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I got a buddy who claims he was the first Owner-Builder on Camano Island. The year was 1977, the same year I bought my shack. I met him 13 years later and we ended up building 3 sailboats together, one for each of us and one for his pal the building inspector who became my friend too. Ironically, I may be one of the last Owner-Builders in Island County. I don’t think my permit was ever signed off on so I may well be the last official O-B.

I guess maybe they figured the codes got too complex for us amateur housebuilders, all those R-factors for insulation and E-glass in fenestrations and X-factors for our marriages. Or maybe it was this: a permit for an Owner-Builder was next to nothing, something like $50 when I got ours. The county might’ve done the taX-factor and realized us hippies were costing them revenue. Maybe some of us built our own palaces to save the permit expense, but I would’ve paid full freight just for the right to build my own place the way I wanted. A few hundred bucks wasn’t gonna stop me.

I spoze we can still build our own Xanadu, nothing to stop us. Just have to disclose that a rank amateur threw the hammer and ran the saw, flashed the windows, shingled the roof, installed the electric and plumbing and if you’re the prospective buyer, best beware!!! The people at the county sheds told me I’d be a Total Idiot to apply for an Owner-Builder status. Boy, he read me like a book. A comic book, I’d bet.

By the time I got our permit, us Owner-Builders had to meet the same codes as any fly-by-night contractor, go through the same inspections, all the rigamarole as the Big Boyz. In other words, the government here doesn’t allow for hippie shacks or slam-bang cabins. We got to build our parents’ suburban homes. Might explain why kids just stay with their folks now — why bother building the same damn place twice?
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April 15:
An 87-year-old woman located at 11 Dandelion Place called police to report that her 16-year-old granddaughter Chelsea had run away. After a brief investigation, police were able to locate Chelsea in a tree. Chelsea, it turned out, was the woman’s 16-year-old calico cat. She does not actually have any grandchildren.

April 19:
A teenager was spotted throwing a rock at a residential window at 42 Eagle’s Nest Terrace. The rock missed the window but caused a slight dent in the downspout. The homeowner is not pressing charges since the suspect was later identified as his middle child Nathan.

April 21:
Police responded to an argument between a mother and her eleven-year-old son at Happy Hedgehog Trail. The exact nature of the dispute was not divulged, though it reportedly had something to do with the son being told he could not watch any more TV until he finished his homework.

April 23:
A resident of 219 Nothing-Ever-Happens-Here Way reportedhis lawn mower stolen and informed police that he suspected his neighbor with whom he’d gotten into a dispute over who
should win on American Idol. He called the police the next day to report that he found it – in his backyard shed, right where he’d left it. Claiming a “senior moment,” he reluctantly decided not to press charges against his annoying neighbor.

April 26:
Police checked in on a thirteen-year-old boy who had been shouting about how much he loved some girl named Natalie in his seventh grade class. He was apparently causing a disturbance
to the neighbors. Upon questioning, the boy admitted to consuming his very first beer and was feeling the effects of an alcohol buzz. He later threw up and apologized to his parents. No charges were pressed.

April 28:
A female high school student walking down North CrimeIs-Unheard-Of-Around-Here Drive was approached by a suspiciouslooking bearded man driving unusually slowly in a creepy looking
van and called police. After a brief investigation, police identified the creepy man as Barney Mueller, the local Good Humor Man, just making his usual rounds.

April 30:
Police responded to a call from the local IGA that two suspicious youths, aged 22 and 21, shoplifted several candy bars and a bag of Doritos. An hour later, police were unable to locate any of the candy or the Doritos, although both youths, when questioned, appeared to have suspiciously orange tongues.

See what I mean? I’m living in fear for my life here – or at least in fear for my snack food. I’ve half a mind to think about maybe eventually possibly locking my front door when we’re away for a few days. It’s gotten that bad. Please pray for my safety, won’t you?

Read more of Tim Jones’ humor every week at www.ViewFromTheBleachers.net

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