Maybe Dad was right

Last week was spring break and Maura and I spent it here in Almaty.  The owners of the house, Pietr and Nina, came out and planted an area of bare ground with grass.  It was quite an operation as we skimmed off the first layer of chunky, clunky soil and rocks, and took it by wheelbarrow out to put beside the street.  Pietr said I shouldn’t put it in the potholes because rain would make the mud on the road.  I talked a bit with our neighbor, Gale from Missouri, and we agreed that something was better than nothing—we just have to pack it down very well.  So…I put some out there—luckily not too much—and when it rained on Sunday, the dirt turned to mud.  When I was younger, I watched Dad put sand and gravel on the road, and I think I even asked him why we didn’t put dirt there.  Some people are thick I guess, because I think his answer was that it would make mud when it rains. 

After we took a layer of rocky dirt from the patch of bare ground, Pietr had a truck come in with a load of good dirt and a few bags of sand.  The sand was to make the ground firm when you step on it so as not to make a huge indention when we walk across it.  I’d never heard of such a thing, but it is his house and I want to do anything he asks that will make him happy with us, I’ll do anything to make him happy so he will keep renting the house to the school.