farmdoc's blog post number 658

Closure. Nowadays it’s fashionable for a relative to acknowledge it when a missing person’s body is found, or when a murderer’s convicted. Thankfully I’ve never been the relative in either of those situations. And I hope upon hope I never will be. But if the relevant definition of ‘closure’ is ‘the state of being closed’, then I can’t believe that all will be bright and rosy ever after the moment when the body’s found or the murderer’s convicted. Be this as it may, in my boring and safe life there have been two recent moments of closure:

The first one occurred last Wednesday when Lars, a local jack-of-all-trades replaced the smashed back porch downpost and a rainwater downpipe [1]. Lars is a lovely man, and as the photograph shows, he did a beautiful job. All the job needs now is for me to paint the post and pipe.

The second one occurred yesterday when our new bridge replacement job [2, 3, 4, 5, 6] was finished by our neighbour Todd. He too is a lovely man, and as the photograph shows, he did a beautiful job. All the job needs now is for me to remove the sawn-off wood pieces.

P.S. To avoid hitting the back porch downpost and a rainwater downpipe again, from now on I’m backing the Triton in to the garage.