The Comfort Inn is fine, really. Yes, the carpets are pretty tired and the elevator groans, and the view from the window is the Chinese restaurant across the lot. But the people are nice, and the breakfasts are really good, and they had Larry’s clothes safely installed in the room. He’d left a few things in the closet after our last overnight in Corvallis, so we had to stay there again Monday night. It could happen to anyone.

But getting lost in the motel’s corridors? “I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” Larry said, “if you’ll run back and leave some money for the cleaning ladies.” We both should have known better. I have a recurring nightmare in which I can’t find my car in a parking lot. Last night’s dream featured a lost book, which I realized was probably in my lost car. So it shouldn’t be too surprising when I can’t find my way out of a motel.

But early on Tuesday morning, here’s what we found: (Be sure to click on the photos)

The “driveway” will take us past the old house, which of course, will no longer be there after this winter, if all goes according to plan. It’s shocking to see what has to be described as the assault on the land. Those huge machines! Today including the shovel, two bulldozers, a roller and about 50 rock trucks. Maybe not 50. Let’s say a lot of trucks.

There is a serious cleft in the land which has to be culverted in order to access the upper acres. Even the cows have to go around. But the path of the driveway is ordained by the floodplain to the east, so great pipes will channel the water under the road bed, or so we hope.

The land isn’t all beautiful oak trees and grassy fields. There’s a dump of old farm junk in the ravine behind the old house, weeds, trash, and about this we can only imagine how it will look, later. Everywhere are these old gates, which we hope to put to good use at some point.

The day proceeded, and we waited to hear from Ray Hubbell, the fire marshall, as he holds our future in his fist. He wanted to come out and “make suggestions” so that we may bring our project into compliance. It’s not just about the 16 feet width. Nope. There have to be these “turnouts” for the fire trucks, and a new twist: the grade cannot exceed 15% on any slope. And, he tells us, “this” one looks like 20% anyway.

He marches along with his roller device, measuring the number of feet between the mandated turnouts. And we’re lucky! We need only three! In addition, of course, to the turnaround at the top and the entry from Llewellyn. Which is not wide enough, he says. “We’re not through yet,” Larry tells him, through gritted teeth.

Now he says he’d like to evaluate the old house as a candidate for a “burn to learn” project for the fire district. We’d like to accommodate, of course, but as he narrated the scenario, it became clear that the district could burn the house only if Larry’s dead body were already stretched out across the rat-chewed, moldy sofa when they did so.

The rains threatened, and it became clear that the road building would have to be put on hold until perhaps next Wednesday. They’d gotten so far as the second culvert installation. Fire Marshall Hubbell handed us a scratched note, provisionally approving the route of our little autobahn, and we all said goodbye. Here’s where we are as of right now.

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And to end on a brighter note, here is the view from the new perspective: I tell myself that the land will heal!