Hustle Time

Over the summer, we've named the major buildings on the island. Besides the obvious Outhouse, there's The Shed and The Shack. Well, ok, that's it. There's not much more there, except the wood piles.

Anyway, The Old Shed is down (now called the Wood Pile North), and The New Shed is up. We've decided to move The Shack forward more, closer to the water, but that's mostly next season's project. Meanwhile, remember those holes Steve dug earlier in the summer? Well, we've poured concrete in them, ready for the foundation of The New Shack.

Yesterday we loaded the barge and brought the old stove and a bunch of other assorted crap that couldn't burn to the dock, unloaded it onto the truck and hauled it away.

Reversing the order, we brought onto the island via a return trip the concrete bags, 6x6 posts, assorted tools, and I can't remember what all else, I was so beat. Steven's a crabby boss, and the pay sucks.

Other people at the dock usually look at us on our barge oddly, but they're too polite to voice their curiousity about the random assortment of flotsam and jetsam we surround ourselves with. Whereas other party boats hold better dressed people and beer, we look like a couple of old hoboes who've gone dumpster diving along the shore. There are only a couple of islands on the lake, and right now we're the only ones doing any work, so people undoubtedly aren't thinking along those lines. But I can still see their unspoken questions as to where the heck we got, and where the heck we're going, with all that crap. Couple of more forward people will inquire how the fishing is. Just for laughs, Steve simply says we weren't fishing, just "out on the lake". I smile, but never offer an answer. Just as with magic tricks, reality isn't as interesting as imagination.

But yesterday was the best. A group of about 5 older guys, all dressed chips ahoy, were taking a beautiful wood boat out of the water while I was sitting docked, surrounded by the detritus of the former owner's, and now my, life. This was their boat's maiden voyage after a summer-long restoration, and the contrast couldn't be more appalling. But they held their collective tongue.

Steven whispered that I should show some leg, and maybe they'd give me a hand hauling. But 1. maybe he didn't remember what my legs look like, and 2. they were all reaching for the hand sanitizer.

I never offered. My leg or an explanation. But just wait till they see the fridge coming ashore!