I don’t even have words for how much shit like this disgusts me.
“Road Work Ahead,” the signs say. They make their first appearance a mile and a half from our house in the woods.
I walk down to take a picture. The “Smile Ear to Ear” is for our nearby farmstand, where sweetcorn is also making a first appearance.
Smile. Be happy. A corridor marked with party flags has been laid out through another neighbor’s strawberry patch.
But this is not about our country roads, which are always in need of repair. It is not about parties or backyard festivities.
A mile farther east, the nature of the “road work,” the activities taking place in our neighbors’ backyards, becomes clearer.
A crane pokes up behind a flowerbed.
A ridge of dirt rises a few yards beyond the shade trees.
A “road” is being carved through cornfields.
The trucks, the heavy equipment, the port-a-potties, and the pipe show up another mile further to…
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