Goodness, look who showed up on the doorstep this morning—it's our marvellous Mr. Rusty Jones, here to once again help us bid adieu to rusty cars! Oh Rusty. You make my little heart pitter-patter so. So there we were in the actual morning, holy cow (I believe I have mentioned once or twice that Tara and I generally keep vampiric hours, yes?) watching the junk guy haul off two more rusty piles of rusty rust, one of which was even, I think, originally actually painted rust-red. Mind you, this was a different junk guy than the one from the place that couldn't be bothered to call Tara back last week. Oh well. Their loss.
Or ours, which, totally like HOORAY. Mr. Junk Guy Mark II took both the old reddish Saab 95 and the Général de Gaulle Citroën DS (or what was left of that old Citroën DS, anyway, which wasn't an awful lot). That's right. Both. At the same time. Voilà:
There was some concern as to whether that back driver's side tire on the Saab would hold air; that proved completely grounded. Luckily it wasn't too far and only had to go across town; still, it made a noise, let me tell you, which we could hear even in the hermetically sealed compartment of Tara's new Bug. Junk Guy driving the ramp truck either didn't know or didn't care. I mean, not that it really matters, as it was strictly a one way trip from whence it shall never return.
Being a different junk place this one did things their own way, and didn't quote us a price first; instead they paid by the ton, which, surprisingly enough even with most of that Citroën hacked off or crumbled to rust came to more than two tons, after they weighed it on the big drive-on scale. We were impressed; driving up we didn't think they would realistically top one and a half together.
So that means that if we wanted to count the cars removed as iron hauled (which, in essence, they are), that would add something like another seven tons of iron taken out of here since last June. Cripes.
And by the way the number of cars left to get out of here is now in the teens, which, though it may not sound impressive, is when you remember that at its zenith (nadir) there were seventy-eight of the damned things here.
Since we got all that over and done with around noon, Tara then figured we had plenty of time to light some more stuff on fire, especially since she had been over the other day and hacked up some of that downed apple tree over by the shop. And while that may not sound like hoard-related cleanup, and while it isn't actually my father's fault it fell down, still, it is blocking something that is. Honestly, my father really did hoard just about anything. That included piles of rocks.
I know, I know, this is New England: we got rocks. I hear though they are originally native to Canada, having been introduced with the glaciers. I have double-dug many a garden here and hit many a rock; and I have been known to stop, shake my fist in a northerly direction, and cry, Damn you, Canada!
And no, we're not exactly sure where this particular pile of rocks came from. It is, however, up near the road with a couple of piles of dirt, which I'm pretty freakin' sure were once piles of sand from the road that someone from The Town didn't know what to do with; when my father said he'd take them they happily dumped it there. Enabling fuckers.
Where they sat, and still sit, of course.
Anyway that apple tree is in the way of accessing those rocks which we'd like to use to finish the stone wall by the back of the garage; so the tree has to go. And yes, there will be rental equipment involved. Some of those rocks are big.
So those bits of the apple tree went on the pyre, as well as anything vaguely brush-like within arm's-reach (or saw's-reach) of Tara, including a good deal of the overgrowth on the pile of dirt in the back by the shed, which is also slated to get moved when we rent the Bobcat.
When that had all burned to cinders, and after a bit of tidying (and the discovery, of course, of more bits of rusty rust within the leaf-mould), we sat back and stared. Because there was so much empty space.
Here are all four panoramas of the area, in order, so you (we) can get a real feel for all we got done:
And the ones taken from the south:
You can see the grass is getting greener in that last shot.
Why yes, I'd say it definitely is.
8 comments:
Hey, Canada sent you those rocks for FREE, you know, you ungrateful Yanks.
Great progress!
What does your mother think about all the green space you have unconvered?
Classic passive-aggression, Debra. Did we ask Canada to give us all these rocks?
NanaR, I would assume she's happy with it. She hasn't really said, but she started working on the paint on the back of the house while we were out there, so I'd guess she liked it. She's an odd one, and hard to tell sometimes.
She certainly spent enough time screaming at my dad to clean up the damn yard in the past, so I've been assuming that's what she wants.
There was quite a bit of painintheassery involved in getting these cars gone. The first junk guys would not respond or call back after me calling them 6 or 7 times. I think they realized they got ripped off the last few loads of rusty air they hauled away.
But Junk Guy Mark II arrived at the property early (before I got there) and didn't know which cars to take. He gravitated to a late 80's Red Saab 900 convertible (which isn't really junk) and not the super rusty '72 Saab. And he didn't even know what the other car was.. So some pointing out was nessicary. Plus he needed a little coaxing to load the Saab up on the back (sort of a lot of "of course, the back tire will stay up!" - as it's audibly going "Pshhhhhhh.."). But still, the deed is done, and it affords so much clarity to what is there and what projects are now manageable.
Ladies, once again I have to compliment you on a job so well done!! The before and after pics are just outstanding!!
WOW--you are anti hoarding phenoms to the MAX.
I can't help but wonder if you mom is also a bit (to say the least) overwhelmed with the sheer physical difference all your hard work is making on the property that she just can't get over the hours and hours and hours...AD NAUSEUM you two have put in.
Cheering you two on.
A reader from the Chicago area
Well, no, Anonymous from Chicagoish, I think it's less about acknowledging all our work and more about that it's a change and she doesn't know how to deal with it as an Old Dog. She has, shall we say, her own issues about this stuff. I don't know if she just got used to living with a hoarder, of if the presence of such an extreme hoarder has masked her own odd tendencies, but we've (well I've) had to ask her to go inside sometimes and let us do what we are going to do. Because she has been known to argue that oh we can't throw that away, that piece of wood for example is still good! And well, I've got very little patience for that, even if she isn't dad.
In another post, you used a phrase similar to... you didn't know how to see (the mess).
As you clear it out, you redefine for yourself the new normal. And then you look around again and think, huh, this could be better if I did x. And x keeps changing as you move closer to normal. And of course "normal" is just a range anyway.
That is the great value in doing it yourself, rather than just calling some service and having it cleared all out at once. You are resetting your own worldview.
Your mother is probably not able to move as fast to accept a new normal.
I am not sure where my mother stands exactly either. We are unable to talk about these things, as my father is still here. You inspire me though.
You kick ass!
Are you starting to think about what to do when it's done?
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