An Ogden, Utah farmer found his life transformed when a developer put in a subdivision at the edge of his farm.
The newly-built "luxury homes" sold pretty quickly, because everyone likes to gaze out on a peaceful farm scene as they gulp their coffee in preparation for a long commute to work.
But then reality set in. Because the farmer really does farm. He has cows. They eliminate waste, and the product does not smell nice. He also makes hay, which makes dust, which rises through the air and lands on upholstery. And all that machinery! It's noisy!
The farmer's neighbors complained. He offered to split the price of a privacy fence. They declined, saying that they didn't want to ruin their view of his pretty property.
So the farmer evoked the bored gods. He went out and got a few junked stock cars, fired up the backhoe, and upended those suckers in the ground, in a nice array, at the edge of his property.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you
That's what this inspired farmer called his creation.
I remember sitting in the breakfast nook of my sister's new "luxury home," staring down upon a pair of unhappy Old Order Mennonites as they did their farm chores with full knowledge that they were being gawked at. I thought to myself, "Gosh, if I suddenly found myself surrounded by monstrosities of vinyl siding on every boundary line, I think I'd just shuck my clothes and start doing my work buck naked."
Oh, my lack of imagination! Why work naked amongst horse flies when you can erect a henge? Heck, you don't need old cars. You could use just about anything stiff enough to stack. Like laundry baskets. Or junked computers. Or random pieces of furniture, trash-picked from sidewalks.
Of course, all of that pales in the presence of a Car Henge, but we can't all operate back hoes.
If you need a henge in your life, beseech the wisdom of the bored gods. They will help you with your creation. And those pesky neighbors deserve just what they get.
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