How to make friends in Newfoundland... NOT!!!

Anybody who knows me well enough is completely aware of what kind of person I am. Somewhat assertive (which can also be called "bitchy"), passionate, caring, understanding, demanding... yeah yeah... Y'all know this already.

So the other day I noticed a pair of motorbikes zooming around on the hill over the ridge. For the record, the ridge, while a public-right-of-way, is on our property. There's tons of blueberries growing up there! There's also tons of blueberries growing flat on the ground all over the property next door! Seriously, good pickin'!! These bozos are not only trespassing, but they're squashing all the lovely blueberries!!! Aaagh!!!

The bozos drove off after a couple more swoops. They just ... vanished...

A day later as I was walking the trail to the Big Beach, I found where the bozos entered and exited the hill. From Lower Street, onto our property, up the hill. They're trespassing!!! Aaaaagh! I'm going to have to get more of those big rocks put down there to stop the damn trespassing bikers!!

Well, yesterday the damn bozos were zooming across the hill on their motorbikes again. C'mon, Paul... come with me. I don't normally think I need a man, but I wanted an "INTIMIDATOR" with me. Paul makes a good one cuz he's big and brawny.

I dashed over our hill, across and up where the damn bikers had laid tracks through our place, caught sight of the devastated hillside they've been ravaging with their damn bikes and just gasped in dismay! Flattened brown grass everywhere! They must've been there for weeks trampling everything in sight! The blueberry plants don't stand a chance! Damn those bikers!!!

I wave my arms as the bikes turn in my direction.

"STOP!!!" I shout.

They stop. "Where are you from?" I holler. "Do you even belong here? Do you even know that you're destroying somebody's property?"

I may have thrown in some F-sharps and other assorted sharps. Hey. I was pissed!

The bozos remove their helmets. They're kids. A boy and a girl. Maybe 10 to 13 years old. They point shakily to the south. Right at the faded green house on the property in question.

Oops... New neighbours.

Daddy comes roaring up the hill in full bellow (no, not on a bike). "What're you doing to my kids?!?!"

Oy...

I have to admit that I let my temper carry me along for a little while. I was so totally pissed at the destruction on the property, the loss of the blueberries (those lovely blueberries!!!) that I'd very proprietarily taken an interest in for the last 4 years. (The house has been vacant and up for sale since before we moved here.)

Also, myself and the guy on the other side of the green house have been the de facto neighbourhood watch committee, making sure that nobody vandalized the place or set fires on the property!

For all I knew, these were trespassers. I hadn't seen any signs of life other than the bikes!

I justified my actions. Apologized a couple of times. Not with any real degree of skill or grace, mind you. Have I mentioned that I was pissed?

Father of children expresses his desire that we get off his property. Points out the property line, saying that he owns the hillside up to the top. It seems that he's implying that he owns the bushes... No no... The  top of the hillside is ours! Not his! Yes, it's a public right-of-way, but it belongs to us. Pedestrians are okay, not bikes. (blueberries proliferate on the rocky soil up there!!!)

We turn to leave. Paul tries to lighten the situation by speaking gently to the man. I glower. I'm good at it.

Uh-oh... here comes grandma! Grandma is the woman I'd met last fall on the hillside. (She was on our side, picking blueberries. We'd been friendly, I thought.)

She's roaring. The kids are traumatized. Some crazy lady was swearing at them. *sigh* I apologize again. I explain myself. Again.

She doesn't care about the blueberries. "Blueberries are the last thing I'm worried about!" she says.

Looking at the destruction of their property, I guess she's decided to turn her place into a trail biker's training ground. *sad*

Not finished, Father mentions the public right-of-way. Pointing at the rocks. Paul gently points out that the rocks and right-of-way intersect at the fence of the house down on Lower Street. No more public access through since somebody built the house.

Grandma says that's stupid. I say "welcome to Newfoundland."

Kids aren't to be on our property with their bikes. Father and Grandma look at each other and agree to talk to the kids about it.

Paul and I trudge down the hill, then around and back to our house. I wish he'd been quicker on his feet so he could've prevented me from putting mine in my mouth so firmly.

I think I'll bake some pie and deliver it to the house along with a crazy-lady apology card.

Not blueberry though.

The new storage container...

We decided that we'd like to have a "new" set of patio-type furniture for our back deck. The old plastic adirondack chairs we brought with us from Manitoba are faded and a greenish residue rubs off on clothing. No need for brand spanking new. We were going to look for used stuff. We found some at a yard sale. Yahoo! Metal chairs and a glass-topped table. The chairs come with comfy cushions! Very nice.

Problem arises. They're cloth and not water-resistant. Hmm... we could put them in the house. No... that's not a good idea. We could put them in the extra-large-humongous dog crate that's still sitting on the deck. Hmm... it's got holes for ventilation and the cushions are still getting wet... I know!! We should get a box for the deck! Yeah!!!

So... off to Kent Home Hardware. I know they've got just what I need! Tra-la-la... skipping happily into Kent and checking out their storage bins. I played a version of Three Bears with the display models. This one is too small. This one is too short. This one is just right, but it's real flimsy. Hey! Looka there! This one is beeyootiful! It's big. It's solid. It will easily take on the job of blocking the wind from the barbecue (the only reason the dog crate is still on the deck).

I'll take it!

I get it home. The Mook and I wrestle the light but unwieldy box from the SUV to the deck. Unload groceries, eat lunch, go back outside to ... Da-da-da-daaaaa!!! Build the storage box!

Open the box. Remove pieces and lay them out on the deck for assembly.

One base - check
One lid - check
2 doors - check
2 doors - ... wait a sec...
Where's the sides???

Read the assembly instructions again. Yup. I'm supposed to have 2 doors and 2 sides.

Look at pile of pieces on the deck.

4 doors.

Houston, we have a problem.

Phonecall to Kent.

This was the last box, aside from the floor model. None available at the other Kent location.

For me, the solution was easy:

"Fire that floor model over to me this afternoon and your boys can pick up the defective model."

Success.

It's raining cats and dogs today. I'll check the cushions tomorrow. See if they're still dry.

Go Hero HD Helmet Cam Durability Field Test

Paul got a sweet little camera that comes with a waterproof case and some very interesting mounting hardware. He's used it a couple of times while dirt-biking. This excerpt is from his first trip out (I think?). The editing was done using iMovie on the Macbook. Too funny! I've gotten a giggle out of it every single time I've played it... like half a dozen times by now!

Enjoy!