THEY'RE AT IT AGAIN

 They’re at it again. A drive up most side roads here in Ball Camp and most other neighborhoods in Knoxville will find the topsoil scraped away and heavy machinery cutting roads and drains and sewer lines to squeeze too many houses onto too little land. I’m an old coot who’s in foul mood about the entire thing. 

These small farms that were created several years ago are being gobbled up by developers. In their hurry to buy every available piece of land, they don’t seem to consider the impact on communities throughout our region. I’ve heard that a housing shortage is the reason for so many new developments being built. I don’t buy that. With the high prices that sellers expect and high interest rates that now are slapped on mortgages, many who are interested in a new home have decided to wait for a bit in hopes that those factors turn downward. Of course, I don’t see how people can buy a house anyway. Young people often face mortgages of $1500 and up each month. In our younger years, we’d have had to choose between a house and eating.  

The infrastructure of Knox County isn’t that great either. I’m speaking of the sideroads and backroads on which many of these developments empty. Some roads have no shoulders; others weren’t built to allow today’s bigger autos to pass each other. Does the person in charge of roads still declare that people are going to have to get used to these conditions? Around here, we’re told that the Schaad Road extension will ease the snarls of traffic that have motorists sitting still every morning and evening.  

I’d argue with those who say such things that, yes, the new roads will help traffic flow. However, people aren’t going to stay on those roads. At some point, they are going to exit and drive toward their homes. All of a sudden, people are stuck in a snaking line of cars that’s even worse than before because the developers have built so many subdivisions and apartment complexes on these still inadequate streets. 

Yes, I am partially complaining because I’ve lived in the area all my life but for the years I was at college. In past years, night was dark; As kids, we played in the yard until the sun set. Then it was time to eat supper, do homework, take baths, and go to bed. The night threw a blanket of black that nothing but the stars or the moon could penetrate.  

No dark exists now. Hillsides are covered with houses and apartments. Streetlights illuminate yards and parking lots. Also, a steady stream of cars zips through the darkness. A family is lucky if it has a backyard that backs up to a wooded area. They have the privacy that so many others crave.  

I still reserve my empathy for wildlife. Animals have no say when the dozers are graders rip through their nests and knock down their homes in the trees. Their only choice is to escape to a safer place. Too many times that means animals invade these new developments. People whine that critters are raiding their garbage cans and gardens. My reply is the land was their home first, and they destroy gardens in areas where a once ample supplies of food were available.  

I will say it again: folks of my generation are in this world but not of it. I don’t want to go back to my youth; I don’t want to stop all development; I don’t want Knoxville to remain a town instead of a city. However, I do want better planning to be done before multiple developments are slapped up almost overnight. I want money to be invested in widening the roads where we live, not just highways that move from Point A to Point B. Last of all, I want our countryside preserved. The hills in Hines Valley are beautiful, but they are being scraped clean so that houses replace views of the trees.  

The time has come to listen more to the citizens of the county and less to the developers. We should have some say-so as to what our communities become. For the most part, elected officials don’t much care what citizens want as long as more tax revenues can fill the coffers, but for what will that extra cash be used if not for a better infrastructure? It’s time to hit the “pause” button. 

FIFTY YEARS LATER

 Amy attended her 50th high school graduation recently, and yes, I went with her. In the entire crowd, I might have known half a dozen people. That didn’t matter; my job was to be there, be nice, make small talk, and be supportive. It wasn’t a bad way to spend the weekend, and I think my wife had a good time, which was the most important thing. Those events are always filled with excitement, sadness, and surprise.  

A group of classmates gathered at a restaurant on Friday night. It was the idea of one graduate who now lives in Arizona. The event was also an “all-girls” affair, so I returned to the hotel room and watched television and read until my dear wife called me to pick her up. The noise level from the group was surprising as I drove up to the front. Women’s voices sounded more like they did when those same females were in high school. Plenty of excitement made their voices shoot up octaves. In addition, they all talked at the same time so that nothing said could be understood.  

The next morning, some of the folks shared brunch. This time, those who had attended Tennessee Tech Campus School gathered. The school was one that limited enrollment, although Amy never did know exactly what the criteria were. From the first grade through the sixth, these same children attended the school. Only one class was available for each grade.  

As soon as folks gathered, the chatter started. They hugged and laughed as if they’d seen each other just the other day. That fact is astounding since the time between being a group has been more than 50 years. Many of the former elementary school students traveled from far away. One man, Monty, made his way to Cookeville from northern California. The girl who set up the Friday night affair lives in Arizona.  

The closeness of and love between old friends was obvious. No one was left out. Colleen and Clark Childress made their home available for the get together. She fed classmates and spouse with wonderful foods, and she led the pre-brunch meeting. Classmates told some of their favorite memories from that little school, and oohs and aahs, along with laughs, filled the house. One story that everyone remembered occurred during nap time. A boy decided to put a metal object into an electrical outlet. Yes, the action led to a shocking outcome. Another person recalled a boy who fought ADHD. The teacher in one of their classes allowed the boy to go outside and run an obstacle course when he could no longer remain still.  

Later in the evening, the class of 1973 gathered at a venue owned by one classmate. I knew that Amy would be up and about most of the evening. She introduced me to several folks, most of whom I don’t remember. Luckily, I found four other males who were in the “spouse category.” One man was the son-in-law of my favorite English professor during my time at TTU. We men began to talk, and before long, jokes were shared, and we lamented that none of us were included in gifts, videos, or door prizes. Our goal was to wait for our wives to finish having fun so that we could go back to the places that we stayed so that the rest of our evening could be devoted to television, drinks, or books. 

