=:Monsters:=

And that’s what I was out there to shoot.  I wanted to see this odd thing happen.  So I was waiting around in the yard, just talking to the guys, when I looked up and here was this weird thing happening, way up in the air over my head.

The arm was awakening.

It’s hard to see with this stupid exposure.  But here was this odd, huge, giant thing slowing unfolding itself, miles above us.

It was totally creepy—the movement  slow and deliberate , as though the thing were self aware .

Still pictures (especially really bad ones) can’t really do this justice.  But see the guys?  Even when you’re used to seeing this thing rise and unfold itself, you can’t take your eyes off of it.

You almost want to crouch and hide so it won’t notice you.

And when your first sight of it was RIGHT OVER YOUR HEAD like it was LOOKING DOWN AT YOU, it’s SCARY.  If you size this image up and look at it, you get a better feel for the immensity of the thing.  (This is the point where I noticed the peculiar exposure settings.)

Kind of graceful.  Kind of angular. Incredibly big. Impossibly tall.  And strong—to maintain its own weight at these angles, and then the weight of tons of concrete –

And then it begins to extend itself, like it’s looking for something.

“Ah,” it says, and begins to lower its odd head.  For a moment, it caught in the branches of the tree.  Then, delicately, it moved to disentangle itself and took a clearer path.

(Are you down there, little rabbit?  The raptor is looking for you.)

Over the tops of the trees.

And down to the floor of our little forest.

Honestly, the truck looked like a locust, and this – this thing looked like a giant ova depositor.   The guys were walking around under it, like it was nothing.  But I couldn’t help thinking what a dent it would make in everything if that great thing had collapsed.

This is the nose of the thing.  A rubber udder.

Imagine, as you look at this, the red neck, extending maybe fifty feet above it.

Then this other truck came and fed cement into the first truck.  It all seemed strangely biological.

And the cement began to flow – all the way up that red contraption and over – to shoot out of the rubber udder.  You didn’t want to stand anywhere near it—flecks of cement flew everywhere.  Milking a cement cow.

But it kind of looks like a fun job.  A little urgent, but still fun.

Now here is a sad story.  The puppies are really growing up, and they believe that it is their duty to protect the house from – everything.  When they go out the front door, they send their barks out before them, just warning the bad guys off – then their bodies follow with chests all puffed out  (do NOT mess with us).

But the day Blake first showed up with his giant truck, hauling his huge trailer with the backhoe on it, Tucker had met his match.   Just the rumble of that thing on the road sent Tucker onto the front porch, backed up so far against the house, his tail end was smashed against the storm door.

When I opened the door for him, Tucker shot inside and ran straight up the stairs (where all the bedroom doors are closed – preserving the contents of the rooms from puppy ravishment – so it’s like a cave up there).  That’s where we finally found him.  Looking just like this:

Tucker didn’t come down again that whole day.

Construction has been rough for him.

He was outside when the cement monster came.  Guy found me, shooting my bad images out there in front, and he was concerned.  He couldn’t find Tucker anywhere – inside, outside, front or back.  Finally, he located the puppy.  It was sheer luck that he found him.

And this is where he was:

No dog has set foot in this little house, buried way back in our little thicket, for a dozen years.  But I guess it looked like a haven – spiders and all – to Tucker.  And there he stayed.  And would not come out – not until he could get a straight shot across the grass to the back door.  And once he was inside, he was back upstairs till all the monsters were long gone.

They ran out of cement twice.  You can’t help but feel important when these big trucks keep rumbling down your street, delivering things to you.  So the guy is looking up – like he’s going to be able to tell if there’s any more material in that arm up there.

And the neighbors came to watch it all.  I say neighbors, I mean long-time friends.  This is Jeri, who brought me the eggs.  And Reed, who is the angel of deliverance in our neighborhood – got an emergency?  You find Reed, because he knows what to do—and has the tools.

He is the sweetest man.  He carved that walking stick, and now he’s using it – had his knee fixed a couple of weeks ago.  And I knew he was watching all that business outside, just aching to be out there doing it himself.

Reed was the one who de-mystified the monster for me.  See the guy with the little yellow and gray box, hanging from the strap around his neck?  The one with the red joy stick?  He’s the life of the Red Thing.  He runs it with that little box.  He can move it an inch this way, up a foot, over trees – makes it alive.  Like some incredibly dangerous video game.

Here the guys are, floating the slab.  A few minutes later, these guys were gandy-dancing.  Old, old skills.

And while they did that, the monster withdrew.

And slowly –

Very slowly and neatly –

folded itself away.

They had just beaten that storm.

And once again –

The truck looked like a locust.