After a full body wash-down on the trapper cabin porch Sunday night (well, the dirt was fairly equally mixed with dishsoap, after all), Tom spent the night at the property in order to be ready, bright and early, for the garage carpenter and his one worker who'd promised to work on Labor Day. I was an hour or so late arriving that morning and passed the crew guy on his way out. Well, I figured, since he had Tom's help, maybe the boss-man let his crew member have Labor Day off. Not so.
This poor guy drove 65 MILES (one-way) from the other end of the county on Labor Day morning to work for us . . . and his boss was nowhere in sight. So, he'd gone looking for him. I mean, we didn't know if something tragic had happened or not. His employee never found him so, understandably, went home. I finally got ahold of Boss-man (and I do use that term rather loosely now) that night, and he actually had the gall to tell me, "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. You know where I was? I took my family to the Cajun Festival!" I almost dropped the phone. Couldn't he make up a tale like his truck breaking down or his mother getting a broken leg? Give . . . me . . . a . . . break.
So, Tom spent the day digging out the trench that runs from the solar panels and LP tank up to the garage - a nasty, hard job. I, meanwhile, got a few things done around the house here that had gotten out-of-hand and prepared for a long-ago-planned day in Duluth on Tuesday.
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