When Peter and I moved from the country to the city about 3 years ago, our then 3-year-old grandson Ben liked our new house. He was fine with the nearby park and the local outdoor pool. But the roads? “Nonno, the roads are broken!”
And Ben was right. Our lovely winding tree-lined street was full of cracks and potholes. It was impossible to drive faster than 10 kph without bumping and heaving. We considered buying shock absorbers by the dozen. But then the pandemic came along and we weren’t driving anywhere. Mostly we left the cars in the garage and used “shank’s pony.” But in his spare time, which was plentiful, Peter began calling the local councillor about the roads. He told the councillor that Ben was not impressed.
Recently notices began appearing in our mailbox and on the hydro poles, warning of the new project. Then little blue, yellow and orange flags were planted on our lawn. Next, construction equipment was piled on the sides of the road: orange cones, rubber rings, metal plates, signage – all very picturesque. We held our breath in anticipation.
One day at 6:30 am cars began showing up. Workers with their yellow vests and their Tim’s coffee in their hands gathered to enjoy their first coffee break of the day. By 7:00 am the engines revved up and started digging. At least they began at our end of the street. This meant that Maybe by the summer, when we wanted to open our windows, the workers would have moved down to the other end of the street; we thought hopefully.
On the second day, the crew had worked their way down the street to our house. But nobody told us! When Peter needed to take the car out, he had to beg for help. Construction had to stop and the workers had to search for a steel plate to position over the gaping hole at the end of the driveway. Then the workers smirked and I held my breath while Peter gingerly drove over the hole and escaped. He parked on another street for the rest of the day.
By the third day the workers and all their equipment had moved up the street and we sighed with relief. For a few days we had relative peace and quiet. But a week later at 6:30 am they were back! A little to the left of our driveway, they began drilling and digging. The dump trucks lined up to fill up and haul away the dirt and concrete. When the hole was fairly deep, a worker jumped in with a flashlight and began searching. Then a second worker went to his truck and found a large drawing which he studied intently as he stared down the hole. A third worker got out his cellphone and called for help.
We were curious. The dirty dishes were waiting in the kitchen, but what Could they be looking for? Did they have a tip that secret treasure was buried right at our corner? Had a family of bears been hibernating in the wrong place? Most of all, how long was this going to take because we had appointments and needed to get out again!
A few days later all was quiet. Too quiet. We walked up the street to investigate. There was nobody and there was nothing. All the back hoes and dump trucks have disappeared, leaving behind a dirt-covered street with steel plates, orange cones, deep ditches and yes – potholes! We are not sure whether to rage at the delay or just enjoy the peace and quiet. But if you see any guys with yellow vests standing around anywhere drinking Tim’s, can you send them our way??
2 thoughts on “Construction Site”
Our tax dollars hard at work.
Hi Sue, this saga will end!! We have been there and suffered thro it as well. With being on a court with a centre island we also had to endure the fact that our court became the storage area for the pipes, machinery, tools etc. However, we did survive and you will have a nice new road! M.
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