I got myself into a little bit of a predicament this week. Shocking, right? I've written about how I renovated my basement last year after my dad died, and this summer I completely redid my backyard. The house was looking great and I thought I was done — I really did. Then on Tuesday, as I was edging the grass alongside the driveway, a small chunk of the asphalt popped off with the edge of the shovel. Uh oh. The Unfortunate Incident had begun.
Now by no means is my asphalt driveway anything special. It's as old as the house and is groovier than a Donna Summer disco track. It's full of cracks and the weeds growing up through it drive me crazy. It's also very unsafe, and one of these days someone is going to turn an ankle and I'll be getting a lawsuit in the mail.
When the chunk came out, it started a chain of events I hadn't been planning. Yes, I could have just tried to put the chunk back in the spot. I'm sure it would have fit. Then I could have walked away and left it undisturbed until another time — that's what most normal people would do. But normal and I aren't always on the same page. I tend to go against the grain more often than not, not because I like to be different, but because I generally can't help myself. I blame it on my excessive curiosity.
So when that piece popped out, there was no way I wasn't going to take my shovel and see if the piece beside it came out too. And the piece beside that. And the piece beside that. Next thing you know, a large swath of my driveway is in a pile and I have to make a decision. Do I just fill the spaces with some stones I have kicking around, or do I go all in and start a ginormous, physically intensive, time-consuming driveway renovation?
I think you know the answer.
Of course, I picked Door Number Two! Surprise, surprise. So now I'm all in, and a quick check of the Weather Network shows me I've picked a super time to do a very labour-intensive job (insert heaps and heaps of sarcasm here). Temps in the high 30s Celsius. Perfect! (Insert more sarcasm here.)
I hardly slept Tuesday night as I was trying to figure out what I was going to do. I have a fairly large driveway and had a few quotes in the past to replace it — all around the $15,000 range. Not happening! I can think of fifteen thousand things I'd rather spend $15,000 on than an asphalt driveway.
Besides, I don't like the look of them when they are so black, and it just wouldn't go with the rural vibe that my suburban house has going on. And I'd need to book a company, and there was no way it would be finished before my COVID-rescheduled birthday bash the second week of September. Therefore, whatever solution I chose, it had to be one that could be completed relatively quickly.
The more I thought about it, the more my brain convinced me that I could do this job myself. It would be hard work, but I could do it. I'd just have to lift up as much of the existing driveway as I could, spread some limestone chips over the whole thing, pack it down, then spread finishing gravel. Piece of cake.
First thing Wednesday morning I called my local landscape company and ordered nine yards of limestone to be delivered on Saturday.
"We don't deliver on Saturdays. What about Friday?"
Shit. That only gave me two nights after work to lift the driveway, clear away all the debris, and deposit it all at the dump.
"Sure! Friday works great!" I said.
I got home from work around 3 pm on Wednesday, got my 'working clothes' on, and got busy. My wonderful neighbour Chris loaned me his pickaxe, which was a huge help. There I was like Dopey of the Seven Dwarfs with my tool slung over my shoulder walking back across the grass. Unlike Dopey, there was no cute whistling while I worked — it was more grunting and growling with a fair amount of swearing as I pried the chunks out. Some were little and some were not so little.
Not going to lie, I took a sick liking to trying to get the massive ones loose, then bending down, getting my fingers underneath, and heaving them to the side. So satisfying. I was a god. Not a very attractive one — with beet-red cheeks, sweat pouring down my face, and my humidity hair frizzed out the top of my bandana — but a god nonetheless.
By the time Chris came home from work, I had enough pieces to fill his trailer, so we loaded it up piece by piece and off to the dump we went. Three trips in total and all the asphalt debris was gone. A huge accomplishment. According to the weigh scales at the recycling centre, the combined total of the debris came in at around 3,600 kg. Yes — 3,600 kg. No wonder I was a little tired Thursday night. So thankful to have had the help!
Long story short, by the end of it all, Chris had rolled that limestone so much it felt like concrete when you walked on it. The renovation turned out amazing, and I couldn't be more thrilled.
And that's where this little project is at right now. Everything that can be spread and rolled is spread and rolled. But lifting the driveway and clearing the debris was just the beginning. By the end of it all, Chris had given up his time to help his neighbour in need. He didn't have to, but he did it anyway. He saw me working hard and doing my best but struggling, so he pitched in and gave a helping hand. His kindness meant and means the world to me.
It seems like kindness has become a bit of a lost art in this crazy, self-centred world we live in. I wish it would make a comeback, because there is no better feeling than knowing that you've helped someone or made them smile or just given them a little piece of your heart and your love. And that's a good feeling on both ends, whether you want to believe it or not. The more love and kindness you give, the more you receive.
It's like my driveway — cracked, beaten, and worn. It had weathered so much over its life. I don't think it's a coincidence that a piece popped out. I think it was a sign that it desperately wanted and needed some tender loving care and a huge change. And I felt wonderful helping that driveway out. Piece by piece, the old was removed and space was made for something new — a bit of rebirth, well, as much as a driveway can be reborn.
But I think you get my point. Challenging yourself with things that may seem like too much is a good thing. Being open to change is a good thing. Being open to receiving help is a good thing. Returning that kindness with a beer and a bunch of laughs on the back patio is immeasurable. It truly is the little things that make a life well-lived and a legacy born.
So go forth, my friends — be kind, be loving, be helpful. Be the person who sees a neighbour in need and jumps in with both feet, all the while laughing your ass off at her overzealousness as she stands on top of a five-foot pile of dirt with sweat dripping from the end of her nose.