BackwaterBlog

When we first moved down to the woods and the house and land were being assembled, the issue of a driveway reared its head.  The builder/realtor had included the makings of a concrete driveway in the price.  “Yup, run you a nice driveway from the road to the house”, he said.

The backwater being what it is, it so happened that he put it off until the very end of the project when the monsoon season was gettin’ up.  Rained for days it did, and concrete and rain do not make happy driveways at all.

It had the unfortunate consequence of stalling the closing on the house.  Couldn’t close the loan without a driveway, and moving trucks would sink to their axles in the bog of Carolina clay in any case.

I finally called the guy.  “Look, let’s just do a gravel drive.  Screw the concrete, get me forty yards of crusher-run out here and spread it out so we can get this thing done, okay?”

The realtor was delighted.  I just saved him large money, see?  He jumped all over it and the deed was done the very next day.  House closed, problem solved.

Well, sorta.

In the way of doing things down here, I had a guy out to spread more gravel just weeks after moving in.  Make it bigger and longer, you see.  That driveway became a living thing.  Something to be nurtured and tended much like a garden.  It helped not at all that I put up a 40 foot shop in the backyard and the last 30 feet of driveway leading up to it was . . . sand.

Truck eating, soft and maleable sand.  After six months, the sand turned to mud and I had my own mud bog for a parking spot.  And as attractive as that might sound for a house in the swamp I was getting fearful that one night the big rig might sink out of sight and never be seen again.

This is what 20 yards of crusher-run looks like after a rookie driveway maker (that would be me) spends 3 hours on it.  With a tractor and rear mounted blade.  Shovel, rake.  And more than a few longnecks.  I took this photo while standing on the concrete apron of the shop.

Another few hours and the deed was done.  Flat, serviceable parking had once again been established.

One of the neighbors happened by, a tough worker of the land who always takes an interest in the improvements of homes in the neighborhood.  “Looks nice son, right good job ye done there.  Graded it all by eye, did ye?” and yes, I had.

He squinted, coughed.  “Kinda glad y’all went with t’ gravel.  I was thinkin’ when you moved in y’all might be pourin’ concrete for a drive.  We all was.  Gravel just works better ’round here.”

It might have been unspoken, but the implication was clear.  Concrete was for rich folks.  Crusher-run and tractors were in order, down here.

Shucks, I’m glad.  I’d hate to be thought of as the snob with the concrete driveway.

That just wouldn’t do at all.  Naw, not at all.