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Taeli
It’s taken us a few days to get settled in, and Caleb and I are anxious to get started on the yard. We woke up early, I make us breakfast, and we discuss our game plan. I am going to tackle the front flower beds and the porch while he uses the weed eater to trim around the house and the outbuilding.
Once I’ve loaded the dishwasher, we roll our sleeves up and get to work.
By midafternoon, I’ve already pressure-washed the sidewalk that leads from the parking spaces to the front door, gotten all the cobwebs down, secured the new porch swing, hung three large ferns, which provide some extra sun cover, and transferred the potting soil I purchased to the clay pots on the steps.
My phone rings as I start to weed the flower beds near the mailbox, and I stop to answer.
“Hello.”
“Is this Taeli Lowder?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Shane down at the Jackrabbit Rock Yard. Mrs. Tuttle said you needed some gravel.”
“Oh, yes. I want to fill in the driveway at my home. Most of the existing rocks have washed away.”
“How much do you want?”
“The driveway is about twenty-five feet by thirty feet,” I say, guessing.
“It’ll probably take a small truckload,” he suggests.
“Okay. I need a truckload delivered, please.”
“All right. That’ll be two hundred,” he says.
“Two hundred dollars? That’s all? I said a truckload.”
“I heard you,” he confirms.
“And the delivery fee. I live off Connelly.”
“I know. Sara-Beth told me where you are. That’ll be two hundred dollars,” he reiterates.
“That can’t be right. A five-pound bag is ten dollars apiece at the hardware store,” I argue.
“I can charge you more if you insist, but the price is two hundred dollars, delivered, for a small truckload of crush and run.”
“All right, if you’re sure, I’d like to place an order.”
I give him my credit card information and schedule the delivery for Monday. For an extra fifty dollars, they will spread the gravel for me as well.
I finish weeding the beds and plant the flowers I purchased at the nursery in town in the garden and the clay pots. I stand back and examine the work. The pop of color really brightens up the yard.
Caleb comes around the corner with the weed eater in hand.
“I finished the edges,” he says.
“Good job, bud.”
He joins me, and we both stare at the progress.
“New gravel, a couple of rockers, and a few potted plants on the back deck are all it needs. What do you think?” I ask.
“I like it!”
“Me too,” I tell him.
No, it’s not the perfectly manicured lawn in the suburbs, but it sure feels more welcoming and cozier than that yard ever did.
It’s hard to believe we went from four thousand square feet to just under fifteen hundred square feet, but this tiny cabin in the woods is homier than that pristine palace in the city ever was.
“Can I go wade in the creek?”
I smile down at him. “Sure, just be careful and stay where I can see you out the window.”
He runs off behind the house, and I still can’t believe my Caleb is running around, barefoot, asking to play in a creek instead of sitting in front of a television.
It’s funny how much life can change when you let go of all the wasted space and frivolous stuff. The nonsense you gather and collect that you think makes you look more successful, but in actuality only makes you feel more alone. Daddy used to say a home should be just big enough for you to trip over love every few steps. I didn’t understand what he meant back then, but I get it now.
