A few weeks ago, a hungry beast ate an old slab.
Leaving a fresh wound in our modest yard.
After repeated careful staking and re-staking, some younger backs than mine went to work, digging the trenches for the building's foundation. A neighbor asked who I was burying. "My feet," I replied.
'Concrete Dave' found some time in his schedule and started his piece of the work late last week. He set up rebar and I put in place plumbing lines and conduit.
After yet another hiccup with the permit office, a massive truck arrived.
We wondered with a gasp and wince whether or not it would clear the eaves of the house.
Dave, a man built for wielding a broad sword in another century, made quick progress with a little help from myself and a neighbor.
As of yesterday afternoon, we have footings.
As of today, the forms for the stem wall, which will rise some 9 inches above grade, are nearly complete. The forms are giving a real sense of the scale of the modest structure. They will be poured Friday. The slab will follow early next week.
I am, to put it mildly, excited about this building. I find myself grabbing near strangers and babbling at them about "my footings!" If things go as planned, we will have a dry structure, sans trim and siding and other not so minor details, sometime next month.