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melissaaipapa

(OT) The Horror (construction)

We're having foundation work done on our house. It was necessary: the house is three stories of thick-walled masonry, and it was slumping because of an inadequate foundation, not to mention that it sits too close to a steep, deep drop. We finally decided to get the work done, found the money, and are currently living with the devastation. I can handle the loss of two thirds of the wisteria: the trunk is still there and it will grow back, though probably not in time to protect us from the summer sun. I can take the replacement of half of our brick terrace with a concrete pad. What is currently upsetting me is the leaky flood of thin concrete from yesterday, a result, apparently, of problems with the machinery that caused the concrete to spread over part of the brick terrace that remains, and down into the beds. My hardy cyclamen? My scillas? My hellebores?

What gets me about this is the unquestioned assumption, apparently by everybody concerned except me, that plants don't matter. It captures in a nutshell the attitude of much of the world that, where plants meet concrete, the plants must cede. They're not worth taking trouble over. Not worth protecting. Not worth saving. Not worth understanding. Even DH doesn't get it.

I was in Piacenza yesterday running frustrating errands in the heat and returned mid-afternoon hot, thirsty, hungry, and dead tired. I never even looked out the front door where all this is happening, so I didn't know about it until casual remarks by DH brought me out to the terrace. It's hot now, sticky, droughty, dusty as h*ll with the construction work, and never did we need plants more. I don't know what it will take to bring a majority of mankind to recognize that we need plants if we want to live.

All right, that's the end of my complaint.

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