Last year, after purchasing our land we set out to get three things done before permanently setting up shop: water, electric, and a storm shelter. Getting the electric installed was largely in the hands of the bank, as they had to send contracts and land tract information to the electric company. The other two projects involved digging. Lots and lots of digging.
In order to use our little house as a temporary residence, we need to have a permit. I knew this from reading through the building codes. I didn't see anything that prohibited us from storing it on the land so we moved it out there and used it largely to store our equipment. There were also three separate non-consecutive nights where we slept in it since we were tired and didn't feel like making the forty minute drive back to the house only to turn around and drive back the next morning. In my mind that's not using it as a residence, that's camping on my own damn land (but, admittedly, I may be have been stretching things a bit).
The morning after that last over-nighter, I rolled out of bed and started some breakfast over a campfire. As I was finishing up the eggs, a white pickup rolls up the driveway. A man gets out, identifies himself as being with the building department, and informs me that I am in violation of zoning regulations.
This was an absolute nightmare scenario for me. I had planned on setting up a meeting with the building department when we were ready to start applying to for permits. I wanted to talk about our plans and get to know the inspectors. Instead, here I was, filthy from the previous day's digging, hair a mess, in my PJ bottoms and scroungy t-shirt being told that I was doing something illegal. The only way it could have been more uncomfortable is if there had been a dead hooker or some blue meth sitting nearby.
I tried to explain what I was doing but he told me that a "neighbor" had called to complain and had said we were living out there. I'm still floored that not even a month into working some nosy son-of-a-bitch had to run and tattle on us for working on our own damn land.
So rude.
So we had to move the little house, which cost us money. We had to pay rent on it's new location. We stopped working on the water main trench and storm shelter until we got everything sorted out (neither one needed a permit. we knew that). By the time everything was sorted, the trench and the shelter excavation had filled with rain and the trench had mostly collapsed in on itself. All in all, it was an expensive pain in the butt over nothing.
Something about being run off of the land that we had worked so hard to make our own triggered a territorial response in me. I felt that I needed to leave behind a symbol of defiance. Something to mark my claim. Something that said I would not be cowed. I considered leaving a flock of pink flamingoes behind, but that seemed a little cliche. A little pedestrian. I needed something that said, "I'm an adult, and I do what I want!"
So I got out some plywood and some masking tape and began to pixel-art.
... and I art-ed some more...
Jack supervised.
Finally, Edgar the Piranha Plant was installed next to our driveway. He will be where we display our building permits (as they ARE required to be displayed, you see), and he will tell the world that we are totally adults and we WILL do what we want. Nosy neighbors be damned.
