#street pavers

[zerotide]

Exterior - Traditional Exterior Inspiration for a large timeless brick exterior home remodel

[raininginthenight]

Traditional Landscape Chicago Inspiration for a large traditional full sun front yard brick driveway in fall.

[meridabears]

Driveway Driveway An illustration of a sizable, conventional, front yard brick driveway in the fall

[metenee]

Traditional Landscape - Brick Pavers Inspiration for a sizable traditional brick driveway in the front yard in the fall.

[vampiricallyxspeaking]

Brick Pavers Front Yard in Detroit

Inspiration for a mid-sized modern full sun front yard brick landscaping.

[unicefindia]

Brick Pavers - Front Yard

Photo of a mid-sized transitional partial sun front yard brick garden path in spring.

[swashbucklerswan]

Chicago Front Yard An example of a large traditional full sun front yard stone landscaping in fall.

[aspoonfulofwitchcraft]

Garage Medium in Philadelphia Example of a mid-sized classic garage design

[wuahae]

btw part of me still thinks that the gravity teaser shouldve been the [SPEECH GARBLED] scene . as a treat 👍🏼 attention to all wuahaenators this one is a doozy for real … — ari (this is me generating hype btw)

YOU ARE SOOOOOFJSNFKSNF you Know i couldn’t………..anyway thanks for trying to generate hype btw it’s like when you skip a rock and in the ocean and it sinks /j

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {6}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: For once things run smoother than planned as you introduce Charles and Lando to your mother. Warnings: 18+ only, light angst, fluff WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

The tiny village of Wickford had been your sanctuary since you first moved there at ten years old. Your mother had thought the sleepy little town would be good for you after the news of your parentage became public knowledge and the place you loved most was suddenly suffocating. She thought some time away from the karting world would be best.

Arriving back in the town that never seemed to change eased the ache in your chest that had been there since Max opened his mouth. It wasn’t gone completely and you weren’t sure it ever would. Of all the things he could have said, he knew that would hurt the most because you loved your mum above all else. She was your biggest supporter even if she couldn’t come to the races.

The Range Rover Lando had hired after landing in Southend should have been inconspicuous but when the majority of the town drove a Vauxhall it caught the attention of the teenagers lingering on High Street. You only hoped the windows were tinted enough to keep your arrival private for a little longer - but it was only a matter of time before word got out. It always did.

The drive had been quiet as you sat in the back seat with Charles, resting your head on his shoulder after the tears had run dry. The only time you spoke was to give directions to the small two bedroom bungalow on the quiet cul de sac that had remained your home at heart even after moving to Monaco. 

No amount of money offered could get your mother to move, you had tried. You had offered to buy her sprawling estates that had names instead of street numbers, you had offered her luxury apartments, you would have offered the world - but she was happy in the home she had worked hard to buy, and had worked harder to keep over your head when times were tough.  

“It’s cute,” Lando said with a smile as he pulled into the driveway. 

The agapanthus plants that lined the garden were budding with big heads of flowers and it was overgrowing onto the driveway, brushing the sides of the SUV. Trimming the plants was always your chore as a teenager during summer break and you hated it, complaining the entire time about how unfair life was. It didn’t seem so bad now.

The weathered front door opened before the car even came to a stop and you felt lighter the moment you saw your mum step out, a welcoming smile on her face. The engine had barely turned off and you were out of the car, expertly dodging the pavers that never sat level and into her open arms. 

Flour dusted her clothes, a damp tea towel hanging on her shoulder and the mouthwatering smell of fresh baking clung to her as you hugged her tight.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked as she pulled back and held you at an arm's length to see your face. “You haven’t hugged me that hard since you moved out.”

Her eyes darted to Lando and Charles as they climbed out of the car and you could see the question in her eyes. “Not them,” you said as you shook your head. “I hope it’s alright if they stay with me? We can get a hotel if not.”

“Nonsense, we can make space,” she reassured you with a squeeze before you felt a hand on the small of your back. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Don’t let her fool you, she knows exactly who you are and probably all your stats too,” you said over your shoulder. 

“I’m allowed to keep an eye on your competition, honey.”

