Each day, as I look through my windshield up the 150+ feet to the road, I feel a sense of pride. The driveway itself might not appear so inspirational, as it’s only a smooth layer of crushed stone. It IS, however, a smooth layer of crushed stone—15 tons worth, all raked out by yours truly with a garden rake.
A contractor constructed the original driveway (and the utility pole, the septic tank, and such), laying crushed limestone by driving slowly while gradually dumping the cargo, but in a few years, the stone sank into the clay soil, particularly when heavy fuel trucks hazarded the drive. So, years later, a new neighbor, also a contractor, offered to drive his small dump truck to the quarry for a load of crusher—and the problem was solved with a new layer of stone.
Sort of. Over the years, erosion chipped away until the ruts were so bad that negotiating the drive required noting high ground for the tires. My neighbor had moved, so I turned to the phone book late one afternoon.
I explained my problem, and started asking questions. “Hang on,” interrupted the woman on the other end of the phone. “I’ll get the guy you need to talk to.” OK.
When “the guy” (who turned out to be the owner of the business) came to the phone, I started again. After asking me questions about area and depth, he gave me a very reasonable price on five tons of crusher—but wasn’t sure if he could do it that day. “That’s fine,” I explained, understanding this was late in the day, and the job certainly wasn’t urgent. “No, no—I just need to find if we have a free truck” (they were out at construction sites). “Let me call you back in five minutes.” Gotta love a guy who gets business—here’s a customer, checkbook in hand, ready to deal. Get the man some stone.
He didn’t call back—he showed up 20 minutes later (impressive, since his business is 15 minutes away). We talked, I explained where I wanted the stone, he said he’d try, did an awesome spread—and noted that he’d given me a few extra tons. I could see that. Roughly, he grabbed a truck with two tons of crusher, added the five tons, and dumped what he had. From our chat, he was clearly building a new business, and I was certainly a satisfied customer.
I spent a few weeks raking out the stone with a rake—not an easy task, working on it a few hours a day (and nursing my sore muscles). But, as the sea of stone gradually settled, I realized I would need another load to finish the job.
I called the same business. This time, I got a very pleasant, witty young woman who, in the course of our conversation, revealed that she had recently been hired—the business was growing. I placed my request for another five tons of crusher, and by chance, it was again late in the afternoon. As before, my point that I didn’t need delivery that day was rebuffed, they’d find someone, and 20 minutes later, a very large dump truck arrived, driven by a polite but clearly not happy man. He surveyed the job. “I don’t like to spread uphill,” he noted, and given the size of his truck, I could see his point—we’d definitely be testing that thing’s center of gravity. “That’s fine,” I explained. “Just spread downhill and back up over it.” He agreed.
When he had done this, a significant load of crusher still lay in the dump truck’s bed. “Just leave the rest up here in a pile,” I asked, gesturing toward a depression near the road. “I expect to rake it out anyway.” He hesitated, then got into his truck, gingerly backed to the indicated spot (carefully avoiding the mailbox) and dumped the entire contents—clearly far more than the five tons I’d ordered (I estimate at least eight tons). “I gave you a little extra,” he said. “Thanks,” I answered, paid the man, and let him get home.
I’m reminded of graduate school in Cambridge. My housemates and I were struggling with difficult studies and difficult finances in an expensive corner of the world. We split up duties as best we could for mutual benefit, mine including visiting Boston’s Quincy Market at Faneuil Hall one a week for produce and seafood. This was a two day affair, Friday and Saturday, but I always went on Saturdays, around four o’clock, an hour before the end of the market. I’d walk around, buying nothing, just seeing what was available. Before long, though, merchants would realize they had unsold fish and fruit that wasn’t going to keep another week, and suddenly bananas were $1 a bunch, fresh seafood ridiculously inexpensive. Nor did I need to push my way through to the bargain table, since other merchants immediately took up the tune. I returned each week with two grocery bags full of food, $10 worth, all I could carry back home via the subway.
“Tons of work” certainly took on new meaning. Even wearing heavy work gloves, I had blisters all over both hands. I tried to use a shovel and wheelbarrow to move some of that stone pile, but I found that so unproductive that I settled for just gradually raking it down the drive. I’d work for a while and check the time—oh, just five minutes. Sigh. I hurt in places I didn’t know I had places. But every day a little more, and then every day a little adjustment, and eventually—done.
