A Sunday Contract

Dear Troy and Lyle,

We have been talking for some time of pooling our different skills together for work on each other's homeplaces. What follows are some late-night sketches toward a common contract.

As you both know, we share a long history of tinkering together on projects. The place we rent together outside Lexington in nearby Keene, with its hops deck and vegetable gardens, 22-hole disc golf course and fire pits, is littered with the fruits of our collective labor. And before our time in Keene, there was the six-month long construction of a writing shack—1 foot larger than Thoreau's, though no sleeping loft—over beers and conversation on the Houp property between Wilmore and High Bridge, land that backed up to the palisades of the Kentucky River at the edge of Minter's Branch. And farther back still, before me, there was you and Troy in your late teens, both stuck in Wilmore with a High Bridge state of mind, looking to build your own ways out into the world.

I propose simply to transfer back into our homes the skills we have developed while working together on these projects. Our history together suggests that we have figured out to get along while keeping our hands and minds busy, and to do these things together passingly well: to take joy from our collective work and to make this seem a natural extension of an enjoyable and productive day in Kentucky.

In working together on our homeplaces, we may take advantage of our unique skill sets. Troy's carpentry and general home maintenance skills are much needed at my 100 year old house; Lyle's rockwork and general outdoor landscaping knowledge can be more productively put to use, by all of us, with the addition of some outside muscle (however meager that muscle may be). And as for me, while I offer no specific carpentry or lapidary skills, you know you can count on my steady, if unspectacular, work—to set the bar low, yes, but also to always show up and exert that initial energy to just get the bar set to begin with. Working together, there is no doubt that we may continue to learn and benefit from each other's strengths.

Of course, there are more practical reasons for our trading of our labor. I am speaking of the nice collection of tools that, collectively, we gain access to in working together: rock hammers, trucks, ladders, saws, etc. The greater variety of tools at our disposal means that most jobs don't need to accrue an added tool rental or purchasing expense; since the farm we rent together was, for many years a dump site, we are also well blessed with odd castoff trinkets, like rusted fencerows that make for fine blackberry or bean trellises, that we may find good ways to re-use.

If thus far all of this sounds like too much, well, work, let me here acknowledge that I am only formally recognizing that which we mostly do already. Left unacknowledged up to this point is the immense amount of joy we have gotten ripping apart and burning honeysuckle limbs, collecting rock and building an outdoor oven, and listening to Peanut Houp tell us about the time he got drunk in the navy and passed out on the wrong damn submarine (leading to all sorts of hijinks) while we nailed scavenged black tar oak board pieces—as siding—for a place we simply called the Shack.

And now that we're at it, I should also point out that history dictates that our labor trading days must also involve great meals with family and friends and (occasionally) strangers. Who can forget the garlic soups and rabbit stews of winter, cooked over a small wood burning stove during cold winter afternoons and nights, that were prepared as we cleared a path through honeysuckle to an overlook over the Kentucky River, or the gatherings with Michelle and Julie and Stone and Lisa and Mike and the rest, chowing down on Severn's tomatoes or boiled greens while on break from a disc golf game. I see no reason why cooking would not be incorporated into our days' activities, as a crescendo to the day's relaxed toils.

Just what our toils will be, of course, can always be determined as we go. I know that Troy needs honeysuckle clearance, rock gathering, and a firepit built. Lyle needs help getting his man shack in order. I'd like a shed to house my tools and some semi-skilled maintenance on our house's interior. No doubt, through the many breaks for walks, talks, drinks, and games, we will undoubtedly provide each other interested feedback on the future visions and hopes for our places, our lives.

The work, that is, will no doubt become more valuable to us as it and we age.

If you are interested, I propose we shoot to meet on Sundays. There is nothing intrinsically Right about this time, other than that, at the moment, it seems to fit all our schedules. If this convenience no longer presents itself, we can always choose a different day to try and meet at each other's houses. We can change all the above arrangement, in fact, as our needs and conditions change. We can always be free to opt out.

But at the moment, it just seems right that we extend our friendships to the work we do on our homes.

Thoughts?

best,

Danny

P.S. I can't start next week as I will be attending Keeneland with Troy. We are currently seeking a sober driver for the event.