I need to turn a tractor-trailer rig around for an employee who has made a wrong turn. We’re near the farm. 62nd St., normally a two-lane paved, becomes a narrow, unused gravel road, overgrown with weeds and grass.
I stop along the road at a house, talk with a woman, and agree to paint the house. I’m not sure how we’ll do this.
When I get back to the farm the barn is in the process of being completely reconstructed. A large pond is being dug in the southeast corner of the field. There is a paved road, cutting straight through the farm, and crews are moving power and sewer lines because of the barn work. I remember thinking that only a small bit of work was going to get done - one man for one day. There must be over a hundred workers, around the barn, in the field, and reconstructing the road. I realize it will cost me a fortune.
I confront a man rebuilding part of the barn. “I’ve made a change,” he says. “The floor will last ten years and the changes cost $5,000.”
“I need to see the numbers,” I tell him, and he threatens to hit me in the head with his hammer.
I lead him to the edge of the property and see him to his truck.