see, out here. This is like the frontier.”
“What do you do with it?” Howard asked.
“Clean it up. Sell it. Yuppies buy it for twice the price of new lumber in order to make new houses look old. It’s all fakery,of course. The only people they fool are each other. Still, it’s good wood. They did a study—concluded that hundred-year-old redwood planks, pulled off a house roof, hadn’t lost more than two percent tensile strength.”
“Really?” Howard reached down and pulled up the end of one of the boards. A grisly-looking spider darted out, scampering away into the weeds as the board slammed down again. “Beats bulldozing the stuff, doesn’t it?”
“That’s it,” said Uncle Roy. “Conservation is what it is.
Recycling. Pull out the nails, trim the ends, stack it up, and wait for the trucks to roll in. I’m just now getting started on it. My back’s been acting up, though, and I’ve had to take it easy.”
Howard looked at the old dry Bermuda grass, curling up through the heaped wood. Clearly no one had touched it for months, perhaps years. “Maybe I can help you with it. I can pull nails and trim ends easy enough. I’d like to do that.”
Uncle Roy hesitated, thinking it through, as if he had talked too much and gotten in too deep. “We’ll buy another six-pack and draw up plans,” he said, winking. “Tonight. After four.”
A telephone rang. “Roy!” came a shout from the kitchen.
“That’s Edith. Come on.” He hurried past the garage, up onto the back stoop, and into the service porch. There was an old washer and dryer there, vintage twenty years ago, and one of those fold-up doweled-together wooden clotheslines with underwear hanging on it. A door led into the kitchen, where Aunt Edith was just then hanging up the phone.
“What?” said Uncle Roy. “Who was it?”
“Syl.”
“Why did you shout? Did she want to talk to me?”
“No. She might have, though. I wanted you to be ready at hand.”
“What did she want? Is she all right?”
“Heavens, yes, she’s all right. Why shouldn’t she be all right?”
“Then why on earth did she call? We were just discussing the issue of the barn lumber. Howard’s got an idea for selling it down south. That’s where the housing market is. We were just starting in on it”
“Dressed like that? Howard’s just arrived. Don’t make him work until he’s had a chance to sit down for a moment. That wood’s been lying there since who knows when. Let it be until after lunch, anyway. Give the boy a breather. Sylvia’s comingfor lunch. She’s upset about something, I think.”
Aunt Edith went on about Sylvia, for a few minutes, about the store and her making things to sell in it. They were dependent on the tourist trade in Mendocino. It was easy for a shop to founder and sink. You got around it by diversifying. Tourists loved a trinket, and they were certain that the north coast was a haven of creativity. They didn’t want a shirt that they could buy in a mall down south. They wanted whales and wool and driftwood and natural foods.
“That’s her now,” Uncle Roy said. There was the sound of an engine cutting off out on the street.
Edith nodded. “She called from right down at the Safeway. She’s picked up some salmon for dinner tonight, in honor of Howard being here. I told her—”
“Good,” said Uncle Roy, interrupting her. “It’s time we had something high-toned for dinner. I’ll cook it up myself. A little dill weed, a little white wine. Have we got any wine?”
“No,” Edith said.
“We’ll remedy that. Always cook with the wine you intend to drink,” he told Howard seriously.
The front door opened and Sylvia walked in. She might easily have been crying. Howard was suddenly furious, ready to murder someone—Stoat, the dirty pig. He forced a smile, thinking that it would be a disaster to fly off the handle now, even in Sylvia’s defense.
“What the hell’s wrong?” Uncle Roy asked, seeing the same
“What do you do with it?” Howard asked.
“Clean it up. Sell it. Yuppies buy it for twice the price of new lumber in order to make new houses look old. It’s all fakery,of course. The only people they fool are each other. Still, it’s good wood. They did a study—concluded that hundred-year-old redwood planks, pulled off a house roof, hadn’t lost more than two percent tensile strength.”
“Really?” Howard reached down and pulled up the end of one of the boards. A grisly-looking spider darted out, scampering away into the weeds as the board slammed down again. “Beats bulldozing the stuff, doesn’t it?”
“That’s it,” said Uncle Roy. “Conservation is what it is.
Recycling. Pull out the nails, trim the ends, stack it up, and wait for the trucks to roll in. I’m just now getting started on it. My back’s been acting up, though, and I’ve had to take it easy.”
Howard looked at the old dry Bermuda grass, curling up through the heaped wood. Clearly no one had touched it for months, perhaps years. “Maybe I can help you with it. I can pull nails and trim ends easy enough. I’d like to do that.”
Uncle Roy hesitated, thinking it through, as if he had talked too much and gotten in too deep. “We’ll buy another six-pack and draw up plans,” he said, winking. “Tonight. After four.”
A telephone rang. “Roy!” came a shout from the kitchen.
“That’s Edith. Come on.” He hurried past the garage, up onto the back stoop, and into the service porch. There was an old washer and dryer there, vintage twenty years ago, and one of those fold-up doweled-together wooden clotheslines with underwear hanging on it. A door led into the kitchen, where Aunt Edith was just then hanging up the phone.
“What?” said Uncle Roy. “Who was it?”
“Syl.”
“Why did you shout? Did she want to talk to me?”
“No. She might have, though. I wanted you to be ready at hand.”
“What did she want? Is she all right?”
“Heavens, yes, she’s all right. Why shouldn’t she be all right?”
“Then why on earth did she call? We were just discussing the issue of the barn lumber. Howard’s got an idea for selling it down south. That’s where the housing market is. We were just starting in on it”
“Dressed like that? Howard’s just arrived. Don’t make him work until he’s had a chance to sit down for a moment. That wood’s been lying there since who knows when. Let it be until after lunch, anyway. Give the boy a breather. Sylvia’s comingfor lunch. She’s upset about something, I think.”
Aunt Edith went on about Sylvia, for a few minutes, about the store and her making things to sell in it. They were dependent on the tourist trade in Mendocino. It was easy for a shop to founder and sink. You got around it by diversifying. Tourists loved a trinket, and they were certain that the north coast was a haven of creativity. They didn’t want a shirt that they could buy in a mall down south. They wanted whales and wool and driftwood and natural foods.
“That’s her now,” Uncle Roy said. There was the sound of an engine cutting off out on the street.
Edith nodded. “She called from right down at the Safeway. She’s picked up some salmon for dinner tonight, in honor of Howard being here. I told her—”
“Good,” said Uncle Roy, interrupting her. “It’s time we had something high-toned for dinner. I’ll cook it up myself. A little dill weed, a little white wine. Have we got any wine?”
“No,” Edith said.
“We’ll remedy that. Always cook with the wine you intend to drink,” he told Howard seriously.
The front door opened and Sylvia walked in. She might easily have been crying. Howard was suddenly furious, ready to murder someone—Stoat, the dirty pig. He forced a smile, thinking that it would be a disaster to fly off the handle now, even in Sylvia’s defense.
“What the hell’s wrong?” Uncle Roy asked, seeing the same
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