Men From Duncan

 By Maryanna Gabriel

My writing teacher and mentor, Jane Silcott, suggested this title when I relayed to the class what I was going through. Not that I am ungrateful. They came right away. I had been given the word. The septic was over forty years old and was crumbling. It was time. The news was as exciting as being told I need root canals in every molar. Worse actually. Gritting my teeth, I proceeded. 

It was a shock. What I was being told, and what was happening, was at variance. The amount being excavated grew bigger and bigger. The land that I had carefully nurtured was torn up. I was hoping the trees would withstand the shock for I was barely managing. 

The day after this happened, I looked out my window and saw an enormous crane. I didn't know that was coming either. A sizable rig was lifting a concrete tank into the ground. One neighbour dropped by in alarm. Four men proceeded to lay pipes and while I graciously made cookies and served coffee, I want you to know I managed to maintain calm. 

It is over now. They are gone and I can flush with aplomb. It rained last night and settled the dust. I am glad it is over and I won't be forgetting the men from Duncan in a hurry. Whew.