Hard rock and warm fuzzies

Lyle came home for lunch every day last week. In the past decade, I can count on one hand the number of times he's pulled himself away from the office to see me mid-day. But the pizza oven evidently holds a special place in his heart and he can't be away from it for any significant amount of time.

Lyle poured the forms for the oven, grill, and firepit on a day off and then started work on the courtyard early on a Saturday morning.

He carved stones...

He poured, he smoothed, he carved, he poured, he smoothed, he carved....

And called his efforts on the first day good.

Then he had to return to the office and let the work go on without him. It was hard, but with the lunchtime visits, he still felt connected.

Charlie oversaw the work while he was gone and seemed happy with the progress.

And today we've reached the front walk. One more day, and the pouring is done. Then the concrete gets colored, we put down topsoil between the joints, and plant creeping thyme.

Our good friend and concrete genius, Forrest, told Lyle that when he moves, he'll give him his concrete mixer. It was as tender a moment as I've seen in many months.

"Lyle, I want you to have my mixer."

"Oh, no, I couldn't take it."
"I want you to have it, man. There's no one else I'd give it to."

The sun was dropping behind the Olympic mountains and they stood together in silence.

"Thank you," Lyle finally managed, too choked up to say more.