“I’m Charles, and it’s lovely to finally meet you,” he said as he offered his hand.

“Please, any friend of my daughter gets a hug. You too, Lando,” she laughed as she opened her arms for them. “You must be special, she never brings anyone to meet me,” she whispered loudly.

“Mum…”

“What? It’s true. The last person you brought here was Max. Oh, speaking of, he called wanting to know if you were here.” Before you could open your mouth she held a hand up. “I figured if you didn’t tell him where you were it was because you didn’t want him to know.”

“Thank you,” you sighed with relief, unconsciously leaning into Lando’s side. 

“You can tell me what’s going on over a nice cuppa tea and a muf- shit, my muffins.” She was quick to turn and dart back in the house, leaving Charles and Lando quietly laughing beside you. Since you weren’t going to be getting a hotel, Lando grabbed the suitcase from the back of the SUV before heading inside the modest home.

“So you didn’t get your cooking skills from her,” Charles teased as he inhaled the sweet scent of berry muffins filling the entrance hall. 

“Depends if she burned them or not,” you said, only half joking. 

“Woah, it’s little Spitz!” Lando stopped in front of the wall that was covered in portraits from being a baby through to winning F2. “Where’s the rest?”

“Jos is always at the races,” you murmured, “and he has a restraining order.”

Charles’ eyebrows lifted at the news and he understood even more why you disliked seeing him at each one supporting Max.

“Apparently trying to get the child support owed is classed as harassment,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “We really put the fun in dysfunctional family.”

Lando snorted but once he started laughing he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry, it’s really not funny.”

You had seen him laugh enough in interviews to know it’s what he did when he felt awkward and didn’t know what to say. “Did you want to put our luggage in our room? It’s there, second door on the right.”

He gratefully took the escape you gave him and wheeled the suitcase down the hall as Charles continued his way along slowly, taking his time to see how you had aged over the years. “Oh my god, this has to be my favourite,” he said pointing to a particularly bad photo. “Why don’t you style your hair like this anymore?”

“Ha-ha, not all of our mothers can be hairdressers. You must be the only one on the grid that hasn’t had one bad hair style,” you huffed playfully before pointing to the photo of your first karting race. “This is mine.”

Charles stepped closer to see the wide smile you had with your helmet tucked under your arms and your two front teeth missing. You had kept the coins the tooth fairy left you in a savings jar so that you could pay for the fuel for the race. At one point you could remember considering pulling out another tooth that wasn’t wiggly just so you could afford a replacement part.  

“You’ve come a long way, amour,” Charles said proudly as he pulled you under his arm and kissed your temple.

“Charles,” your mum called as she stuck her head into the hall as held out a jar of jam. “Could you be a dear and open this for me, please?”

Slipping from your side he went to help your mum while you went to check in on Lando. He hadn’t made any progress at unpacking when you found him standing in front of your closet, his fingers tracing the pencil marks on the door jamb. 

“I can’t ever remember you being this short,” he said as you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your cheek in the dip between his shoulder blades. “Your presence always seemed bigger, I was so intimidated by it.”

You chuckled a little at his admission. “I couldn’t let anyone see how petrified I really was. Mum called it my brave face. I guess she couldn’t really say bitch face at that age.”

Turning in your arms, Lando cupped your face and tipped it back to meet your eyes. “I like brave face better.” Rising on your toes, you closed the distance between your lips and kissed him softly. 

“Lunch is re-” Your mother came to a halt in the doorway but neither of you made an attempt to hide what she had obviously seen. “Sweetheart, can we have a word?”

You chewed your lip as you nodded and stepped out of the room to see Charles was in the hall behind her but he slipped into the bedroom to give you a sense of privacy while still being close enough to step in if needed. 

It was impossible to get a read on your mother’s face as she opened the linen closet in the hall, effectively blocking them from sight, and she started piling blankets into her arms. 

“Honey, I’m not one to tell you how to live your life but I saw the pictures of you and Charles together, and the little moment you had in the hall. So please tell me you’re not planning on breaking his heart? He looks absolutely besotted with you.”

