Fall

The geese are flying.

The leaves are changing colors.

Mornings can be foggy.

          And my heart is happy that I live in such a beautiful part of our country.

          The pokeweed is hanging heavy and purple. Birds, mice, squirrels, coons, possums, and even bears can eat this fruit but it's toxic to us. So don't eat it!

          I think the Hummingbirds and Monarchs are gone, headed for warmer climate, but I saw a pretty Eastern Comma Butterfly this week.

          I saw a couple of little spiders too. A Jumping Spider on the job box at the bridge construction.

          And a little Wolf Spider on the Kipps' mailbox.

          Mike doesn't feed the deer anymore but we still see plenty of them.

          The youngins are still with their mothers.

          We put more batten strips up and since the saw was out Mike made a shelf for my kitchen window. I now own two houseplants, a jade, and a spider plant. Smudge has been eating my spider plant. Maybe moving it up a shelf will keep him out of it. There might be room for another plant or two, but I have to tell you. They'd better be hardy. I don't have much of a green thumb.

          Miss Rosie called me the other day. "I made some rice pudding. Would you like to have some?"

          I didn't even have to think about it. "No. Thank you for thinking of me though."

          Later in the day, on our way to exercise class, I told her this story. "When I was little we were playing in a pile of rags in the basement." Momma had an old wringer-style washer down there. "Look at all the rice!" I exclaimed to whichever of my siblings I was playing with that day. Probably David as we palled around a lot.

          "That's not rice, they're maggots," my older and wiser brother said.

          I was up and out of there so fast you'd've thought my butt was on fire. I didn't know what maggots were but I could tell by the way he said it that it wasn't a good thing. "What are maggots?" I wanted to know.

          "They turn into flies."

          Guess what Momma served for dessert that evening. Rice pudding. I know I was persuaded to try it but I just couldn't get the picture of maggots out of my mind as I felt those little grains of rice in my mouth. I swear they moved on their own. It may even be that someone was teasing me while he ate his share.

          "So it's probably a texture issue," Miss Rosie deduced.

          "Probably." And I've never tried it again.

          The next day, as I was raking doggie doo onto a shovel I came to a pile that was something else. Something that had once been alive. I tried to rake it onto my shovel and only succeeded in breaking it open, revealing a nest of maggots — and little feet. I think it must've been a mouse. And I couldn't help but marvel that something I never think of — maggots — turns up in my life twice in two days. Weird.

          I don't hate maggots. I'm not crazy about them either. Flies are annoying. But the most interesting thing about maggots is we've used them medically for hundreds of years. They only eat dead stuff so in a wound, they'll eat the dead (or necrotic) tissue leaving the healthy tissue behind.

          "But Peg! Don't they carry diseases?" you ask.

          Today, the ones that are bred especially for medical use don't carry disease.

          That was last week's news and didn't make the cut.

          This week we met the Kipps on our little dirt road and had our morning chat there instead of the patio.

           Tux. I'll tell you what! He is a very vocal dog and he wasn't happy that his walk was interrupted. He was talking and jumping up on Lamar. In my mind's eye, I could see Tux jumping into his lap, had he been sitting.

          "Maybe he wants you to hold him," I suggested.

          Lamar patted his chest. Tux had a few uncertain moments as Lamar coaxed. "Come on, puppy."

          Tux jumped, Lamar scooped him up in his arms. He didn't hold him long though, and I don't blame him. I can't hold my eight-pound Ginger very long, I can't even imagine holding a thirty-five-pound puppy.

          "I made you some banana bread," my sweet and feisty red-headed friend said. "But I goofed it up."

          "You did! What happened?" I was shocked.

          "I don't know but I only put one cup of flour in it instead of two," she confessed.

          "Did you taste it?"

          "Yeeup," Lamar said.

          I waited for him to go on. He didn't. "Well! How was it!"

          "It was good."

          Miss Rosie had been waiting to hear how he would answer that question too and now turned to me. "It tastes the same, but it's fragile. It doesn't hold together very well."

          "And it's low carb," Lamar put a positive spin on it.

          When I collected my loaf, I see it's not as tall either.

          Miss Rosie just shook her head. "I can't believe I did that. As many times as I've made this recipe..." she lamented.

