One of the things that happens here is I let some of the neighbors park their rigs and vehicles in the grassy pasture that is the Compound's parking lot. They mow the grass and all of that in return. But this beneficent arrangement seemed to come to a crashing end today.
There I was on the back deck, scanning Zerohedge, when up come two men in polo shirts with Glocks on their hips, "Sir, can we have a word?" Of course they could and were welcomed into the rural fastness with a sunny hello, "What's up, guys?"
Turns out they were from Code Enforcement, yes, we have such a thing, and someone had the literal brazen temerity to make a formal complaint about the vehicles parked up on the grass. It broke the code and couldn't be tolerated because, you see, the area's zoned residential and enormous lifted trucks and everything else have to be parked on "improved ground," such as gravel.
Huh. I assured the officer that it'd be sorted out before tickets had to be issued or any other equivalent nonsense. So that was good, but what about guns. "How are you finding that Glock?" I asked, glancing down at the fella's two-tone 9mm variant.
"I like it a lot and shoot pretty good with it and you know, it was weird, when I went to the Police Academy, they asked 'how many of you have shot pistols?' and I was the only one in the class who didn't raise his hand because we never had pistols where I was, just shotguns for quail, pheasant and dove. You know what, I ended the course shooting a lot better than some of those country boys because I was taught right, from the start."
Good call. So we talked Glocks and pistols and became friends and off they went into the pastoral hinterland. Flash forward several hours to me getting back from Walmart and there's D, remonstrating in the car park, not a happy man. Code Enforcement had not been kind to him and he was ticked, having put out for local LE & Co a lot over the years. Someone had made a complaint.
We speculated on the identity of this malefactor and he asked me if it was OK to spread some gravel and "improve" the parking zone. "Remember I asked you if I could black-top and you said 'no, I don't want that (well said, LSP, Ed.), get gravel, but I need to get the church's permission.' Do I still need to get that?"
I looked at D, who wasn't very happy, and he looked at me, "You have the church's permission, knock yourself out on that gravel. I'll help you spread it, even." But that wasn't needed, "I've got a tractor at the shop and I'll bring it in tomorrow morning with the gravel. Thanks, man." Thanks indeed, "'preciate you, brother. Come to church, it's about time." He agreed and off we went, friends.
So there you have it. Problem, solution, right here in sunny Texas' North Central Exclusion Zone.
LSP
