Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

There is a buzz of activity on our road today. Bob the Tree Man is at Clara’s, my next door neighbor, getting ready to cut down a large tree that fell from her neighbor’s lot on the other side onto a small grove of trees in Clara’s yard.

It’s a tough situation, since the fallen tree rests precariously on Clara’s trees. Underneath is not only the equipment that operates her sprinkler system, but also a large boat moored in the river that is the northern boundary for all our houses on Derfla Drive. Bob the Tree Man, his crew, and his chain saws are standing in the yard and assessing the situation.

Across the street another man is building a house, almost single-handed. He has been at it since late last fall, even working in solitude on Christmas Day. But this week helpers showed up to put on the aluminum siding. There’s a radio blaring, but that’s okay because he and I like the same music.

On the other side of our house, that neighbor has built a huge bonfire. He does this occasionally, although it isn’t the season for burning leaves. I’m not quite sure what he burns, but since he is eighty-five years old, I usually keep an eye out when I start hearing the familiar crackling. I don’t want him to go inside and leave the fire unattended. I am his insurance policy.

Another neighbor across the street is babysitting his two young children. The wife is at work and the usual babysitter is on vacation, so Robert has been pulling a wagon up and down the road for the past half hour.

The river itself provides additional activity. Motor boats and jet skis travel up and down, one looking for secret spots where the fish are biting and the other looking to make as much noise and scare the aforementioned fish, although not intentionally. It’s just that jet skis are made to go fast and jump waves, while fishing boats are made to troll slowly and create as little disturbance as possible. On this river, fishers and jet-skiers don’t like each other very much. I side with the fishers.