          I had it for breakfast the next morning. They are single serving loaves, right? And Rosie and Lamar were correct. There isn't anything wrong with the flavor, it was just as yummy as ever, and mine held together well enough I was able to pick up the slices and enjoy them with my coffee.

          Michael has wanted a set of forks for his tractor for a while now. We debated about buying a cheap set that attaches to the bucket but I discouraged that. In so many things you really do get what you pay for. I know Mike would not have been happy with either the setup of the cheap forks or the quality. And for the cost factor, a few more bucks and he could have what he wanted.

          Click, click, click, order, confirm, pay, click, click, click, new forks on the way. In a few days, they were here. We rendezvous with the truck at Red's, the old truck stop down in town —

          I know! I know! It's called Penn Mart now. It'll forever be Red's in my mind.

          The driver had a thick piece of plywood he used for just this purpose and with his pallet jack, he wheeled them right into the back of Big Red. 

            At home it was a different story. Mike cut the bands and pulled the pieces out one at a time.

           "Peg, did you help?" you wanna know.

          Not much. My job is taking pictures, don't'cha know.

          With the new forks on the tractor, Mike was content to go and play. It sure made it a lot easier for him to untangle the pile of rocks from where the truck dumped them.

          Mike laid them all out on the concrete formerly occupied by our brush pile. We've got more than 40 cut stones. 

          Mike was giving a mini-tour of our place when he came back into the house and called, "Peg, guess what!?"

          "What!" I yelled.

          "The ceiling in the apartment fell down!"

          "You're kidding!"

          But he wasn't.

          "What happened?" I know you wanna know.

          Upon inspection, Mike thinks that time has worked it's magic on the nails that held the wires of the suspended ceiling. They had put the nails in straight up and down and the weight eventually pulled enough of them out that it came down. Mike couldn't abide the mess so we took a day and cleaned it up.

          We took down the rest of the ceiling and old, torn insulation. When time, money, and need arise, we'll put a new ceiling up. But as we were taking it down Mike found some old wiring that was of questionable safety — and that's the problem you run across when you buy an old place.

          "That could be a fire hazard," Mike said.

          "Maybe that's why God had the ceiling come down," I said. "So our house doesn't burn down."

          Mike got into his stash of supplies and put the wires into a junction box.

          The bridge.

          This week they filled the piles with concrete.

          They had the sections of rebar already made up and standing by. Once the pile was full, two guys would lift the rebar and set it on top.

          To sink the rebar they had this machine.

          One end went inside and Justin turned it on. The vibration settled the rebar to the depth they wanted it.

          Five of them went well but the sixth one didn't want to co-operate. Brian and Matt added their muscle and eventually, it surrendered.

          "What happened with that one?" I asked Brian.

          "I don't know. I don't know why it didn't want to go down."

          It was raining. Had been raining most of the morning and the creek was high enough you couldn't see the stepping stones very well.

          Duane had his boots.

          Justin did not.

          With all of the heavy equipment on our dirt road, it became a bog. I felt sorry for Justin as I watched him slog through ankle-deep mud.

          "You'd think he'd wear boots," I said to Brian.

          "You would. I carry mine in the truck with me."

          The concrete truck didn't leave after the piles were poured. He filled a brick box.

          Mike and I were watching. Duane was standing there with a screed board. That's the board they use to finish off the concrete, kinda like using a knife to level off flour in a measuring cup. Duane wouldn't be needed until the pour was done so we took the opportunity to call him over.

          "I bet you're just dying to know what the bricks are for," Duane said.

          Yeah. He knows us. He knows that we're curious about the bridge-building process. We try not to interfere when they're working and most times the guys will walk over and chat with us when they have a minute.

          Mike laughed. "Yeah. What're the bricks for?"

          "We'll break them up and use them to keep the rebar off the ground when we pour the cap on the piles," Duane explained.

          The next day we see a bridge has appeared over the creek. 

          Matt was finishing up the drainage pipes on our side while the other guys worked on the other side.     

          I can only imagine that putting the rebar together is a lot like doing a model or a puzzle. All the pieces were coded. They had to pick the pieces from the pile and assemble them according to the specs.

          Once the rebar was finished they built the forms.

          "I wonder how they tie the sides together," Mike mused. "Concrete is heavy! If the sides aren't somehow tied together they'll blow out."

