After lunch, I started dismantling the pole and barbed wire fence that Karen's father installed more than 50 years ago. It runs along the county road and up the north side of our driveway. The placement of two large pine trees on either side of the head of the driveway, one of which you can see over my left shoulder, makes for a tight, 90-degree turn from the county road. Since the concrete pumper and construction crane can't make that turn, I'm dismantling the fence and driveway gate to give the trucks a more sweeping turn from the county road to the driveway and across the culvert over Cable Creek (the culvert will be internally reinforced through the heavy construction phase). I got the first load of fence detritus to the landfill late this afternoon. I expect to finish the demolition and disposal tomorrow. Then, when the house is built and the construction equipment is off our land, we'll rebuild the fence, but we won't replace the gate.
Gates in the country act as a psychological as well as a physical barrier. Last week, some neighbors stopped by on their ATV to visit and drop off some of their homemade honey and locally produced eggs. We weren't home, so they left their gifts on our porch. I called to thank them, and said I'd be up to visit later in the week. They have an electronic gate across their driveway, and on the two occasions I stopped by, the gate was closed. A closed gate means either they were not home or were not accepting visitors. So, no gate.