I admit that the weekend turned out well. Amy had a wonderful time reconnecting with people in her class. What was most special was the elementary school reunion. Students were so close that they seemed more like brothers and sisters than school mates. I know my 50th school reunion could in no way compare with Amy’s. Cookeville is a growing place, but for a weekend, it was frozen in time as the class of ‘73 renewed friendships and felt more like young people than senior citizens. I was lucky to watch oldsters turn into children. It was magical.  

NOT TOUGH ENOUGH

 On the Friday before July 4th, my sweet wife fell and had a slight fracture of the bone that’s at the outside of the knee. To make it worse, she had skinned her knee and lower legs. Yep, she was quite miserable. We got her home after several hours at the emergency room. It turned out to be the beginning of a rotten few days. 

When I went to retrieve the car, the battery was dead. I’d left the emergency flashers on while we were in the ER, and over that time, they’d blinked the power source dry. So, I had to call my son Dallas to pick us up. He did (what a hero), and we struggled to get Amy into the house. The hospital sent her home with a set of crutches, but no instruction sheet. As a former and frequent user of them as a teen and adult, I can admit that getting the hang of walking with two sticks takes a while to conquer.  

Amy fell into bed, but she didn’t feel too bad. Pain pills have a way of taking the edge off of what’s hurting a person. I fetched her iPad, phone, purse, and book before returning to work on the deck. Every few minutes, I’d check on her to see if she needed anything. A couple of times, I lost track of time and worked for half an hour or longer before going back in to check on her. 

Over the weekend, I continued the same routine. I also threw in a round of cleaning our house. Tackling the many jobs that Amy completes exhausted me. One night, our friend Lauana Pennell provided supper for us. Bless her! I tried out my cooking skills by popping a frozen lasagna in the oven and fixing bowls of salad. Another night we ate Subway sandwiches. 

The day after the 4th, I headed off to complete my wife’s weekly chore of grocery shopping. Although I completed the task in a shorter time than she did, I was exhausted by the time I arrived home.  The grass hadn’t been mowed, so I made sure Amy was comfortable and hopped on the mower to cut the areas around the house.  

In between times of checking on Amy and completing necessary tasks, I continued to tear off the old boards on the deck and removing screws that wouldn’t let go. With help of brother Jim and son Dallas, I finally pulled the last rotten board off and attached the Trex for which I’d spent too much. Yes, it’s hotter than the eye of a stove, but gone are the rotten boards, nail heads, and splinters. By the way, I will never again attempt such a project because this one nearly put me in the ground.  

What the last week has reminded me is that Amy works hard every day. She’s retired, and I can’t understand how she did all the things in her life and worked a full-time job at the same time. She received good news from the orthopedist and won’t need a cast. She can walk on the bad leg but might need a cane to help her for a few days. 

I’m glad to have my wife on the quick recovery road. The small taste of her job wasn’t pleasant, and I have no desire to trade places with her. I’ll be more understanding from now on. Heck, I might even pitch in and help a little. I pray that she stays healthy because I’m not strong or tough enough to do what she does.  

SHARING THE DARK WITH NEIGHBORS

 The tree man dug in the apparatuses on his feet and began climbing the dead pine tree. It stood at least 75 feet tall with long, brittle branches from mid-trunk to the top. He cut whole limbs and let them crash to the ground below. His luck held as none of the heavy pieces hit houses or cars.  

Amy and I watched this accident waiting to happen from our porch. Throughout the tree man’s work, I told Amy that the men I’d hired to cut trees never lopped off whole limbs. Instead, they cut them into pieces or tied them with a rope and lowered them to the ground. When the worker returned to the ground, he walked across the yard and looked at the tree. 

 Within seconds, he was kneeling and cutting a wedge from one side of the tree. I murmured to Amy that he surely wasn’t planning on dropping that tree in such a tight space. Professionals usually cut all the limbs from the trunk and then cut it in sections that were lowered them the ground. However, this expert did, indeed, go to the back of the tree and dropped it, limbs and trunk together.  

It crashed to the ground, and the sounds of snapping of limbs and the thump of the trunk were upstaged by the electrical wires touching the ground seconds before transformers sparked and popped. The genius with the saw in his hand watched helplessly as this disaster occurred. 

In a matter of seconds, neighbors exited their houses to see what had caused the power failure. We met at the top of the hill, only a couple of houses from the scene of the electrical assault on KUB’s equipment. Some were asking questions about what had knocked out the power; used a bit of foul language to discuss their displeasure; another group was visibly angry that such a stupid thing had even occurred. Our noisiness gave way to topics related to what had happened.  

The impromptu neighborhood meeting brought together those of us who’ve lived here for years and newer neighbors to the small subdivision. Introductions were made; I met one man who has lived near me for several years. We’ve waved at each other, but yesterday was the first time I’d ever heard his voice.  

After we’d watched the show in the yard for a while, folks moved back to their houses to figure out how they were going to prepare supper. Amy and I returned to the porch to watch the clean up. Before long, another neighbor came looking for the problem. I called to him, and he joined us on the porch. Tony, Amy and I sat there and rocked the time away as we talked about no electricity and the way things used to be when we were children. Diane Bremseth came back to check on any updates, and Gary, who lives on the street behind us, dropped by. About 9:00 p.m. I told everyone that I was hungry and needed to eat so I could get in bed. The next morning I had to be up at 5:00 a.m. to go to work at the golf course.  

It was aggravating to spend the evening with no electricity. However, having neighbors gather and others sit on their porches made me feel as if I’d escaped for a few minutes back to my childhood. So, as much trouble as the tree man poured out on our neighborhood, I appreciate the fact that his unskilled acts led to neighbors reconnecting for the first time since Covid reared its ugly head. Nothing brings neighbors and friends together like an emergency. Last night was a good night, even without power.