A Good Worker is Hard to Find

Breathing New Life into Granny’s Trailer

These days, it’s impossible to find help for small projects. Everyone wants to build a luxury house from the ground up. Those so-called handymen won’t darken the door, even when you wave cash money.

Finding good help is a problem. Especially for women, and especially in Appalachia.

My husband does not support my renovation project. He believes it’s a waste of time and money. His opinion: the dilapidated thing should be hauled away. Immediately, if not sooner. He doesn’t seem to understand the value of a refrigerator, and more important, bathroom access, for weary farmers such as myself and Poppa.

I’ve always looked at places and things upon whom others have given up hope and thought, I could make that pretty. It’s a weakness, I am certain. I don’t disagree that the project will be difficult; however, I can see the promise in the project. While I would normally agree with my husband, there are too many emotions swirling around this trailer for me to be rational. Granny felt like a substandard person when she lived there. I have vowed to prettify the place and the place needs all the help I can give.

Absent my husband’s assistance, it will be me, myself, and I working on this dream project. And poppa, (age 78 at the time). Poppa can’t wiggle under the trailer like he once could and yours truly is “a-feared” of snakes like you wouldn’t believe.

Enter Cory.

I don’t remember how I found Cory, but I am forever grateful to have stumbled upon him. Evidence of a hard-fought life is written in deep lines across his face and punctuated with the darkness of missing teeth. Those with the mindset of placing identifiers on folks based on outward appearances would place Cory square in the white trash category. It is the “trash” that are some of the best people. If my car runs out of gas; if my house catches fire: if my goats get out at three am, I call those whom others shun. Men like Cory aren’t too proud to work for a lady farmer in the back woods of Appalachia.

Using the word. “roughhewn” to define Cory is an understatement. His unfiltered potty mouth caused me to cringe, but he quickly corrected the crude language. Soon, his exterior softened. I learn he’d moved in with his dad who has end-stage cancer. Someone watched his dad during the day. Cory took the night shift.

Cory’s late model Red GMC pickup had also seen better days. Dented and scratched, and with the back window glass busted clean out because he couldn’t afford to add a head knocker rack, the truck held every possible tool imaginable. Appalachians know you don’t dare peek into the back of a working man’s truck, nor do men borrow each other’s tools.

We walked the exterior of the trailer with me rambling on about how much I wanted to restore the trailer back to her original beauty. Cory sucked on an unfiltered camel and every now and again stopped to rap his knuckles against the exterior or pop a look under the building. We then went inside. I was embarrassed at how she looked. Filthy and rotten floors. Windows you can’t see through. Tattered curtains. I have forgotten the place had been empty for two decades. Someone should have taken better care of the place after Granny died. Sadly, once a building starts getting on the downside of up, people tend to give up.

They do the same for people.

Even though there were places you could fall through the floor, Cory seemed excited at this project. “Not going to be any trouble,” he said. “We’ll get ‘er back in business.”

We agreed with a handshake and he set to work.

I don’t think I fully grasped what the phrase getting ‘er back in business entailed. The following day I checked on Cory. We had snaked an extension cord from the barn so he could run power tools. Perhaps I should have asked beforehand what to expect because when I walked inside searching for him, I discovered the entire backside of the bathroom was gone! I not only could see daylight, I could see the horse pasture and the neighbor’s house!

I fell headlong into a full on panic.

I rushed outside seeking Cory and found him taking a smoke break. He was resting on a knoll, overlooking his work. Quickly, I snapped a photo. Cory wasn’t worried. He was sitting on the ground peacock proud, pleased with what he had accomplished (all in a single day I might add).

Yes, Cory would return her to her former glory. I would just need to stand clear.