“They didn’t ask a single question about the trees,” I say.
“I was just as happy not to have to speak,” Scotty chimes in.
“But I appreciate your coming all the same,” I say to him, “and you too, Nick. It really helped to know I had expert allies in the room.” They shrug this off. I thank Dave for all his hard work, and compliment him for saying only what was required, just as he’d promised he would. “There is no way I could have made it through these three months without all your help and guidance,” I say. I can’t tell if he takes in how much I appreciate his hard work, his insight into the most important issues, his planning and support. I suppose this is just another Conservation evening for Erika’s dad.
“No problem,” he says. “I’m glad it worked out.”
Tina and I go out for Indian food to celebrate. We order wine.
“To the cottage!” Tina toasts.
“To the house and cottage together!” I reply.
“To the Conservation Commission.”
“To the lady commissioner who wants the roads to stay the same width!”
“Yes, yes, to her, definitely.”
We drink.
“She was great,” Tina says. “Don’t you just want to be her?” she asks me as the appetizers are delivered.
“Yes—maybe—but not just yet,” I say as I scoop a pakora onto my friend’s plate.
making way
“IT’S A GO,” I tell John the morning after the hearing. I explain there is a ten-day appeal period, but we aren’t expecting any opposition. We can proceed at our own risk, and I’m in favor of moving forward as soon as we can. The closer we get to the tourist season, the harder it will be to maneuver a cottage on the back roads of Cape Cod. This fact is not lost on the public servants who will approve the required moving permits. The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to obtain permission to tie up traffic in the four towns that separate the cottage from my house.
“You’ll need your building permits before we can excavate,” John reminds me.
I have the drawings ready, but I need some help with the forms. I don’t know how to fill in the blanks on the cutaway drawing provided by the Building Department. Size of wall studs, size of floor and ceiling joists? How do I know these answers without x-raying the cottage? John says he’ll come over on Saturday to help me out. If Conservation gives me my Order of Conditions on Monday, I can march right over to the Building Department. I need the order before I can get the permit.
I call Tom Howes with the good news, which he promises to pass along to Mr. Hayden. Mid-April, we think, we’ll have a cottage on the way. I ask about the other cottages, all lined up on their blocks. None of them has moved yet, and this comforts me. I am not the only cottage-mover who is keeping him waiting. After I hang up with Tom, I try Ed in Florida. I share my good news with his answering machine, encouraging him to come home soon so he won’t miss the excitement.
Tina is still talking about the clam people when I drop her at the bus in Hyannis. She has an eager, playful intellect, and when she is introduced to a new idea, Tina runs with it. The machinations of Town Hall are on her radar now, and the clam people have come to live in her mind. Or rather the concept of the clam people, the fact that clam people exist; defenders of shellfish have enlarged Tina’s perception of the world. “Come back soon, and I’ll take you to another hearing.” We laugh as we hug good-bye.
Ten minutes later, I am pulling into my driveway. Scotty’s red pickup truck is parked low on the circle. He probably wants to talk about the trees we’ll be taking down. Scotty never calls ahead; he just shows up. Maybe this is because we are almost neighbors, or more likely because we know each other through Barbara, who has always referred to him by his little-boy name. The Barbara connection bolsters what might otherwise be a strictly business acquaintance. We feel at ease with each
“I was just as happy not to have to speak,” Scotty chimes in.
“But I appreciate your coming all the same,” I say to him, “and you too, Nick. It really helped to know I had expert allies in the room.” They shrug this off. I thank Dave for all his hard work, and compliment him for saying only what was required, just as he’d promised he would. “There is no way I could have made it through these three months without all your help and guidance,” I say. I can’t tell if he takes in how much I appreciate his hard work, his insight into the most important issues, his planning and support. I suppose this is just another Conservation evening for Erika’s dad.
“No problem,” he says. “I’m glad it worked out.”
Tina and I go out for Indian food to celebrate. We order wine.
“To the cottage!” Tina toasts.
“To the house and cottage together!” I reply.
“To the Conservation Commission.”
“To the lady commissioner who wants the roads to stay the same width!”
“Yes, yes, to her, definitely.”
We drink.
“She was great,” Tina says. “Don’t you just want to be her?” she asks me as the appetizers are delivered.
“Yes—maybe—but not just yet,” I say as I scoop a pakora onto my friend’s plate.
making way
“IT’S A GO,” I tell John the morning after the hearing. I explain there is a ten-day appeal period, but we aren’t expecting any opposition. We can proceed at our own risk, and I’m in favor of moving forward as soon as we can. The closer we get to the tourist season, the harder it will be to maneuver a cottage on the back roads of Cape Cod. This fact is not lost on the public servants who will approve the required moving permits. The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to obtain permission to tie up traffic in the four towns that separate the cottage from my house.
“You’ll need your building permits before we can excavate,” John reminds me.
I have the drawings ready, but I need some help with the forms. I don’t know how to fill in the blanks on the cutaway drawing provided by the Building Department. Size of wall studs, size of floor and ceiling joists? How do I know these answers without x-raying the cottage? John says he’ll come over on Saturday to help me out. If Conservation gives me my Order of Conditions on Monday, I can march right over to the Building Department. I need the order before I can get the permit.
I call Tom Howes with the good news, which he promises to pass along to Mr. Hayden. Mid-April, we think, we’ll have a cottage on the way. I ask about the other cottages, all lined up on their blocks. None of them has moved yet, and this comforts me. I am not the only cottage-mover who is keeping him waiting. After I hang up with Tom, I try Ed in Florida. I share my good news with his answering machine, encouraging him to come home soon so he won’t miss the excitement.
Tina is still talking about the clam people when I drop her at the bus in Hyannis. She has an eager, playful intellect, and when she is introduced to a new idea, Tina runs with it. The machinations of Town Hall are on her radar now, and the clam people have come to live in her mind. Or rather the concept of the clam people, the fact that clam people exist; defenders of shellfish have enlarged Tina’s perception of the world. “Come back soon, and I’ll take you to another hearing.” We laugh as we hug good-bye.
Ten minutes later, I am pulling into my driveway. Scotty’s red pickup truck is parked low on the circle. He probably wants to talk about the trees we’ll be taking down. Scotty never calls ahead; he just shows up. Maybe this is because we are almost neighbors, or more likely because we know each other through Barbara, who has always referred to him by his little-boy name. The Barbara connection bolsters what might otherwise be a strictly business acquaintance. We feel at ease with each
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