How could we have known, back then, that we would fall in love like this? France with friends? Of course! Meet the Schefflers in Quebec on the way home? Great idea. And then we bought the Hundred Acre Wood, and everything changed. We came home to gray skies, green fields, and let’s face it, this is Oregon, to rain. Here’s the view of fields along Llewellyn Road.

We meant to build a driveway to the house site. Tried to get it done before the fall rains, but there we were in France during October’s best weeks of Indian summer. Contract signed, road guys Ken, Justin, and Spenser ready to go. We raced home from Toronto the day of the 21st. “Raced” not quite the right word, as United Airlines had other ideas about lofting us across the continent. Ugh. Airplanes! We got home at 6:30, dumped our baggage at 720 14th and drove to Corvallis in order to meet the road-builders on our property at 7:30 the next morning.

“Holy Moly!” Larry exclaimed. (A Minnesota expletive, or maybe North Dakotan? Not sure) as we pulled into the old house lane and saw this:

“We could land an airplane on that sucker. We’re building a driveway, not a freeway.” Turns out, the “driveway” has to be 16 feet wide. Seriously? A freeway lane is 9 feet, so . . .?

I’d thought the driveway would be a little two-track affair, with maybe bluebells blooming in the median. Cows grazing alongside.

“It’s crazy,” Ken, who drove the Komatso pictured here, said. “Who told you it has to be 16 feet wide?”

With the rain pounding down, work would be suspended as soon as the rock arrived. And here it was. I love this. Click on the photo to see why.

So who told us we need 16 feet? Not the county, we discovered. They only care about the first 18 feet off Llewellen, and the rest is up to the fire district. Chief Ray Hubbell sat us down, and with the patience of a 2nd grade teacher began to explain. I didn’t take his photo, but he was kind and patient, talking to the old folks here. Honest! We both wore muddy boots, sodden jeans and dripping rain jackets. Thought we looked like locals, but he knew better.

Anyway, 16 feet to allow the fire trucks to reach the home. Nope, not legally required, but try to get insurance if you don’t comply. Sure, make any proposal you want, but if we don’t approve it, we don’t have to answer the alarm. Unless someone is trapped inside, we let it burn. Who’s your insurance handler?

Well, we already had agreed to the contract at 16 feet, so if it looks ridiculous, if it looks as if the terminal will be Donald Trump’s country home, that’s what it will be. But as no further work will be forthcoming until next Monday, if the storm blows over by then, Larry and I headed back to Portland.

But on the way, we stopped at the garden store, just to ask about fruit trees. And here’s the good part of this report: they had a few trees left out back, already potted, 30% off to make room for the new shipment coming in November. We should get two which are compatible pollinators, and disease resistant. No, no Honey Crisps, or Macintoshes, unless you want to spend the winter spraying. Instead, we bought one Pristine, one Liberty, at $31.92 apiece. They will stay at the store until we can pick them up.

Pick them up? But how? Next blog: The complexity of simple.