hours, they used a hand trowel to finish the driveway’s edge, legs splayed for balance.

Later, the boss said, “You’re going to need some landscaping when we’re finished. And I can do that for you, also.”

“How convenient,” I said.

Weeks later, the driver of the tandem truck poured two pyramids of topsoil by my mailbox. Today, Michigan’s oranges, golds, and scarlets line the road. How much longer will these pyramids sit untouched?

Yes, I understand my project is one of many on the list of my capable contractor. However, managing large, costly projects without my husband’s consultation and support sometimes weighs upon me. A housewife, mother, writer, and small farmer, I’m long disciplined to meet deadlines.

For instance, I’ve a hen house to muck and scrub today while the sun shines. Then, I’ll drive to ACE for paint to better waterproof the house’s interior for a long winter.

In chicken vernacular, I’m also about to rooster up my henhouse. The chandelier needs a thorough cleaning and new bulbs. My matronly hens and I will feel so much better when a sparkly “chandy” lights up our lives again.

As electrical repairs are well beyond my experience, last night a dinner guest offered to replace the broken heat lamp that hangs above the hens’ roost posts. The lamp prevents the hens’ toes from freezing come winter.

My mother once told me about a long, bitter winter when she was a girl, that their hens’ toes froze off. She said it was sad to see the surviving hens hopping around.

That’s never happened to my hens, and I will do all I can to prevent it.

My little flock is down to four hens now. They produced enough eggs the past few days for the Chess Pie I made for dessert last night. And two for breakfast this morning with toast, avocado, and raspberries.

Nope, the raspberries weren’t mine. My patch gave up the ghost a few years ago, so my concrete guy’s going to dig it up when he brings the equipment for landscaping.

Yes, dear Reader, we eventually reach a place in our lives when our dreams and visions come to pass, and we must simplify. Let go what no longer benefits us, or does not produce in due season.

We must permit time to ponder such things as pyramids-Egyptian, and those made of top soil.

Contact Iris at irisfarmletters@gmail.com