Now it’s a work of art. And now, as usual, I have a ton of work to do, and I can’t imagine how I’ll accomplish it. But I have a rake.
Writer
Showing posts with label driveway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label driveway. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Home Insecurity
[I wrote this during Bush’s first term. Considering the recent cases involving reading the government reading email and tracking Internet viewing, I thought it worth a second look.]
“Get back in your car!” came the angry order.
“I live here!” I answered, only to hear the angry order repeated.
I’d just returned from Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house, a bit after 8 p.m., and I was listening the to rest of an NPR story (I can’t get NPR inside my country home). I wasn’t even sure about the source of the order, since no lights were flashing, and I wasn’t entirely sure the truck I saw suddenly swing around belonged to the Sheriff’s department. I certainly couldn’t tell at the time, since the truck was parked at an angle in the nearest lane, lights shining in my face, all I could see. I had tried to get out to explain that all was well.
The eventual terse conversation clarified the officer’s stated position that he didn’t know if I needed roadside assistance (I certainly hope this isn’t his usual roadside manner) and that since he doesn’t know me, he’s safer approaching me (like I’m safe from an unknown driver spinning around and accosting me). I was saved further harassment primarily after pointing out to the officer that I had only been sitting there five minutes or so, as evidenced by my fresh tire tracks--clearly indicating I’d backed into my parking spot intentionally.
Technology probably saved me further difficulties that Thanksgiving evening. The officer twice asked me my name, and certainly he could from there check my story--the phone book would do, but the patrol car laptop would also suffice--as well as checking my registration, insurance, and any possible prior incidents.
But in short, I was accosted in my own driveway, way out in the country, for listening to the radio, and primarily because the officer in question found listening to the radio in a driveway foreign. Hence, I’m even more concerned than before about the surveillance measures the Bush administration has pursued so relentlessly. Will other people’s perception of what is normal and acceptable become, ipso facto, the law?
I fear that’s so. The Bush administration is constructing an information system to combine all available data in one central location. All activities, all purchases, all Internet queries and more will be available without a search warrant. And in charge of this data? None other than John Poindexter, convicted of conspiracy, lying to Congress, defrauding the government, and destroying evidence in the Iran Contra scandal, convictions later overturned during George H’s presidential tenure on the grounds that despite the truth of Poindexter’s testimony, he’d made an immunity deal in return for his testimony.
The information system is nominally a response to the “War against Terrorism,” an extremely unfortunate characterization. Certainly there’s a serious threat that needs serious consideration, but crediting the Bush administration for its response to this threat has serious problems: (1) such a broadly defined “war” will never have an end, leaving every president with broad and ambiguous power to do whatever in the name of national security forever, since such a war can never be declared “over” with certainty; (2) the Bush Administration could have prevented the 9/11 attacks by seriously considering instead of dismissing the Clinton administration’s reports about the growing threat; (3) naming Henry Kissinger, architect of the secret bombings in Cambodia and Laos to lead an investigation into the current administration’s failure to address 9/11 seems to have only one logical reason--Kissinger won’t embarrass the president (and replacing him with Tom Kean, a man with virtually no intelligence experience, underscores that the point of the investigation is to find nothing); (4) while Attorney General John Ashcroft insists the government needs greater powers to protect Americans against terrorists, he also refuses to allow tracking firearms as a violation of Constitutional rights, a bizarre contradiction in priorities (and does anyone really believe that a group of militia folk could hold off a hostile U.S. government with the state of weapons technology today? Should U.S. citizens be allowed to become nuclear powers?).
The truth is that technology will change multiple aspects of American life, and it probably can’t be stopped. Many of the consequences will be wonderful. Eventually, for example, people needing organ transplants will clone their own replacements, solving a current medical crisis. And, the unprecedented access to information by anyone with access to a computer and a modem is certainly beneficial. But this will come with costs. Further, given the current administration’s obvious disdain for Constitutional protections, it’s not hard to imagine that with or without official approval, illegal surveillance may already be in progress. Certainly, legal protections didn’t stop the Nixon administration.
The danger is that anyone in power can force a preconceived view of ethics on the public. There will be no escape, since any book purchase, any email, any documented action or position will be available for review. Given current political strategies of finding whatever fact can be spun and doing so negatively, America may be headed not for an era of truth, but for layers and layers of lies. Further, the electorate seems unconcerned. True, access to information is greater than ever before, but so relatively few people use this power, and even fewer evaluate that information before accepting it. Thus, although the danger from outside U.S. borders is real, the potential danger from the U.S. government is equally real.