          Mike and I took the next day to replenish our pantry. We went shopping. It appears they are about done with the Rainbow Bridge painting project and they're cleaning up. I hope that means it'll be open soon.

          By the time we checked in at the job site, they were about done with the rebar and getting ready to set the forms.

          "What are those things for?" I asked Mike.

          "That's what they use to tie the rebar together."

          I wondered how they were strung into a roll so I got off the golf cart to check it out. They just have a wire running through the top loop and one running through the bottom loop and they were twisted together to keep the wires from falling off.

          "What are the loops for?"

          "I guess it's to help them twist the wires together or maybe they have a tool they use that goes in them," Mike guessed.

          We didn't stay long but we did come back later in the day.

          We moved to a better vantage point. No one was a boss. No one told anyone else what to do. They all just seemed to know what needed to be done and did it.

          This guy, I think they call him Jerry, this guy is 71 and he's still working. Whether he has to or just wants to, I don't know. Jerry picked up the roll of wire ties that someone hadn't twisted the ends of together and dumped a bunch of them on the ground. We watched, and Matt watched, as Jerry picked up a handful. 

           That was it. He tossed 'em on the board and walked away. Matt shook his head, never uttered a word, and bent to the task of picking up the rest of the wires. 

           Then he twisted the ends together so no more would come off the roll.

          Jerry, in the meantime, had gone on to another job. He put metal pieces on big bolts that would be slid into the forms.

          "Where's the grease?" he called to no one in particular.

          "It's over here," someone answered. "Do you need a board?"

          "Nope," Jerry answered. "I got one."

          He put a big dollop of grease on the board...

...and rolled the threaded end of the bolts in it.

           Matt drilled holes in the appropriate places and Justin came behind and put the bolts through.

          "Seen enough?" Mike asked.

          "Heck no! You wanted to see how they're tied together so let's stay and see how they do it."

          Matt knocked one of the bolts from the top down into the form. I wondered if he'd just write it off but he didn't. Whether it's because he's a conscientious employee or it'd compromise the integrity of the structure, I don't know. He climbed the form.

          And had to lay down to reach the bolt.

          "Can he reach it?" I wondered aloud.

          Matt came up with the bolt but lost his hardhat.

           Luckily, it didn't go far.

           Justin and another guy who's name I don't know went to work tightening the bolts. Onto what, into what, we didn't know.

          Matt was freed up, having nothing to do at the moment.

          "How do you tie them together?" Mike asked.

          "With these," Matt said and held one of 'these' up.

          A bolt is put in on each side, threaded and tightened into this whatchamacallit.

          There used to be a candy bar by that name. Do you remember it?

          Anyway, this whatchamacallit stays in but the bolts come out when they take the forms down.

          "How long do the forms stay up?" you wonder.

          I wondered the same thing and asked Matt. "Just one day. They might stay up longer but they can come down after a day."

          At the end of the day the work all gets done and it's ready to pour.

          I was listening to a Chip Ingram podcast this week; at least I think it was him. I listen to several Christian podcasts. Chip was talking about a dog called Malinois. He described a Malinois as a German Shepherd on steroids. I had to Google Malinois and they do look like German Shepherds.

          According to the AKC website, "The Belgian Malinois is a well balanced, square dog, elegant in appearance with exceedingly proud carriage of the head and neck. The dog is strong, agile, well-muscled, alert, and full of life."

          Have you ever heard of them? 

          "Peg, what are you reading these days?" you ask.

          I'm so glad you asked. I'm reading the Hunger Games series. They're young adult novels and I'm really enjoying them. I'm on Mockingjay, the third one and often read until my eyes are beyond tired. A few eye drops and I'm good to read for another fifteen minutes or so. Sometimes I'll repeat the process until midnight.

           I asked the eye doctor why my eyes get so dry. She said that often times when we're staring at a screen, we don't blink enough. I make a conscious effort to blink often but it doesn't really help much.

          These days I read books borrowed from the library on my iPad. There're several apps you can use and I use Libby. I can set the light for nighttime reading and it doesn't bother Mike much as he sleeps.

          I used to love books. I have a whole library of books. Unfortunately being closed up tight in a slightly damp room has turned them all into a pile of must. They're all ruined. I Googled it and found charcoal is supposed to work to remove the musty odor. I have two reference books I think I'd like to try that with. I hope it works.

          Let's end with a sunrise picture.

           And call this one done!