Logistics for construction materials to the island in the winter require a zen mind. The weather indicated an upcoming ten day stretch of dry, adequate time frame for concrete delivery. I ordered the concrete with a scheduled delivery day on the first of the ten dry days. Several unforeseens caused a few delays between the truck and the barge, pushing the delivery date to the final day of dry in that stretch of ten. But the forecast changed, and the storm was moving in early.
The snow was scheduled for early evening. The concrete arrived at the island's boat ramp late afternoon. Despite coming prepared with 6 mil plastic, ropes, bungees, and tie downs to protect the pallets, the wind had started to kick up and the temperature dropped at a rapid pace, so I ran back to the house and grabbed four sheets of plywood to stack against the side of the pallets to block the wind from blowing up the plastic. Trucks lights illumined the pallets while I strapped everything down with tie downs. The pallets were scheduled to move the next day.
Dry skies opened up the morning, but a flat tire on the backhoe would need tending before starting on the concrete. Up and running fairly quickly, I would guide G into the pallets at the boat ramp, then follow behind to maneuver the backhoe through the gate and back down the narrow drive. Decades of heavy equipment operating left G with a compacted spine and limited ability to move his head from side to side.
Sprinkling rain dusted the air on the third leg. By the fourth leg, the wind was gusting, rain was pelting sleet, and the temps were dropping rapidly into the low 30s. By the fifth leg - sleet was snow.
The backhoe does not have any windows, so G's arms, chest, and face were completely frozen over with icicles. I stopped him and gave him a questioning glance, and he said, "One more, then a break." We did one more trip, then G went to thaw out. A couple hours later, he returned in hat, gloves, winter coveralls, boots, and a scarf. I was so relieved he was alive.
We made seven more trips of concrete to and from the ramp. As we approached the gate with the final pallet, the snow ceased. Eight hours had come and gone. The sky was dark, and stillness permeated the air.
G went home, and I covered the concrete with more plastic. Astonishment seemed the only appropriate feeling. Soliciting the sky for its reason behind the weather resulted in zen-like silence. Reminding me - "not your business." I turned my thoughts to G's generosity, and had wondered what I had done to deserve such magnanimity. Again - silence.
So much of life is a mystery. Nuanced with complex benevolence and simple selflessness, philanthropic gestures and plain kindness. Who am I to feign knowledge of more than this? My ignorance is so deafening that I plead for understanding of G's kindness to me. But nothing comes.
I put remaining tools away, close up shop, and latch doors. Make one last trek around the row of concrete pallets, tucking, checking, piddling. As I walk to the shanty and pull off my boots, I hear the snow. Listen it says. Be silent and listen.