And even if not, benignly collected data will always be in jeopardy from an outside hacker.
Consequently, everyone’s freedom--and perhaps life--is potentially in danger in the 21st century from anyone who finds any particular action or thought unsatisfactory--even listening to the radio in one’s own driveway.
George Orwell may have been correct--he just got the year wrong.
Writer
“Get back in your car!” came the angry order.
“I live here!” I answered, only to hear the angry order repeated.
I’d just returned from Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house, a bit after 8 p.m., and I was listening the to rest of an NPR story (I can’t get NPR inside my country home). I wasn’t even sure about the source of the order, since no lights were flashing, and I wasn’t entirely sure the truck I saw suddenly swing around belonged to the Sheriff’s department. I certainly couldn’t tell at the time, since the truck was parked at an angle in the nearest lane, lights shining in my face, all I could see. I had tried to get out to explain that all was well.
The eventual terse conversation clarified the officer’s stated position that he didn’t know if I needed roadside assistance (I certainly hope this isn’t his usual roadside manner) and that since he doesn’t know me, he’s safer approaching me (like I’m safe from an unknown driver spinning around and accosting me). I was saved further harassment primarily after pointing out to the officer that I had only been sitting there five minutes or so, as evidenced by my fresh tire tracks--clearly indicating I’d backed into my parking spot intentionally.
Technology probably saved me further difficulties that Thanksgiving evening. The officer twice asked me my name, and certainly he could from there check my story--the phone book would do, but the patrol car laptop would also suffice--as well as checking my registration, insurance, and any possible prior incidents.
But in short, I was accosted in my own driveway, way out in the country, for listening to the radio, and primarily because the officer in question found listening to the radio in a driveway foreign. Hence, I’m even more concerned than before about the surveillance measures the Bush administration has pursued so relentlessly. Will other people’s perception of what is normal and acceptable become, ipso facto, the law?
I fear that’s so. The Bush administration is constructing an information system to combine all available data in one central location. All activities, all purchases, all Internet queries and more will be available without a search warrant. And in charge of this data? None other than John Poindexter, convicted of conspiracy, lying to Congress, defrauding the government, and destroying evidence in the Iran Contra scandal, convictions later overturned during George H’s presidential tenure on the grounds that despite the truth of Poindexter’s testimony, he’d made an immunity deal in return for his testimony.
The information system is nominally a response to the “War against Terrorism,” an extremely unfortunate characterization. Certainly there’s a serious threat that needs serious consideration, but crediting the Bush administration for its response to this threat has serious problems: (1) such a broadly defined “war” will never have an end, leaving every president with broad and ambiguous power to do whatever in the name of national security forever, since such a war can never be declared “over” with certainty; (2) the Bush Administration could have prevented the 9/11 attacks by seriously considering instead of dismissing the Clinton administration’s reports about the growing threat; (3) naming Henry Kissinger, architect of the secret bombings in Cambodia and Laos to lead an investigation into the current administration’s failure to address 9/11 seems to have only one logical reason--Kissinger won’t embarrass the president (and replacing him with Tom Kean, a man with virtually no intelligence experience, underscores that the point of the investigation is to find nothing); (4) while Attorney General John Ashcroft insists the government needs greater powers to protect Americans against terrorists, he also refuses to allow tracking firearms as a violation of Constitutional rights, a bizarre contradiction in priorities (and does anyone really believe that a group of militia folk could hold off a hostile U.S. government with the state of weapons technology today? Should U.S. citizens be allowed to become nuclear powers?).
The truth is that technology will change multiple aspects of American life, and it probably can’t be stopped. Many of the consequences will be wonderful. Eventually, for example, people needing organ transplants will clone their own replacements, solving a current medical crisis. And, the unprecedented access to information by anyone with access to a computer and a modem is certainly beneficial. But this will come with costs. Further, given the current administration’s obvious disdain for Constitutional protections, it’s not hard to imagine that with or without official approval, illegal surveillance may already be in progress. Certainly, legal protections didn’t stop the Nixon administration.
