Finishing the Ranch Breezeway (and Breaking My Kneecap)
The Knee
Two rebuilds and a hard lesson later, the breezeway’s finished – a process that left me with a fractured kneecap and newfound respect for leveling every inch. The second rebuild, same reason, different section. The lesson, which I now know in my bones and also one specific kneecap: level everything.
Three weeks ago, I caught my foot on a utility room bin, fracturing my kneecap on the concrete floor.
My response was to go kneel inside the almost-finished breezeway for two hours.
The kneecap lodged its objection. I overruled it.
By end of afternoon, I couldn’t walk on it. Couldn’t sleep either. At 6am I gave up, accepted defeat, and went to the ER — where a very patient ER doc used the word “fracture” in a tone that suggested she had opinions about my life choices.
Work stopped. My trip to Portland got canceled. The hardware store guys started asking where I was.
I am choosing to find that charming rather than alarming.
The Part Where I Had to Watch
Jon offered to bring Katie and the girls out. Thank goodness.
They finished the hardcloth installation on the pen and the breezeway while I watched from the sidelines with my leg immobilized and my opinions fully intact.
I am not someone who watches well — I hold the other end of things, offer real-time commentary on whether the measurement looks right, and am, according to James, a delight to work with.
He said it without making eye contact, but still.
But the project was done. The thing I started in the rain, rebuilt twice, planned with an AI who has never touched a power tool, and then knelt on for two hours on a fractured kneecap was finished.
I’ll take it.
First Day in the Pen
I set up a camera on a tripod to document the moment.
Neo walked over, assessed the situation, grabbed the power cord, and pulled the whole thing over in one deliberate motion.
Not an accident. A statement.
Of course he did.
I carefully lowered myself to the gravel — fractured kneecap and all — and took pictures from their level. Which is how I ended up sitting on the ground in the new pen, surrounded by four peafowl, holding my camera with my hands like some kind of tourist.
Neo stood nearby and watched me. He didn’t help.
The birds were cautious. Four birds who had been waiting months for more space, and when they finally got it, they stood at the edge of it like it might be a trap.
Honestly, that was fair.
It took a few days. And then one morning I walked out and all four were in the pen — sitting down, settled, not testing anything.
Just in there. Like they’d always been there.
That was the moment it was complete.
The total cost: one kneecap, one impact driver, a lot of lumber, and way too much time and patience.
Would I do it again? Yes. Minus the kneecap part, and if I’d leveled it to start with.
The kneecap was non-negotiable, apparently.
From the New Pen
Questionable Choice Award
Presented with reluctant pride
This round, the award goes to me. Again.
For the decision — made on a freshly fractured kneecap, in the final stretch of a project that had already been rebuilt twice — to keep kneeling. For two hours. Because almost done felt like a reasonable counterargument to basic structural damage.
The committee would like to note that this is the second consecutive award presented to the same recipient.
The committee would further like to note that this is not a streak anyone should be proud of.
The committee is beginning to wonder if the ranch selects for this, or produces it.
Congratulations, Shandra. The hardware store guys missed you. The birds did not notice you were gone. The kneecap has filed a formal complaint.
If you need me, I’ll be on the couch with my leg elevated, not in Portland, watching the birds on a camera Neo has not yet located — and googling “whether two hours of kneeling on a construction project with a fractured kneecap counts as aggravating the injury or just optimism.”
