Of Rivers and Home Repairs

For several years I've watched cracks in the bottom step of the stairs leading down from our front deck widening, felt the it (and the treads above it, to a lesser extent) sagging further each season under my footfalls.  Last Thursday,  while descending the stairs to go to our shed, roughly the front half of the bottom step broke loose from the beam holding it in place when I stepped on it.  A light kick to the step probably would have splintered off the loose piece entirely.   I didn't fall fortunately, not that I would have been hurt much if I did.  But when the stair cracked I heard my weekend stolen away.   The whole staircase (five steps, plus the stringers framing them) would need to be replaced. 

We plotted out the job and bought our lumber Saturday morning, ripped out the stairs and made some initial cuts in the afternoon and evening.  While tentatively fitting new pieces into the existing deck parts we learned we'd need to make some adjustments we didn't forsee--typical for a project.  Yesterday, following a late start and a return trip to the store, we managed to put the new beams and a few of the steps in place.  We will likely finish tonight, which may be the most notable  aspect of this undertaking.

A lot of projects around our house are "in process."  With some, the process has gone on for years.  My work, Kristine's work and school, periods of disinterest, and, yes, my outdoor pursuits have gotten in the way.  We're trying make headway this summer--living in the state of disorder parts of our house are in is getting old. Frankly, it's becoming maddening.  But things go slowly.

I've commented here on occasion that my compulsion to fish isn't as keen as it used to be.  Presently,  I'd say it's at full strength again.   The few forays for trout and smallmouth I've made this season have whetted my enthusiasm, of course, but lately the contrast between the clutter of home and beauty  of the river world has done so even more.   Fishing at times feels like the sole source of beauty or grace in my life, and the more I confront the shabbiness of my own habitat, the more I want to seek out that of fish, mayflies, swallows, and minks. 

That habitat give an impression of fullness, of completion, markedly in contrast to the ongoing state of incompletion, around my house.  A healthy river (and even the urban Huron largely is one), considered in any given moment, seems to have all it needs--you can see its parts working together to yield an unanswerable vibrancy and presence.  Of course, that's a mistaken impression.  Rivers are the ultimate work-in-process, and to live closely with them means giving over a good deal of one's life, mentally, spiritually, sensorially,  to a process of incompletion.  That process over time often becomes a comfort zone.

I'm not blaming my stalled household projects on my affinity for rivers. But my affinity for rivers may help me to  keep my peace of mind as we  slowly sort out our household disarray.  The current state of chaos around here isn't permanent or ruinous.  Good things still arise from our life despite it.   Kristine and I won't have the home we want if we simply go with the flow of our lives as determined by our jobs or habits, but the presence of things undone need not be a reason for anger  or resignation. Besides, when the projects not yet finished are, others will need doing, just as surely as clouds will gather over a river just shed of a storm.