You smiled at the thought and shook your head before looking at her with a nervousness you had never had when telling her the truth. “I’m not planning on breaking either of their hearts,” you said after swallowing the wave of nausea that rose with your trepidation. She had been the first person you told when you had your first kiss, she had been the one you called when you got your first period. There had never been secrets between the two of you and you didn’t want to start now. “I love them, mum.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t string them both along-”

“No, mum, I love them both.” You stared at her as she blinked slowly once, then twice. On the third blink her eyes widened and she nearly dropped the blankets she held. “It also helps that they love each other too.”

You gave her a moment to process her thoughts but when you counted to ten and she still hadn’t said anything the sickening churning in your gut nearly sent you running for the bathroom. “Mum?” She looked at the blankets and silently placed them back on the shelf. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, mum, I didn’t plan to but they make me unbelievably happy.”

“I’m not disappointed, just surprised,” your mum said softly as she closed the linen cupboard and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “I want you to be happy, honey, that’s all any parent wants for their child…I guess it saves me making up the rollout bed.”

You choked out a laugh, grateful that she could accept the news and crack a joke at the same time. “I can stop feeling sick now.”

“As long as you’re not pregnant. You are being careful, right?”

“Yes, thank you for your concern,” you muttered sarcastically. “I really don’t want to talk about this again.”

“You skipped the talk last time,” she reminded you and you remembered feeling the need to escape.

“For good reason too! You tried to tell me your ‘sexual experiences’ but as far as I am concerned you had sex once to make me and that’s it.” 

Her laugh filled the hallway and she clutched her chest. “Oh, darling, you have no idea.”

“I do not need to hear anything else.” You stuck your fingers in your ears as you retreated to your bedroom but her laugh still taunted you when you closed the door behind you. Leaning against the cold wood you met your boyfriends’ amused faces where they sat on the bed and pretended to shiver in disgust. “Gross.”

Lando was the first to rise and he placed his hand above your head as he leaned in with a grin. “That went well.”

“Surprisingly,” you admitted with a giggle of relief. “Though Max set the bar of expectation really low.”

Charles wrapped his arms around Lando’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder with a smile that you returned. “I missed this smile,” he commented quietly as he reached out to trace your lips. “When I see it, I know everything is right in the world.”

“Well, not everything,” Lando stated, earning a pinch to his nipple from Charles. “What? It’s true. We are going to face Max in nine days, that's a fact.”

You sighed at the best case scenario, because you could be called to Milton Keynes at any point before then too. “Then how about we make a deal and not mention it? Let me bury my head in the sand for as long as I can.”

“Deal,” Charles agreed before you both stared at Lando, waiting for his answer. 

“Fine, deal, but I want it noted that this was peer pressured.”

“So sassy,” you said as you grabbed his shirt and pulled him flush against your body. “Now seal it with a kiss.”

Click here for part seven.

[annunen]

Aleksander Barkov gets recognition in Urheilugaala💙

Sasha was just awarded the title of "Athlete of the Year" in the Finnish sports gala! He is the first ever hockey player to receive the title. Tuomo Ruutu announced the win to him and the other Finns of the Panthers. Sasha is very honored but stays humble as always. In his place receiving the trophy at the gala was his first coach Timo Mäkinen. video and article (in finnish)

Lifting the Stanley Cup as the captain of the Panthers won the award of "Most memorable sports moment of the Year" at the gala!

The Finnish sports journalist association also listed the best athletes of the year in 84 different sports. Barkov naturally won the title of the best hockey player of the year.

Before the Finnish Independence day in December, the Knighthood of the Finnish Lion awarded the Knight's medals for dozens of successful and honorable Finns - and one of the recipients on that list was Aleksander Barkov.

And for one more recognition, Barkov has been nominated for "Tamperean of the year" by the local newspaper. He won that title in 2013 - i will update on how this year's vote ends! His old mentor-teammate-bestfriend Ville Nieminen played "stunt double" in his nominee introduction video. Highly recommend watching, it's funny and he sounds incredibly proud of this city. (It's subtitled!)

Below: Athlete of the Year trophy, the Knight's medal, Tamperean of the Year trophy (yes it's a rock. it's an old street paver from the city centre)

[em-ira]

From The Human Realm Spiderweb thing, the Internet.