The danger is that anyone in power can force a preconceived view of ethics on the public. There will be no escape, since any book purchase, any email, any documented action or position will be available for review. Given current political strategies of finding whatever fact can be spun and doing so negatively, America may be headed not for an era of truth, but for layers and layers of lies. Further, the electorate seems unconcerned. True, access to information is greater than ever before, but so relatively few people use this power, and even fewer evaluate that information before accepting it. Thus, although the danger from outside U.S. borders is real, the potential danger from the U.S. government is equally real.
And even if not, benignly collected data will always be in jeopardy from an outside hacker.
Consequently, everyone’s freedom--and perhaps life--is potentially in danger in the 21st century from anyone who finds any particular action or thought unsatisfactory--even listening to the radio in one’s own driveway.
George Orwell may have been correct--he just got the year wrong.
Writer
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Snow Day
Beware the ides of April, I guess.
After yesterday's freak snow storm, I took one look at my car and realized I'd be stuck for hours. I called campus, cancelled classes, made coffee, and set out to shovel the eighteen inches of wet, heavy snow (not to mention what the snow plow had left). I managed to clear enough snow to open the car door, start it, and crank up the radio for company while shoveling.
I typically listen to NPR, and soon the news broke about the shootings at Virginia Tech. What's to be said?
However, I didn't spend my day thinking about what's wrong with the world. Slowly shoveling the heavy snow, laboriously walking each load to the bank, I remembered a few months back when day after day of lake effect snow buried the county. The snow blower my dad gave me when he sold his house wouldn't start, and I was forced to shovel day after day, for hours, until my muscles could barely tolerate lifting the shovel, and the banks towered over me--and that's just clearing an area to park by the road.
Barely able to move, sore and exhausted in those back to back days of endless storms, I looked at the sea of snow yet to be crossed. I needn't have worried. A stranger stopped, surveyed the expanse, and set about plowing it back. When I could free my car, I moved it, and he pushed back every bank as far into my trees as possible. The next day, as I was buried again, a neighbor drove up in his loader (we live in the county, so houses aren't close), cleared the new snow, and went down my 200 foot driveway as far as he could, lifting the now four feet of snow and moving it to the line of trees. The next day after that, the neighbor on the other side (again, quite a distance) walked his snow blower over, cleared my parking area, then cleared a path down the rest of the driveway as far as possible. And the following day, someone else (with a different size plow) cleared my place while I was at work.
As I shoveled yesterday, I saw the signs of their work and remembered their spontaneous kindness. I thought about all the times over the years I've had road side trouble, or got stuck, waiting for someone to stop and help. Someone always did. I never doubted it--I just assumed. That's what people do.
The world is still a wonderful place.
Writer
After yesterday's freak snow storm, I took one look at my car and realized I'd be stuck for hours. I called campus, cancelled classes, made coffee, and set out to shovel the eighteen inches of wet, heavy snow (not to mention what the snow plow had left). I managed to clear enough snow to open the car door, start it, and crank up the radio for company while shoveling.
I typically listen to NPR, and soon the news broke about the shootings at Virginia Tech. What's to be said?
However, I didn't spend my day thinking about what's wrong with the world. Slowly shoveling the heavy snow, laboriously walking each load to the bank, I remembered a few months back when day after day of lake effect snow buried the county. The snow blower my dad gave me when he sold his house wouldn't start, and I was forced to shovel day after day, for hours, until my muscles could barely tolerate lifting the shovel, and the banks towered over me--and that's just clearing an area to park by the road.
Barely able to move, sore and exhausted in those back to back days of endless storms, I looked at the sea of snow yet to be crossed. I needn't have worried. A stranger stopped, surveyed the expanse, and set about plowing it back. When I could free my car, I moved it, and he pushed back every bank as far into my trees as possible. The next day, as I was buried again, a neighbor drove up in his loader (we live in the county, so houses aren't close), cleared the new snow, and went down my 200 foot driveway as far as he could, lifting the now four feet of snow and moving it to the line of trees. The next day after that, the neighbor on the other side (again, quite a distance) walked his snow blower over, cleared my parking area, then cleared a path down the rest of the driveway as far as possible. And the following day, someone else (with a different size plow) cleared my place while I was at work.
As I shoveled yesterday, I saw the signs of their work and remembered their spontaneous kindness. I thought about all the times over the years I've had road side trouble, or got stuck, waiting for someone to stop and help. Someone always did. I never doubted it--I just assumed. That's what people do.
The world is still a wonderful place.
Writer
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