Yesterday, Friday, there were a bunch of guys from the big city out here, with their tripods and telescopes and yard-sticks, measuring the property. The property of course has been properly surveyed since circa 1876, but I was told the owners wanted this one done, so as to best determine how to divide it all up among their children and grandchildren.
I was also illuminated such was costing a lot of money, which arched the eyebrows.
The ancient elderly couple who own this place aren't known for spending money unless they have to.
This means only one thing; they're expecting the adult to win this White House 38 days hence.
The past four years, they've said that if Barack Milhous wins in 2012, they're not interested in anything except saving as much of their dough as possible, keeping it out of the grasping greedy hands of the Democrats, liberals, and primitives.
In this case, they've been leaving it unused, doing nothing at all with it, because it provides a handy tax write-off against the onerous exactions of the Democrats, liberals, and primitives. So it just sits here, a dead weight, contributing nothing at all to the economy at present.
They've also said that if an (R) wins in 2012, and happy days are here again, they're willing to take risks, investing their dough, creating jobs (in this case, construction), spreading the wealth, creating even more wealth.
I repeat; this survey is costing them a lot of money, and these are people who don't like to spend money.
This can mean only one thing.
This ancient elderly couple are both very old, and like the rare sporadic Native Americans before them who kept their ears to the ground to hear what's coming, they know what's coming.
Too bad for the primitives.
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The property caretaker was out here about noon, having had his dinnertime libations at the VFW Club in town, and gave me a great deal of grief.
"Hey, boss"--he calls me "young man" when he's sober, "boss" when he's drunk--"how come you told those guys it's 600 feet from the back porch to the river here?
"They had a really good laugh about that; couldn't stop talking about your talent in measuring things.
"It's 1800 feet, boss, from the back porch to the river."
No way, I insisted; "When I moved out here seven years ago, the owner told me it was '600 feet.'
"Since he knew what he was talking about, there wasn't any reason for me to not believe it."
"He didn't tell you it was 600 feet, boss; you must've heard it wrong.
"And besides, can't you tell, just by eyeballing, that it's more than two football-field lengths?"
Well, Hell, I said, I grew up in the Sandhills where, because everything stretches into eternity, distance doesn't matter. Something might be a hundred feet away, it might be five miles away. It's not a big deal.
"I'm paid to be exact in my work, to be exactly sure about details, but in things like this, it doesn't matter.
"The river looks pretty far away to me, and about the length of two football fields, say, 200 yards, sounds just as reasonable as any other distance, I guess. And there's never been any reason for me to take out a tape-measure to measure it. When the owner said it was 600 feet, there wasn't any reason to wonder about it."
"He told you it was 600 yards, boss; there was a blank there you didn't hear, and you filled it in wrong."
Oh.
"Geezuz, boss, you shouldn't be jumping to conclusions all the time, on things you miss."
Well, whatever.