Welcome to Historic Gravesfield

We invite you to come to Gravesfield and visit one of Connecticut’s oldest established townships.

Gravesfield is deeply devoted to preserving our authentic New England heritage, now over 375 years in the making. Heritage tourism is an important component of the community’s identity.

We think you’ll find that the Historic Gravesfield district has many things to offer visitors from an extended weekend getaway to a pleasant day trip. Visitors to Gravesfield can rediscover our nation’s heritage in an authentic, living New England village whose artifact-rich museums, historic homes, shops and places of interest offer experiences for all ages.

Walking along these quiet streets, with brick-paver sidewalks shaded by mature trees, you’d never know you were just a stone’s throw from busy I-91. The historic district of Old Gravesfield is a little world unto itself.

One early building is the old Wittebane House on Main Street. Believed to be built in the 1650s, it’s the setting for the historic mystery of the Wittebane Brothers, who both mysteriously disappeared during the 1662 Hartford witchcraft hysteria, the first widespread witch panic in New England history. There is a statue, reputed to be of the Wittebane Brothers, in the town square.

Two separate but equally disturbing incidents triggered the panic: the “diabolical possession” of Hartford resident Ann Cole and the fatal illness suffered by eight-year-old Elizabeth Kelly.  Young Kelly’s damning last words “Goody Ayers chokes me!” were enough to set witch accusations flying.  In all, eight people were formally charged; three, and possibly a fourth, were executed. 

The disappearance of the Wittebane Brothers occured at a high point of the witchcraft hysteria.

The legend that is most often cited these days recounts that one brother had got involved with a witch, and had been spirited away by them. In this story, the other brother is reputed to have followed after the witch and his brother, in an attempt to save him.

Whatever the truth of the mysterious disappearance of the brothers, the story has continued to excite interest in the centuries since. The statue being erected by public subscription in 1866, to commemorate the township's involvement in the witch trials.

The fund also opened a new subscription lending library in a building near the church.

[extravagantliar]

The pavers are uneven in this part of Lowtown; they end up loose, and people pry them out of their spots and sell them if they can. It’s why the carts only go so far before people carry things by hand. He cannot remember why he’s down here. He can; it’s just muted by the buzz of people, muted by the things and the how of his fair city. There is chatter he has not heard before, and the air is still kissed by sea and less and less by chokedamp; it is home. It is a bustling section of Kirkwall spun to life nearly as if there is the gold and silver thread that runs through his clothes keeping her together; the pavers are still uneven as he walks, finishing up the job of picking up papers for Bartrand, another thing.

Lowtown is alive in the worst ways. He sidesteps someone throwing something out over the street, and it cascades down, running over the stones and sticking in those open spots. Someone else is shouting about some fresh meat, someone else about fried bread and other wares, more chatter as he pushes his way through, knowing these streets better than the words in a book he should know better, finances he should know better, and jobs he should be more mindful of, but instead he’s pushing the doors open to a familiar tavern, smoke filling his lungs, shavings and hay on the floor, a risk to open flame sitting too close on a table - another kind of home. His name is said repeatedly as he ducks in, down and around, avoiding folks who only ask, and he avoids most - only taking a moment or two with someone he knows, but he pushes through that, finding a table well worn, empty, save for a redhead nestling a tankard. 

He has papers in his hand for Bartrand, but Aveline sits at a table already worn. He already knows her name, but the documents in his hands are a mess of words, something he cannot read, but he knows what they are - they’re for Bartrand, processing paperwork, an estate closed - a body burned. It hits him in the lungs; it hits him like someone has meant to knock the air out of him, like all the people who have tried to do it in this bar, like the man who nearly caved his skull in one time in Lowton, and things are wildly out of order. Aveline is too old for this to be a memory, and the documents in his hands are the very ones on a desk lost in the Frostbacks, reminding him he sold that part of the estate for the docks, new pavers, and lumber.

This isn’t real; it never happened, as Kirkwall lies wasting away, Aveline handling the shit while he’s toiling in the muck, but she’s sitting there and looks right at him. “How did it go?”

