There is a saying that truth is stranger that fiction. So true. I can’t make this stuff up.

Two big appointments were set up this week – one for the septic tank man, one for a contractor to build the foundation. (Some of the log home builders say the foundation is “the second easiest thing to build”. First, that makes me wonder what is the easiest and second, I wonder if they are kidding. It looks really hard to me and if it is not just right, the whole cabin will be askew. It is going to be crooked enough with the logs, don’t need the floor adding to the chaos.)

So, the first man comes (in his pickup) with his son. Nice guys. We look at the site, he walks around and eyes some good locations for the septic tank and drain fields. Seems like we can install it without too much digging and hopefully, we will not hit any boulders. Lots of rocks on the site but they are small. Just hope they don’t have any hidden big brothers or sisters lurking below.

After they gave me a quote, we started talking a bit about this and that. Coyotes getting to be a problem. Killing the deer fawns, cattle, dogs, cats, possums, raccoons but NOT armadillos. (What is an armadillo? It is a prehistoric looking animal with a flexible series of armor plates horizontally down its back. Sort of like a turtle with a soft shell. Really ugly. Go here for more infor.)

Armadillos used to live only in the deep South and were not usually seen in the more northern parts of Georgia but I guess that has changed. So, as we talked, “P” asked “Have you ever shot an armadillo?”

I confessed that I had not but it sounded like the entre to a good story so I asked “what happens?” wondering what kind of explanation lay behind the question.

“Well, when you shoot them, they jump straight up in the air,” holding his hand about 30″ off the ground. “They can really jump. They can run too. Faster than you can run. I chase them in my golf cart and shoot them with my .22.”

Pictures of a cowboy riding his trusty pony, shooting buffaloes comes to mind. I am tempted to ask if he says “Yee haw” as he guns down the armadillo but I don’t want to distract him or have him think that he is painting a somewhat bizzare picture in my mind. So I nod encouragement. His son is listening with somewhat eager enjoyment. I guess the art of story telling is not lost around these parts.

He continutes. “I shot one once and blood just gushed out of him” gesturing with a horizontal sweep of his hand of about two feet”. I wondered what else other than blood might squirt out. I guess it depends upon where you hit it.

Encouraged by my city boy amazement, he then says “when they die, they roll over on their back and their legs just stick straight up.” “P” holds his hands straight up in the air to illustrate the armadillos death position.

Now, don’t get confused. These are armadillos, not possums. I don’t think they play dead like possums when frightened. I read they actually throw dirt on you. Sometimes drivers hit and kill armadillos. Crunch. The term is “road kill” and although it is rumored that some country people pick up road kill for later consumption, I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS HAPPEN!

“Mighty fine stew ya’ made Mary. What’s the meat in it?”
“Why thank ye Bill. It was some fresh possum. Killed it last night with my Prius. It never heard me coming!”
“Mary, I knew that electric car would prove handy someday.”

But I digress. “P” continues his story. “They really smell when they rot. You have to bury them. Far away. I just tie a line to their tails and tow them along behind my golf cart. They slide along real well on their backs.”

Such imagery!  There are lots of holes dug in my fields and I suspect they are dug by the armadillo but I have not seen any yet. I’ll bring my .22 down and see if I might have the same experience as “P”. Of course, I would have to hit it and, as my aim is none too good, I might end up with dirt thrown in my face instead.

Next, my foundation guy arrives. He is driving a “dually”. Very cool, for a country fellow. Has his name “XXX Builder” in a magnetic sign on his door. As he drives up, I take off my tool belt to go out to greet him.

“I knew it was the right place with I saw you take off your nail belt,” said “M” as he got out of his truck smiling. A rather odd greeting, but learning not to think too much about anything around here, I smiled and held out my hand in introduction.

Turns out that “M” is a builder. I commiserated with him and ascertained that he did not have much work these days. The recession has hit this part of the state hard and builders everywhere are suffering. “M” looked at the building site and then at the blueprints. We discussed the specific requirements of the log cabin design, including the three large poles that run vertically in the cabin, one that is right in the middle. These are called “Ridge Pole Support Logs” (RPSL for those of us in the know) and of course, he had never seen those before. He agreed that the cinder blocks would be holding a lot of weight and suggested that we use 12″ blocks.

He took the floor plans for the foundation (a set of floor plans include lots of different drawings – one for electric, one for foundation, one for framing, etc) and said he had to get the cost of the 12″ blocks and prepare a quote. “What’s your budget?” he asked.

This is sort of like asking your negotiating opponent to make the first offer. I would like to say that I was clever and gave him a witty answer but I really had no idea of a budget. I was hoping that my look of stupidity was interpreted by “M” as the poker face of a keen bargainer.

I said, “I know that you have to make a profit but I want a fair bid. I will be getting additional bids so give me your best price.” He left. We’ll see what happens.

Drove up the hill and into town to the city hall. Talked to the building inspector, showed him the blueprints. He said “You can’t use your own logs to build this cabin.” Hmm. Doesn’t sound too promising. Rather uncategorical too. “They have to be graded, #2. Call so and so lumber, they might be able to help.”

Wondering if his brother was president of said company, or maybe his wife (?). I agreed to follow up on that. I also need a driveway permit (this is an interesting requirement.) And a drill permit. And a septic tank permit. And a building permit. $ $$ $$$ $$$$. I think it is just a scheme to extract money. I figure with all the money that we will be pouring (relatively speaking) into the local economy, they should be PAYING US! And welcoming us.

“Sure, you can use your own logs. Just make sure they are wood. Don’t hurt yourself. Here’s your permit, no charge, and a coupon for a complimentary dinner on us. Thanks for choosing our county. Have a nice day and Have fun!”

Back to the driveway permit. This permit requires that a “pad” of gravel, with a special fabric underneath to be constructed for the egress from the property. It is designed to clean off the tires from the construction trucks and equipment. Basically so you don’t track dirt on the carpet. Makes sense for a big site but for a lousy log cabin where I will have a total of (1) a truck for a septic tank, (2) a back hoe, and (3) a cinder block delivery truck. Three vehicles. Do you think I can promise to sweep the road instead? A case where one size does not fit all. I am going to appeal this one.

So, my next assignment, what is a #2 log anyway?

Your ever learning correspondent,

Frank