“Got to take my kids hiking. Little shits complained the whole time about there being no cell signal.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Gotta grab time with them while I can. They’ll be graduating from high school before I know it.”
As we walk up the path toward the worksite, he regales me with stories of spotting a black bear and his kids wanting to pet it.
“Not a lick of sense to share between the two!” He slaps his gloves on his thigh.
At the cleared worksite, we grab hard hats from the safety equipment.
Clint squints at the sky. “Think the weather will hold out for the pour tomorrow?”
“It better. We have some catching up to do if we want to have everyone settled after the holiday season.” I scan the busy site. “Let’s walk the perimeter before the crew meeting.”
Clint falls into step beside me as we circle the area where tomorrow’s pour will happen. The excavation remains clean, the forms assembled with the care I demand from my crew. I crouch at the edge, running my fingers along the top of the wooden form.
“Drainage slope checks out,” I note, brushing dirt from my hands as I stand. “How’s the rebar delivery coming along?”
“Still cut and staged.” Clint points toward the covered materials area. “The place didn’t fall apart just because we took two weeks off.”
I straighten. “Let’s double-check the spacing on the support grid. I want extra reinforcement at the north corner where the groundwater runs highest.”
Clint grumbles but follows along. He’s well used to my need to double and triple-check, especially at the foundation level. If we mess up here, the whole job is affected. If we spend a little extra time now, it will save us in the end.
As we move through the site, my boots crunch on gravel and wood chips.
“Drain tile?” I ask, peering into a trench that runs alongside the foundation form.
“Going in this afternoon.” Clint adds a note to his clipboard. “We’ve got the new four-inch pipe you specified.”
This conversation carries the comfort of a well-worn jacket. Here, my expertise isn’t questioned, and my decisions shape physical reality.
We arrive at the trailer and step inside, where the air sits heavy and damp from two weeks without ventilation.
I stride to the blueprint table, where the day’s plans spread out, weighted at the corners with chunks of rock. The paper crinkles under my fingers as I trace the foundation lines, comparing what’s drawn before me to what’s dug into the earth.
“Shift this support column six inches east.” I mark the change on the blueprint, my pencil making a firm, straight line. “We’ll need to adjust the load calculation, but it’ll give us cleaner access to the utility chase.”
Clint leans in, considering the adjustment. “Good call. I’ll have Devin recalculate the loads before we set the forms for that section.”
I continue marking adjustments, my handwriting compact.
“Morning crew meeting in five,” calls a voice from outside the trailer.
I fold the blueprint along its creases, tucking it under my arm. “Let’s review the week’s schedule with everyone. I want to make sure we’re aligned on priorities if that storm front moves in faster than predicted.”
As I leave the trailer and walk toward the gathering crew, my shoulders straighten, and my stride lengthens.
The sun breaks through a band of clouds, casting golden light across the construction site. I lift my hand to shield my eyes, taking in the full scope of what we’re building. It’s not just cabins, but spaces where people will make memories and start new chapters in their lives.
As I reach the circle of waiting workers, their faces turned toward me in expectation.
“All right, team,” I call, the sound carrying clean across the site. “Let’s talk about how we’re going to make this week count.”
On Tuesday, the tap-thump of Grady’s cane on packed earth catches my attention before I see him. He picks his way toward me with careful steps, skirting lumber piles and toolboxes. A yellow hard hat sits perched atop his head.
When he spots me by the foundation forms, his mouth quirks into the half-smile I’ve grown to anticipate.
I wave a blueprint tube at him. “Careful where you step. We just marked new trenching lines.”
“Bold of you to assume I can see the ground past my feet.” He navigates around a stack of lumber, his cane finding solid footing. “Some of us have to pay attention to where we’re going or end up face-first in cement.”