“Swimmingly.” He answers, words are his, but it is more like he’s moving as if he’s a part of a play, just in a part, as if these are lines said over and over. “Building on Moors sold, and I closed Bartrand’s account; we can manage even if Highland pulls her money out of the banks.” 

“That’s not the worry, Dwarf.” Aveline sighs, and she lets go of the tankard, but she doesn’t still, instead she starts peeling the gauntlets from her hands, and he ends up settling in front of her, watching her movements, the gauntlets coming apart as her tale unfolds. “Even with the money - that does not quell the issue of the Chantry.”

“Hawke’s gone, Red, they’ve been gone for - ” He guffaws at Aveline a moment, and he fears it will not stay boisterous. Feeling that deep down, the following words would strangle him, and he would nearly choke as if he had to say those words to himself, to not stumble and fall over them, to impale himself and spill his blood, his thoughts, his whole being out and all over the table. But he does not - the story goes on, the laugh dies, and he does not stumble over the words; instead, the pause comes off as reflective. “Years, long enough for it to not matter - shit is kicking off in the South, they should worry about that.” 

“Hawke isn’t there?”

“No, it’s why I’m being interrogated.” 

“Then why is the Chantry on all sides of us?” 

“Because I’m a liar.” 

“Varric.” 

“They want to starve us out.” 

“What?”

“It’s a march, Aveline. A soft-handed one - we have a Seeker here interrogating me, the docks are a mess, so post people at the gates - we can’t get people in or out.” They never had this conversation, this he knows, as Aveline shakes her head, digesting his words and the tempo of the bar. The populace is happy; the city is bright - so they are doing this quietly. They are talking in the dark, and it all dims on them as if there is a spotlight and Aveline is playing through the motions on a stage. “What does Bran think?” 

“He’s petrified; he has no Chantry Mother and no real power to negotiate with.” 

“The election?” They never had an election; someone was stuck somewhere and couldn’t get in due to the dock, and he had been placed on a boat before they could all choose anyone but Bran, but it came out of his mouth like it was natural, like it has been discussed before. His body moves, pulling the tankard to him. Aveline looks at him unimpressed but does not admonish him for flagrant sticky fingers - her gauntlets come down on the table.

“Next week. Are you going?” 

“Might as well, someone has to clean up.” 

“Varric.” 

The tankard comes to his lips, and he’s reeling. The beer tastes like nothing, near the truth of what was any swill from The Hanged Man, as was most of the warm drink of Kirkwall. 

“If you go.” She pauses, and her hand comes to the table, grabbing his attention, grabbing his eyes. They are looking at one another, juxtapositions of justice and mercy, vengeance and cruelty - and he knows the words before Aveline speaks them, before they even leave her lips as if he knows the script but cannot deviate from it. “If you go, you will be elected.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Varric.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to die that badly?” He laughs. The world shifts around him. It isn’t real, yet it feels like such; it is the same look to the bar, the same worn look that Aveline gave him time after time, just his mind mending the gaps, giving her age, talking about things still ongoing in letters, the bottom falls out, and the lights flicker around him. 

There are words that fade among that laugh, and the lights flicker with it, again. Rather than a proper ending, he moves up the stairs, walking to that old room; instead, that does not lead to a room, it leads down a long hallway, greying out to a world lit to fire, a Kirkwall lost to a blaze, a Kirkwall that falls long under three dark shadows, cast wide at his feet and it is the noose likely looking for him, an axe seeking his neck. He moves as if he cannot stop, and he is led to the echo of Aveline’s words, a choir of whispers of his ineptitude, the way he leads them all to death, a dirge somewhere far off. 

Do you want to die that badly?

He knows all of those words would have been true; he would have walked that path that would have become a long shadow looming, and he finds himself falling against the darkness, against the moor, against the fever of his mind. He remembers magic; he remembers something settling hot in his stomach, making him ill as he hit different pavers, as he clawed at different stones and skittered off lost to the throngs of people, lost to the crowds of dying, mourning and grieving in Adamant. He barricaded himself somewhere dry, somewhere warm enough as that heat in his stomach became physical, leaving him with the fever that now runs through his mind, his veins as his mind crafts something else as he falls and keeps falling. 

Those words - Do you want to die that badly? 

