Construction ate my neighbourhood

Above, a photo of the bend in my street, dug up and refilled for the umpteenth time to install new pipes. Due to numerous new developments underway, this occurs regularly. Almost every time I drive around that bend, I see workers peering down into a new hole in the street, moving pipes about, or guiding/driving front-end loaders to transport large piles of gravel.

My neighbourhood used to be quiet. The complex of six high-rise buildings I live in was surrounded by evergreens and mostly single-family homes. The residents of our apartments were the only significant traffic generator. Sometimes cars would back up onto the bridge (the only way to drive out of our complex), but those lineups were quiet. Outside of rush-hour traffic noise, the roar of the nearby river was the loudest sound I used to hear.

The street was entirely residential, with just a small corner grocery store that sold milk, bananas, and canned beans (the essentials, especially the bananas) within easy walking distance.

In 2017, several new construction projects were announced. The first would be a townhouse/apartment complex with a community recreation centre, a library, a small grocery store, and more. Those sounded like Good Things. Mr. Fluffster and I dreamed of having a decent coffee shop close by to spare ourselves that half-hour trek to the nearest cafe that meets our exacting latte standards.

Construction of that first development, now nearly complete (below), provided interesting viewing on daily walks. No sign of the promised grocery store, however.

Meanwhile, the corner grocery expanded its deli counter, started making sandwiches for the scores of construction workers, and added a couple of tables out front. No more canned beans.

In under a year, a row of townhouses replaced a half-dozen single-family homes torn down over one summer. The first crash-bang of house demolition jolted me awake at 7 am, but I soon got used to it. On Saturdays, however, I’d lie in bed cursing the early wake-up call.

I took this photo in 2018 of a home slated for demolition, with some local raccoons checking out progress. Curiously, it’s still standing vacant today, minus fence and raccoons. Its only apparent purpose — a temporary surface for “No Parking” and “Site Superintendent Parking Only” signs.

Still later, the corner store removed more shelves, added indoor seating and an ice cream counter, and expanded its menu. Goodbye 4-litre jugs of milk and bananas (my favourite food).

In 2018, we learned that our parking garage membrane was well past its best-by date, which explained why water seeped down walls and dripped onto our cars whenever it rained. Also why hunks of concrete periodically dropped off rusted-out rebar in the ceiling. The water-proofing membrane in the garage roof needed replacing ASAP, which would require removing the gardens, tall evergreens, and fountains installed on top of the garage, replacing the membrane, and restoring the gardens. Bye-bye 50-year-old aging fountains and even older trees. I’ll miss the trees.

Financing issues, red tape, and that pesky pandemic delayed this four-year project until late in 2021. By then we were so used to construction noise we barely noticed when our garage repairs started.

Now, we’re completely surrounded by construction. Not so bad really. Additional heavy equipment and a few more construction workers and traffic flaggers who are now like neighbours. The only (temporary) drawbacks: no shortcut to the strata office or garden to sit in. But we still have the river (below).

In March 2020, my work moved home, and construction noise briefly intruded. I adjusted. Closed the windows, muted my mic, and apologized for background sounds during videocalls and Zoom meetings. In time, either the noise — or my hearing — faded.

In its largest renovation yet, the corner store added umbrellas and decorative panels around their outdoor seating and dropped produce and canned/packaged foods altogether to become a café popular with the construction workers. I’ll have to try their lattes one day — if I can forgive them for ditching bananas.

I may have to; that nearby coffee shop is still a far-off dream.