Hot Mix Heaven

Who would have ever thought that roadwork could be a community event? Or a spectator sport. Or a debating stage. An opportunity for gesticulation, rivalling that of a Greek wedding. Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have had all this and more this morning in Heavenly Beverley. From the comfort and warmth of Station House, we enjoyed a bird's eye view of the greatest event since a mummified big toe was discovered outside the post office.

Way back in July 2012, when we purchased lot 123 Vincent Street and lot 420 No Street Address, we inherited the almost derelict Forbes building and a small adjacent block that had been subdivided when Adam was a boy. Using that area as storage for bricks, an old garden shed, firewood, huge metal beams and other sundry items, all of which did come in handy, we didn't contemplate a different purpose for the space until we realised that running the East End Gallery and living at the House that Rocks were not compatible.

Why? Because our half-acre of the garden at our initial Beverley abode was being neglected. Gardening in the Wheatbelt was brutal stuff. Solid clay was our default soil, summer was hot as Hades with moisture sucking winds, winter was the absolute opposite with stillness, cold temperatures and mornings of bitter frost, capable of rendering plants stone dead that had appeared to be perfectly healthy the day before.

I had lost the ability to be in the garden at a moment's notice due to our increasing commitments at the Gallery. Reluctantly, we made the decision to sell the House that Rocks and build a home on lot 420 No Street Address.

I have written about the saga of our build, an unexpected new subdivision due to moving the mutual property line, battles with utilities, overruns to budget and the ongoing grind to finalise the new subdivision (which remains ongoing to this day!). My job on Tuesday will be inserting a large garden gnome up a credit union's bottom to hopefully resolve this long-running issue.

Anyway, I digressed. Apart from finalising this pesky subdivision, our only quibble has been the continued dirt from the unsealed lane that borders Station House to the north. In summer we have endured the floating dust settling on every surface; in winter, we have tracked sticky Wheatbelt mud across the floors. Verbal requests were futile, as was a letter from our GP concerning compromising Michael's health due to dust. Finally, a letter from Michael's respiratory specialist pointing out the council's duty of care to anybody using the lane had the desired effect. Plus, we had a change of Shire President who was determined to shake up a bit of complacency.

We were promised that funds would be made available for this financial year, which ends in twenty-five days. In scenes of frenetic activity this morning, the closed lane finally had its coating of hot mix and gravel. I duly recorded proceedings and noted, with amusement, the gathering of five blokes - three council employees and two residents gasbagging about life, the universe and everything for a sustained period around eight o'clock this morning. Life in Heavenly Beverley has never disappointed.

So, as I write, the lane is still closed, protecting Anzac Lane with its beautiful coating. At some stage, we will apparently be receiving guttering and crossovers to finish the package. We look forward to this wondrous conclusion whilst appreciating, at last, the cessation of both the wet and the dry permeating Station House. And just like Pinocchio becoming a real boy, Anzac Lane is now a real road!

Stay tuned...

Another triumph in our year of wonders -