A forgotten dimension

I know why some people around here are opposing the proposed byway around Sandpoint so ferociously. They've taken the time to look over across Sand Creek from the "peninsula," and they don't like what they see. After all, in most cases, our business owners have dedicated huge amounts of money to enhancing their store fronts so that when people drive or walk down First Avenue, they'll be so taken with the charm, they'll have to stop in for a visit.

With the exception of a few restaurants with cute decks overlooking Sand Creek and the nice board walk along the western creekside, our town's back side is pretty "butt ugly," as someone like cowboy cartoonist Boots Reynolds might say. Not much time or money has been invested to beautify the butt end of Sandpoint because ever since they started talking about a bypass (later PC'd to a byway), about the only folks who ever saw that side of the town were employees who parked behind the buildings, the kids jumping off the rope swing, railroad engineers zipping through town or the bums headed for bum jungle. These were not exactly the population segments you needed to please.

Times have changed, or they may---if'n when that byway starts shootin' thousands of cars and those damn stinky cow trucks past Sandpoint, they're gonna look over across Sandpoint's "Sand Creek jewel," see those unkempt buildings and wanta roll on down the byway toward Elmira. I bet that's what those people putting up the fuss are so worried about.

The reason this astounding thought suddenly occurred to me is that my own country back side is enduring an increased amount of exposure, and I don't like it. For nearly 25 years, we had a spot out behind the machine shed where we could stuff all our junk. It first served as a pigpen, but when the last set of pigs gave Bill and Willie such a fit on that rainy day when they escaped their sty just before their planned visit to Wood's Meat Co. and ran all over the gushy, muddy barnyard for more than an hour, Bill just hasn't wanted to buy any more pigs.

So, instead of potential pork, the pigpen has housed a rusty old disk, a beat-up pickup canopy, several decaying cedar posts, and my dad's homemade 10-foot boat. We've thrown so much stuff into that pigpen that the fence surrounding it has fallen apart allowing the junk to start crawling out into the horse pasture.

Until recently we had no concerns about this sight for sore eyes, along with the old-time rake and plow next to the pen which attract inordinate amounts of healthy, golden tansey. We also haven't been too concerned about the east side of the big red barn with its broken windows and blemished board siding (chewed upon by bored horses). But then, Quest Aviation traded some land with us, punched in a road, built some buildings and lured people---other eyes who could view our junk--- to work in those buildings.

No longer can we continue to throw stuff in the pigpen. Almost overnight, it has turned from a rural dumpsite to an urban blight because an increasing amount of people, other than the Love family, can now drive by, look at the once-invisible junk stash and think, "Gawd, what pigs!"

Well, we're trying to do something about it. I'm planning to move the homemade boat to the pond and turn it into a planter for flowers. That canopy will soon go to the dump if Bill ever gets home from his fire duty. Don't know what to do with the old plow and antique rake, but I'll find some place better to store them. I plan to rebuild the pigpen fence and paint it. Have already started repainting the back side of the barn and hope to keep one step ahead of those busy horse teeth.

It's a terrible thing when progress invades and starts revealing one's darkest secrets. We thought our pigpen would be a safe haven for junk forever. And that same longtime Sandpoint attitude is probably precisely why thoughts of the byway make some folks downtown so darned nervous.