Some rain. We were fairly fortunate, however. The majority of the bad stuff slid north and east of us.
In respect to the village I’ve decided to do a bit to show some of the place off – before all the old, old buildings disappear through fire, and demolition. I’m starting small. Like with the view across the street.
Not associated with the defunct school (not in the view, but close by), the ball field is city owned and run and maintained by the volunteer parents of school age kids. The red building with the concrete pad is the batting cage erected four or five years ago.
When first erected it was pretty well used. The last two years, not so much. The games have declined also. We have maybe three games a year now, and lots of one extended family parties.
The general usage seems to be a big free run dog park and frisbe catching area. That speed limit sign, while legal, is for decoration. The vehicles generally are travelling forty mph as they pass by.
Over on the other side of the field, that large white house?, that’s Joe Gings place. Joe died of cancer, caused, as best they could tell him, by agent orange while he was in Viet Nam. His wife still lives over there with her boyfriend – taken a year or so after Joe left her. Joe worked as a rough carpenter until forced to retire and was awarded a purple heart while in the service.
The next house right, up there is owned by a county worker. Him and Joe had a number of disputes over the years. One, a boundary dispute, resulted in my having to help Joe put up that God Awful privacy fence.
I supplied the tractor and post holer, he supplied the directions and timber. The building in the corner of the fence to the right rear is built on an old frame I took from an old road house (read whore house, crib) they were tearing down. Joe made a deal for the metal and I spent several hours in a hundred fourteen degree afternoon with the tractor taking out of the concrete foundation.
Joe gave me a fit of tongue because the frame broke at a rust eaten door way.
Hell. He had a welder, what’s the problem.
He did a good job building the the storage shed, however. The thing is, or was, an outstanding magnet for small car parts thieves. Joe supplemented his income by stripping selected car models.
One year he went on vacation to bury his brother and his favorite thief came over and stripped five cars of the parts while Joe was gone.
Upset Joe something fierce. Never did recover from that, really. Sold all the cars for scrap and never turned another wrench except for his own truck to the day he died.
From the reaches,