Dancing on the Ten Yards Line

Well, the driveway’s done. Er, I mean the dooryard’s done. It’s not really a driveway, if you ask me. I ordered 10 cubic yards of reclaimed asphalt paving, and there wasn’t a teaspoon left when we were done. But then again, we weren’t a teaspoon short, either.

It took three days. I got off easy on the third day because my neighbor Rich wandered over on the second day and shoveled along with me. Good neighbors like that are hard to find. They’re especially hard to find when you’re shoveling reclaimed asphalt into a wheelbarrow and it’s ninety degrees out. Hide and Go Seek was perfected at such times. But you don’t have to find the very best neighbors. They find you.

The new reclaimed asphalt parking area isn’t perfect. It’s way more solid and put together than a gravel driveway would be. It’s somewhat less put together than a hot asphalt paving job would be. But good enough is good enough, I guess. A good plan now is better than a great plan later, and all that.

We’re broke-ass losers ain’t got no moneys, but we do our best. I coveted a flat, orderly place to park the chariots outside the front door for many moons. That crossbuck railing on the right hand side keeps you from falling to, if not your death, at least the installation of a second set of ankles if you tumbled over into the driveway. It leads down to a paved area out back. When we moved here, that right-hand side looked like this:

As you can spy with your little eye, the old railing lost interest about fifteen feet short of the corner, and the parking surface was a maze of pits and cracked asphalt and busted concrete. We’ve changed a lot of stuff there over the years. The new parking surface is just the last installment. It looks like this now:

So if you’ve got more gumption than sense, and a good neighbor, you too can buy a plate compactor for $350 or so, and get 10 yards of recycled asphalt pavement for about the same price, and have a pretty good driveway. The dump truck driver who delivers the material will shake his head when he shows up, and snicker all the way back to the yard after he sees your wheelbarrow and shovels, but if the world isn’t laughing at you these days, all it proves is that you’re as crazy as everybody else is. I’m not. I’m an entirely different kind of nuts.