No, but there are three long shadows of his family, of his city, of all the places he still has to go, all the muck he will still need to wander and wade through, all it still churning - the nightmare of facing death and what was still to come. 

The long shadow left by Hawke, by the Inquisition, and even by the very people who wedged themselves past those walls, finding the inner circle of a tender and bruised heart. Those shadows always twist, but he moves, stepping away; shadows always have a light source.

There are other echoes as he finds himself piecing it together bit by bit, another place coming to mind, another place in Kirkwall, another person he nearly wanted to summon, rather they were gone, locked against this place, and he cannot even summon them here, as if he’s not able to control his own dreams, the word he doesn’t want to give it as it feels like hell, it is something more of a nightmare and he has to be a puppet along with the next piece, a meeting - Bartrand, and that too ends - that too ends in blood, rather than a bolt in Bartrand in a manor he has long locked, he watches his brother bleed out, a face flickering to Hawke, to everyone else, to his mother, to Aveline, to those waiting on him in Adamant. There is that sick drop again, no wailing, no, he just falls, and the blood on his hand comes to gloves, and Bianca is back in his hands, and there is snow on the ground. 

Yet, he is pulled back. A hand is in the back of his jacket, pulling him out from danger, pushing him aside as a barrier is cast wide, and it feels differently this time; it feels wildly like a quick calm, a beat on the streets of Kirkwall, and he turns and faces the elf. This he knows, but all of this has been wildly out of order. 

“You are wildly out of place, Master Tethras,” Solas states, as if he can see this is somehow out of sorts. “Perhaps, a remnant of the fade, latent magics.” 

“I’m dreaming.” He simplifies. This time, he can speak outside of turn, as if he understands this a little better. “This shit is weird.” 

Haven no longer exists; it hasn’t for some time. 

“Then wake up.” 

“Wonderful idea.” 

That earns him a frown and a push away again, still somewhere under the barrier of that spell. “You always have a choice to wake up.” Just like a spell, those words push him. 

Breath catches, and he sits up, sweat still on his skin, and he blinks, coming to somehow, running through everything a hand on his pack, on his jacket, finding a bit of parchment, finding bits of notes, coin, his cards - the joker is pulled first, turning over in his hands, he is the fool, just like the card and it is tucked away. 

He’s still sick, but he is awake, so he moves out of that tent and finds somewhere else.

[briarpatch-kids]

Anything you’ve done to make your garden more accessible? I don’t garden since I don’t even have a balcony but I have two tiny plants my friend gifted me. A pothos which is THRIVING and a spider plant which I dropped a cane on (oops)

Yeah! So my garden is set up in a way that i can fit my wheelchair through all the pathways. The vine plant area has 3 hills that (when the chickens don't escape and fuck it up) have a hard packed dirt pathway between each one and then a place to turn around or move to the next one at the end of each pathway. The plant beds out front are 3 feet wide with a 3.5 foot wide walkway in between and a 4 foot walkway next to the street so people don't step on my plants while they're getting in and out of cars. I'm planning on putting pavers in the walkways but that's expensive and requires work I haven't done yet.

3 or 4 feet seems to be the best width for pathways. 4 feet is enough to turn around in. If you're doing RAISED beds, 1 to 1.5 feet tall seems to be the most comfortable height to work in. Highly recommend trellis growing too so vines and stuff don't grow into your pathways.

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 This city’s dying by the day, and you know it always will 🎶

Antoine kept his head dipped and his face hidden as he neared the spot where Giorgio had asked him to meet. The secrecy in Gio’s note had been absurd: Meet me at the docks facing the cathedral at eight. And come alone. As he approached, the rhythmic ringing of the church bells told him that he was just on time.

Antoine’s steps crossed from the cracked pavers onto the wooden dock, the hollow sound alerting Giorgio to his presence. He jumped to his feet and nervously took a drag off his cigarette, smoothing down his hair behind each ear. Antoine rounded the crates that he was hidden behind and narrowed his eyes, “Christ, Gio, what’s going on? What’s with all this fanfare and secrecy?”

