Since the first time my father let me take the old Ford tractor down into the field to pick up potatoes, I have waited for the opportunity to run a piece of heavy equipment. A generation later, as I’m about to build my own house, the first tool is a borrowed Caterpillar 311B. It has 89 diesel horsepower and moves on steel tracks. The cab swivels shockingly fast, swinging its anthropomorphic yellow arm 360 degrees. Its articulating scoop with four stubby, finger-like spikes facilitates the separation from the ground of the tangled tendrils of tree roots. Near about what you might call the lower wrist is a lockable steel thumb, which can be used to pinch monolithic boulders against while lightly plucking them from the ground and stacking them in a row — perfect for driveway making.

After a couple hours I was really into the swing of things. I stopped for only a couple minutes at a time to run up to the old house and grab a seltzer. I needed to work as steadily as I could to get the road established and dig a cellar hole with a daylight basement. Guys who run these machines full time would tell me, “The first ninety hours are fun. Then it becomes a job.” Five days into it and I began to understand that it’s far more of a physical workout than I’d imagined. But now the foundation is ready to be poured and the timbers are awaiting notches. A house begins.