Or, should I say, the sound of one machine. That would be more accurate. But the sound of any prospective construction in the neighborhood always brings out our hidden Gladys Kravitz.
My next door neighbor has been building a casita on top of her house. I thought the rumbling reveille might be associated with her project. It wasn't.
When I opened the front door a front-end loader was scraping a scar in the middle of what had been the local goat refuge. I thought the French Canadian-Mexican architect who built my house and owns the lot had decided to build another house or two across from mine. Once again, I was wrong.
She is clearing the space to provide some occupational therapy for the people who own two of her other houses. It is going to be a vegetable garden.
And what about the goats? It sounds like a great opportunity for them. But she had already thought of that. She is building a wall. No, not that type of wall. A chain link fence to let the goats graze where they should, and for vegetables to grow where they might.
The French often say that deep in the breast of any urban Frenchman beats the heart of a farmer. That may be true. French farmers have a lot of natural allies whenever liberals talk about cutting farm subsidies.
Over the past two years, the empty lots across the street have provided me with a wealth of entertainment. Watching vegetables grow -- or not -- will simply be the next act in this on-going theater we call life.
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