I Have an Idea

Putting Down Roots & Concrete Gardens

If I’ve been slow on an email to you, strangely absent, or preoccupied, here’s a reason and a story….

The Boxcar Children

“A caboose?”

My mother raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, they have ‘em on RailCarTrader.com. I could convert it to a tiny house, and put it in the back pasture.”

“A caboose?”

The eyebrow remained unchanged–higher, if anything–summoning Logic and Reason down from the heavens for those elusive spirits to smack some sense into my noggin.

“Yeah…okay…”

The housing market in central Virginia still makes neighbors shake heads. My plan of selling in Maryland worked. Buying in Lynchburg hadn’t.

The weeks and months slipped by, and the stalemate continued.

One of my guiding philosophies is: If it’s tricky, make it tougher.

I went to my folks. “Hey…what would you both think of a neighbor building a house…not a caboose?”

“Sure. See if it’s possible.”

To condense: They know me at the county planning office, I’ve learned how much cinderblocks cost, the (first grade) basics of construction finance, where to order gravel, where to buy drainpipe, how aggravating hidden rocks are, that bankers strangely don’t pride themselves on creativity, how nice it is to work with a competent team, and that there’s a lot to learn.

To conclude: After looking at everything from shipping containers to stick built houses, single wide trailers to boxcars, I closed on a loan for a modular build on a basement.

I signed on the dotted line.

I have an Idea.

(Soon, it’ll be a house.)

Between the expertise of my stepdad Bob, the cool nerves of builder Tony, and the tireless fielding of questions by banker Rhonda, I’m not sure who should get the Medal of Honor, the Nobel Prize, and the JD Powers best in business award (if that’s actually a thing.)

Maybe they all should.

And my mother, the original voice of reason? Got a railcar theme for her today:

I’d like to award her with a Mister Rogers distinguished trolley good neighbor recognition. A fitting anecdote of her help in a myriad of ways, one drop in an ocean:

“I’m staying here forever!” a contractor said with his mouth full, waving a homemade brownie around, not minding the steady rain.

(We’ll dole out the Dark Night of the Soul & When Things Don’t Go As Planned life coaching award to her shortly. Couldn’t have done it without her.)

Soon, I’ll have pictures.

Wild how things start with a spark upstairs, spinning out into a whirlwind of paper and codes and phone calls and handshakes and more papers and tile colors and now, the sounds of heavy equipment going beep beep beep.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

“Have some gnarly stone, bro!” A camera trick makes the dumptruck driver look like he’s doing a trick. In reality, it takes much more skill.