Borrr-ing, in a good way

You could hear it purring from a half-block away -- and when you finally saw it, you wondered how it got into that tiny side yard.

Bill Cotton had been called in to drill holes for piers, and he had maneuevered his diesel-powered auger, perched like a little oil derrick on an ancient flatbed, between the sapodilla and the porch and gone straight to work. "I think he could squeeze that thing into a one-car garage," I said to Freddy, the painter. Not a delicate man, and not a delicate machine, but Bill made it dance and shimmy like a finger puppet. Up came the bore. Flick, the debris flew into a neat circle around the hole. Down. Turn. Up. Flick. . . .

The piers have to be anchored in no less than 3 feet of capstone -- and Bill hit cap at about 6 inches. Shorter work than expected. So Brantley and Ref were furiously wiring their rebar sculptures together.

With all that, the inspection is moved up a day, as is the initial pour -- and then maybe we can get the pool dug next week.

By the way, they didn't have to rush to build the forms -- they'd made enough when they set the piers under the house, and the leftovers have been stacked and ready ever since.