Independently Speaking By Brent Olson

Steps

I’m 71 years old this week and I have the front steps to prove it.

That’s not some sort of odd metaphor. Last week I built new front steps and it just about did me in.

Actually, I’m halfway done with them, because, you know, 71.

In a story longer than you’d care to listen to, we had to tear off our front steps so some pleasant young men could pump expanding foam under our patio. Now all the runoff from our roof isn’t funneled directly into our basement.

That job was completed a few weeks ago, but it took a while for the plan for new steps to evolve and fall into place. 

People have been living in some form of houses for 1.8 million years, so there are plenty examples of front steps. Most of them would fulfill the purpose of getting you inside. But I’m at the age where a multitude of endeavors start with me saying, “This is the last time I’m ever going to do this, so let’s get it exactly right.” Winter weather was threatening before I started construction. I could have waited until spring, but our existing steps were a chunk of scrap wood laid on old cement blocks, and that didn’t give off the welcoming vibe I was after.

The plan we settled on started with four 6 x 6 posts, each 115 inches long. You might wonder how much something like that weighs. Well, they weigh about seven pounds more than I can lift. It didn’t get the project off to a great start, and that was before I started kneeling to drill the holes for the concrete anchors.

I thought I was ready for this project because I had, among other things, purchased a new pair of work boots that I could put on without bending over. That did help, but the actual work involved quite a bit of bending over. Bending over, kneeling, walking…any number of things I’m not particularly good at.

It was a little discouraging. Granted, discouraged is kind of my default when I’m building something. I can’t remember the last time I paused in the middle of a complicated job and said, “This is going great!” Now the project-based discouragement is on a new level. 

You need to understand. It’s not like I was building the Brooklyn Bridge. I know carpenters who could have cranked out these steps on their lunch break, while eating a ham sandwich. I hate, so much, feeling limited in any fashion, and having my body betray me with rapidly increasing frequency makes me a little crazy. A couple weeks ago we had to have an aging, broken electronic piano carried out of the house, and I felt very virtuous and mature when I delegated the project to my son-in-law and grandson. But I’m afraid it was only a temporary bit of maturity.

I screwed down the last board needed to make the steps functional about 30 minutes before sunset. It took until well after dark to get all my tools put away and pick up the scraps of wood that shouldn’t be run through a snow blower. I took a long hot shower and a fistful of aspirin before bed. It snowed the next day and it was only a couple more days until I could stand upright and walk like a regular person. The cold moved in with more snow, so it looks like outside construction is done for the year. The steps are only about half done — a railing, roof, and some decorative touches still need to be added, but we can get in and out of the house, so I suppose I need to call it a win.

But I don’t want to.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson