Remember this house? The one that was sitting on packing crates on a lot about five miles from the ocean. The lot is at the intersection of two very busy roads, one of which is the beginning of I-40. That one continues across the country to Barstow, California. We have a friend here who rode his secondhand bike that entire distance. Twice.
I drove past again last week.
The “house raising” was done because the city considered the site a flood zone. A snaky zone, too, I fear, unless the air pollution from all the cars and trucks whizzing past deters them.
The owner is definitely making progress, although I’d bet that he doesn’t get many callers ringing his doorbell. No Girl Scout cookies, no Watchtower, no politicians. That probably means no pizza delivery either. Now I’m curious to get back and see whether there is even a driveway so that he can receive mail.
Stay tuned. Next time there may be a rocker on the porch.