tidwell « Robin Writes

No, no. We are not “flipping” rocks, although we certainly have enough that we could apply almost any meaning to that term and still have plenty of leftover rocks; we ordered gravel for our driveway.

Talk about a fiasco.

My insurance agent recommended we call this guy, so we did. He was supposed to come out Tuesday around five o’clock, but never showed. The next night, his DAD came over around 8:00 p.m. when it was getting dark.

So far, so good. Sorta.

My husband went out to talk to the dad; we’d already discussed what we needed, which was gravel to top off the road. Period.

The two of them walked the driveway and my husband came in and asked me what color I wanted . . .

Um, gravel-colored? I didn’t care. Really. Brown or white, what was the difference?

The next night, the dad showed up around 4, not 5 as he’d said, and I was down in the woods when I heard the truck start dumping. They left shortly after spreading the entire drive, and I went to take a closer look.

O. M. G.

Repeat. Several times.

Throw in a few cuss words.

Repeat again.

They had dumped road-bed sized rocks—boulders, compared to gravel—all over the driveway. ALL the way down.

I was furious. FURIOUS.

I paced. I bitched. I moaned.

Okay, actually, when I came back inside and my husband said, “What do you think?” I replied with “fine.”

And we all know what THAT means . . .

So I expanded on that. A lot. Several times.

Honestly, I thought I would cry—and I never cry—and why? Because it’s a done deed. The solution? Use the blade and then—oh, Lord—use rakes.

Because we don’t have enough to do around here, right?

So I called “the guy” and naturally had to a leave a message. Okay, I left two. I was pissed.

The next day, the guy shows up around 5:00 with a load of gravel, even though I’d told him to CALL ME. My husband was at the barn and called me down there to meet the guy and talk to him.

I was loaded for bear.

And then—

Then I saw the guy. Close to seven feet tall, yes, really, and probably 300 pounds. I’m guessing. Holy crap. Maybe I should have tempered those messages a little, right? Yikes!

Of course, turns out he’s a really, really nice guy and we finally determined that my husband was confused or clueless and that his dad is blind or clueless.

Long story short—oh, wait, maybe I should have started here? Anyway, the guy brought gravel, now in two piles until we finish RAKING the damn drive and mashing it down into the existing roadbed.

I figure it’ll be September before we can lay the gravel.

Good grief.

When you’re moving onto your new homestead/farm/bug-out location, it’s really easy to get lost in the moving drama itself.

Things like unpacking, getting rid of even more “stuff,” arranging, filling cabinets, and, er, transferring data can all take precedence over survival activities.

Somewhere, you have to draw the line.

First, just like with any move, you have to know where things are—you have to be able to find them, some of them in a hurry. Our weapons are secure, for example, and close at hand. Food, clothing for whatever the weather brings, hygiene; the rest is gravy.

Unless you’re like me, and can’t stand the chaos for very long, and unless you’re working at one of those job thingies. Like me.

We’ve been here just over a week now. Completely unpacked and arranged and cleaned up and out.

I HAD to. Trust me, it’s for my sanity.

I also had to work—one more book for RHP coming out this month. But again, for my sanity, I can’t sit at my desk and work for very long at a stretch without getting up and doing something, anything!

So I planted my herbs and started some seeds. We’ve ordered the fencing for the garden and I planted some rosebushes. I’ve baked several loaves of bread to get us going and done all the rest of the cooking and cleaning and laundry.

Okay, so hanging all the laundry on the clothesline isn’t as much fun as I remembered from when I was a kid, but it’s not bad and it’s great exercise! Rain, however, can put a damper on things. Ha.

Then again, it’s an excuse to wear my new rain boots:

We hired a man to plow the garden; it was cheaper and faster than buying a plow to use a couple times a year and it’s nearly time, or even a bit late, to get some things in the ground. Remember, though, as much fun as garden catalogs are to read, don’t get carried away. Plant what you like to eat; otherwise, it’s a lot of hard work for very little return.

And yes, I did mention a fence for that garden. Depending on where you live, you may end up feeding the wildlife instead of your family. Here, we need a 7-8-foot-tall fence to keep out the damn deer. Picturesque, yes; major pests, also yes.

Don’t forget, too, all the other projects you’d planned. For us, we’re finishing the dungeon, aka lean-to, which has become the laundry room; also the furnace room. And we have a shower to put in, as well as the bathroom floor.

Sounds nice, or will be when it’s finished, but remember—you’re prepping here, and the other things won’t wait. SHTF certainly won’t.

Animals, crops, people. That’s your order of importance. The bells and whistles can come later, but if there’s ever a time to NOT put off today what you can you do tomorrow, this is it. You really never know what may come tomorrow, especially weather. Always have a backup plan for chores.

Take the time to practice shooting or using your weapon of choice; check your fence lines, or build or repair them. Keep your cash stash handy—it’s too easy to use a little here, a little there.

And take time to enjoy your new place. It’s hard, when there’s so much to be done, but do it anyway. Then you’ll know what makes it all worthwhile.