Two Construction Sites

We sat on the beach on a perfect late summer day. In front of us, a group of youngsters had dug a gigantic hole—an absolute crater in the sand complete with steps leading down into it. One of the boys served as foreman, ordering other kids around, suggesting slight modifications to reinforce the structure. He informed everyone the lifeguard told him to expect high tide around 3 PM so time was of the essence. Eventually, two other little girls showed up with their mother, shyly holding pink shovels, hoping to be hired on for the job. Other little girls were on jellyfish reconnaissance, scanning the incoming tide for any of the billowing creatures and then screaming with terrified delight when one appeared. It was a scene of pure childhood joy.

The property next to our home in Ocean Pines has been undergoing major renovation all summer.  The process has been noisy and disruptive. Workers’ vehicles have been parked all over our narrow street. A porta-potty stands in the front yard. We’ve been subject to the sounds of construction—constant hammering, various rumblings of equipment and squeals of drills, blasting radios, and occasional profanity-laced shouts. When we were here earlier this summer, we watched roof trusses being unloaded, and my husband asked one of the workers when the crane would come in to drop them into place. The worker said, “Nah, my guys and me are the crane. We do it ourselves.”  And they muscled those huge trusses above the second floor in the heat of a July day.

Yesterday, the owner of the home told us that shortly after that, five of those same workers were arrested by ICE when they were relaxing at a bar after a long day on the site. The contractor is having trouble finding people to replace them.