“Antoine, thank god. To tell you the truth, it’s Jo. She never takes my ideas seriously and I’m sure she’d tell me I’m operating on false information. Plus I don’t want to create a stir, tip off my contacts that I’m sharing this information with anyone on the outside. Sit, please. I think you might need to.”

Giorgio sat back onto the crate next to Antoine, looking over each shoulder before he began, “I’ve got cousins, Antoine, cousins with real business interests up in New York. There’s serious talk that this whole bubble we’ve been riding, it can’t last forever, and the whole economy is gunna tank.”

Antoine shook his head in disbelief, but Gio went on, “I’m telling you, it’s true! Some of them are already pulling out stocks. Your sister will think I’m just as crazy, but I sure as hell don’t wanna be in any city when shit hits the fan. Especially this city. You see, I know I said one job, but once they get their teeth into you, once they know where you are, they don’t let you stop…”

Gio stopped for a moment to let the implication of he and Antoine’s entanglement with the city’s mafia dissipate in the twilight air, “Now I’ve heard talk of riches out west. Railroads or highways being built right through your property and being paid in handfuls. Plus land is cheap, real cheap. I found a plot through some connections with the farm house built. I’ve still got that money from the deal we made, so I can purchase it myself, but if you’re holding onto that cash we can split it equal, go in as co-owners.”

Gio’s proposal made Antoine’s head spin. Leave his home? To go West, of all places? What the hell did he know about the West? About a land he had only heard tales and hyperboles of, a land that seemed unreal, one that still seemed to promise some semblance of the American Dream…

As Antoine tried to focus, to force himself see his choices clearly, a series of images flashed through his head in immediate succession.

First, he saw himself atop a horse, the sun beating down on his his face as the arid breeze whistled through the brush and the blue sky blended into the yellow of the mountaintops. Around him was nothing but land: vast, empty expanses of land without a single rule or expectation to impose upon him.

Then he saw Zelda in a tiny chapel, bedecked in a white wedding dress and her finest pearls. She had a wide smile on her face and a delicate hand extended toward him, beckoning him to the altar at the end of the aisle. Through the windows the desert sun streamed in around them, finally free to walk in the streets however they pleased, finally married, finally his wife…

But with almost an almost visceral sense of vertigo he was transported back to New Orleans, back to the club with Violette, who was now grown as she sang along to the notes he played on the piano he had owned all his life. Her laughter told him that she had always loved it there, just as much as he did, and she would only grow to love it more, to be just as inspired and connected to the only home he had ever known.

Finally, his mind drifted back to Zelda, this time in their kitchen cooking a recipe that his aunt had taught him. He stood behind her in the same place where they had some of their happiest memories, their most intimate moments.

As he pulled her closer to him, he could hear people yelling in French through the doors open to the street below. Their accents sounded just like his own, just like his mother and his aunt, perhaps just like his daughter’s would one day. The sound of their voices drifted into the kitchen, mingling with the scents of cooking and the feeling of Zelda in his arms, telling him that he was already home.

In the seemingly suspended year of 1928, Antoine buried his head in his hands. None of the visions or the dreams mattered anyway; the choice had already been made. The money was gone, long gone. He had spent it paying bills for the club and buying food for his family, just trying to keep the club afloat while the bribes grew larger by the month.

Antoine finally looked back to Gio, making sure the tears in his eyes had dried enough so that they wouldn’t betray his words, “I’m sorry Gio, but it sounds like nothing but a pipe dream to me. Why would I leave when there’s nothing to go on but your word? I’ve got the club, my family, my city; I won’t throw that all away for a rumor.”

Giorgio visibly flinched, as though Antoine’s words had come directly from Josephine herself. Then he swallowed the dismissal, knowing that it was only a taste of what waited for him at home. He shrugged his shoulders and looked back out over the Mississippi River, “Suit yourself then, old sport. I hope it doesn’t come to all this, but I have a feeling it might.”

[screenmobile]

Do You Need Planning for a Patio? 

So, you're thinking about adding a patio? Maybe you've been eyeing that open backyard space, imagining a cozy seating area for morning coffee or a full-blown outdoor entertainment hub. Sounds great—but do you need planning for it?

The short answer: it depends. The long answer? Well, that’s what we’re getting into.

