Can You Dig It?

Ms. Rachow’s extended play list now includes “Big Yellow Taxi,” Joni Mitchell’s song with the famous line: “Pave paradise and then dig it up.”

The month of March didn’t come in like a lion this year. Rather it arrived via notice that the water main under our street was being replaced.

The first day, workers (graffiti artists) marked where the cable, gas and water lines lay buried. Bright paint against black asphalt made it seem these guys knew what they were doing.

Temporary “no parking” signs went up, and kids on skateboards got busy knocking them down. They’d invented this sport a few months earlier when our street was resurfaced. The flawless boulevard was a sight to behold. One couldn’t help but hum “What a Wonderful World.”

Lowly peon that I am, I dared not entertain the thought that it might’ve been wiser to replace the water main first and then repave. My job as a good citizen was to get into the spirit of living on the movie set of Apocalypse Now.

The high-pitched whine of the asphalt saw heralded the next sunrise. Then, behind it came a yellow digging machine whose dinosaur head stood taller than our house. Kerchunk-kerchunk. It grabbed bites of asphalt and hard-packed soil as easily if it were chomping into a giant sheet cake and then dumped it all into the truck that rumbled alongside.

Given the chorus of bangs and beeps, I figured my dogs would go crazy. But they were blasé about the din. The floor shaking seemed to comfort them. Or maybe they’d perfected the art of astral travel and were really at the beach while appearing to sleep on the sofa.

Since I couldn’t concentrate on anything more complicated than reading my horoscope (Expect big change in your life today!) I decided to stand out front and watch. One workman stood within inches of T-Rex’s head, calmly shoveling up crumbs the big boy had missed.

When the crew took a lunch break, I ventured farther to peer into a trench deep enough to make me woozy, but there was still no sign of a water main. However, I spotted the Cox cable and wondered if the gash in the conduit would have any effect on reception.

Yes, folks, they’d severed the cable line. Not that a person really needs TV and Internet service. Still, I figured it’d be a good idea to call it in.

A fleet of Cox trucks joined the construction crew. I wondered if there’d be a fight in the street, but a smiling cable guy assured me, “Cables get cut all the time.” (Translation: job security.)

The digger kept chomping, and the machines cut and pulled up a giant anaconda of iron pipe that had to weigh tons. Then they laid beautiful, blue, indestructible plastic pipe in its place.
The machines rumbled on, beeping and filling the trench with fresh soil. I heard a sound like a news helicopter flying overhead and wondered if our street project had made CNN. Turns out it was just the earth tamping machine whop-whop-whopping away. They covered the compacted dirt with heavy steel plates until it could be paved.

Five AM the next morning I went out with a flashlight to see if the newspaper had come. I saw the mighty Mississippi rushing down our street. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the water main had broken above where they’d begun digging, and this project had just expanded.

The roar of the water under the steel plates was impressive, and the fresh dirt from the trench had already been deposited on the once beautifully landscaped yard down at the corner.

For a moment I enjoyed the idea of waterfront property. Then I dialed 911. The operator who answered wasn’t overly impressed with a “city works” call but said she’d let the department know.

Next time I call 911, I’ll be a bit more dramatic: “Tsunami…possible drowning victims…open trench the size of the Grand Canyon!”

Soon city works engineers joined the construction crew and cable guys. They shouted about needing female adaptors and male adaptors, and considering how these guys were all pretty cute, I found this talk very entertaining.

There were more days of whirring, whining, rumbling, beeping and kerchunking. Everything that broke got fixed. The new main was connected. All the remaining holes were filled, and the final paving job began. I knew things were winding down when the driver of the asphalt truck was able to get a lunch-hour nap.

The job ended a week early, and now the silence is deafening. True to tradition, March goes out like a lamb.

First published in the Montecito Journal March 26, 2009