The New House Across the Road

Don't look for the above "Music I'm Listening To:" to load on your I-Pod. That's not a singing group or the name of a song. That's what's making all the noise across the road from our second place on Whidbey Island.

I should explain that we have - for almost 6 years - had an unimpeded view up here, a view that includes Crockett Lake and Fort Casey, the Keystone Ferry dock, and in the distance, Port Townsend, the Straits of Juan de Fuca, and the northernmost Olympic Mountains. And all that we had between us and that view were 9 vacant lots on a slope covered with low brush and grasses that were perfect for rabbits and quail.

Well, I hope the critters headed for high ground, because our little patch of heaven is being invaded. Six of the lots are being shaved and scraped for - as the owner put it to us yesterday - the "house of our dreams".

She got out of the car as we were painting our deck and looked at the growing hole and the mounds of dirt that had been pushed around and turned to us and said, wide-eyed: "Wow. This is scary. We've never done anything like this before."

I replied: "Wow. This is scary for us, too, but for different reasons." I mentioned that we'd heard that the house would be large. I asked "Large like wide? Or large like tall?"

Unfortunately, "tall" was her answer.

We surveryed the lots last night after the workers had left and tried to surmise just how big, how high, how intrusive this new house would be, and tried to look at the bright side (they had cleared a few more trees, improving the view) but couldn't see to get past the fact that - no matter how kind they were in their house design - our view would be compromised.

And I'm guessing that we have no rules at Admiral's Cove about construction on the weekends, because I can hear them at it again, and when I glance over there and down the hill, I can see the arm and scoop of an end-loader, looking like a giant, orange prehistoric beast as it eats its Saturday breakfast and spits it out for the little bulldozer puttering around beneath it.

Ah, well. There's nothing to be done for this.

Except to go over every night and refill the hole.