What Kind of Patio Are You Thinking About?

First things first—what does "patio" mean to you?

A simple slab of concrete with a few chairs?

A screened-in outdoor space with bug protection?

A fully covered, weatherproof area with fans, heaters, and maybe even a built-in grill?

Each of these setups comes with different considerations, and that’s where planning (or permits) may come into play.

Do You Need a Permit for Your Patio?

South Bend has zoning laws and building codes that determine whether you need a permit for your project. Generally, here’s how it breaks down:

No permit needed: If you're installing a ground-level patio made of pavers, bricks, or concrete (as long as it doesn’t affect drainage).

Permit might be required: If your patio includes permanent structures, like a roof, walls, or electrical work.

Definitely need a permit: If you're building a patio that’s attached to your house, significantly elevated, or includes plumbing and electrical installations.

Why Does This Matter?

If you skip the permitting process when it’s required, you could run into problems down the road. Unpermitted work might affect your home’s resale value or create headaches if a city inspector gets involved.

Not sure what applies to your situation? It’s always a good idea to check with your local building department.

What Do You Want From Your Patio?

Now, let’s talk function. A patio isn't just about laying down some stone and calling it a day. It should fit your lifestyle. So ask yourself:

How do you plan to use it? Will it be a quiet space for relaxation, a gathering spot for family, or something else?

Do you want it enclosed? A screened-in patio keeps bugs away, but it’s more of an investment.

What’s the weather like in South Bend? A shaded or covered patio can make a big difference in comfort, especially in summer.

How much maintenance do you want? Pavers and wood decks need more upkeep than stamped concrete or composite materials.

Are you planning to live in your home long-term, or are you thinking about resale value? A well-designed patio can boost property appeal, especially for homebuyers looking for extra living space.

Choosing the Right Materials

The materials you pick determine not just the look but also the longevity of your patio. Here’s a quick rundown:

Concrete: Affordable, durable, and can be stamped for a decorative finish.

Pavers: Flexible, aesthetically pleasing, and easy to repair, but installation can be pricey.

Natural stone: Elegant and timeless, but one of the most expensive choices.

Brick: Classic look with good durability, but it requires occasional maintenance.

Wood or composite decking: More common for decks than patios, but a great choice if you want a raised look.

No matter what you choose, make sure it complements your home’s style.

What About a Screened-In Patio?

A screened-in patio is like an outdoor room—a game changer for people who love fresh air but hate mosquitoes. It also extends the usability of your space, letting you enjoy it even when the weather isn’t perfect.

But here’s the thing: if you’re adding screens, a roof, or enclosing your patio, you’ll probably need a permit.

Bonus Perks of a Screened Patio

Keeps out bugs and debris

Adds privacy

Protects furniture from the elements

Can be customized with fans, lighting, and even heating for year-round comfort

For families with kids or pets, a screened-in space is especially handy. No more chasing the dog down the street when it bolts after a squirrel!

DIY vs. Hiring a Pro: What’s the Right Move?

If you're a DIY enthusiast, you might be tempted to build your patio yourself. And for basic ground-level patios, that’s totally doable. But when it comes to more complex builds—especially those requiring permits, electrical work, or roofing—it’s usually best to bring in a pro.

Why?

Time-saving: A professional team can complete the project faster and more efficiently.

Quality: Proper grading, drainage, and installation ensure your patio lasts.

Code compliance: No worries about whether your project meets local regulations.

Final Thoughts

At the end of the day, planning your patio isn’t just about paperwork—it’s about making sure you end up with a space you’ll actually use and enjoy. A little thought up front can save you from headaches later.

So whether you’re dreaming of a simple backyard hangout spot or a fully enclosed sunroom, take a step back and ask yourself:

Do I need a permit? Check with your local building department.

What will I use the patio for? Plan with your lifestyle in mind.

What materials work best? Choose for durability and aesthetics.

Should I DIY or hire a pro? Be realistic about your skills and time.

And if you’re considering a screened-in patio, reach out to Screenmobile of South Bend—they’ll help you design a space that fits your home, style, and budget.

Because let’s be honest—who doesn’t want an outdoor space that’s both beautiful and functional?