Late last summer, sometime before fall had completely set in, our neighborhood took on a bit of a transformation, one which has completely changed my view on where we live. The little subdivision we moved to is barely 10 years old, and is a rather nice mix of people from different walks of life and economic backgrounds. The best part is that when they built the neighborhood they did not raze all of the trees like is usually the case in suburban America. The worst part is that it’s small enough that walking Jonas around the entire neighborhood once takes about 45 seconds.

So last September, The Wife™ and I returned home one day to find a large tract of land had been cleared. This several acre piece was at the front entrance to the neighborhood and previously was just a nicely wooded area. We always thought it odd that there were no houses there, but came to understand (once they had mowed every living thing down) that now, ten years later, is a PERFECT time to construct three new houses. Maybe the builder is Rumpelstiltskin. Or just got reeeeeally tired of building. For ten years.

“I guess I didn’t give it too much thought because really? At least they didn’t have their RV on blocks and mow their lawn with no shirt on, exposing their hairy guts to the world.”

Anyway, weeks passed and one Sunday afternoon on our way out of the neighborhood, everything clicked in one of those movie-esque sequences that was so sudden I almost slammed on the breaks when we figured it out. See, after they cleared the trees and grass on these plots, we began to notice a rather odd structure in the backyard of a newly visible property. This house sits outside of our division, but backs up onto this land, so their backyard is visible when entering or exiting our subdivision. And as soon as the land was cleared, I noticed this strange structure that shot high into the air. There were lots of lines, and lots of poles. But hell, we live in Kentucky, anything is possible. I guess I didn’t give it too much thought because really? At least they didn’t have their RV on blocks and mow their lawn with no shirt on, exposing their hairy guts to the world. That’s the job of the house down the street.

So on this Sunday, it finally hit us when we saw 20 or so people outside the mystery house, standing around the mystery structure and sitting in non-mysterious lawn chairs. Wanna know what it is? A freaking high-wire trapeze. SO. NOT. KIDDING. A grandfather was out with his grandkids, and the entire family was around watching them all perform. Our best guess was that they were having one last go at it before they had to dismantle it. Sure enough, the next day it was all gone. Like a dream. A very strange, very redneck dream.

For a year there were no new developments in the case. It went stone cold. It was the only time I’ve ever seen people at this house and I often wondered if it was abandoned. Or perhaps another meth lab. Then, two weeks ago, on the way into our neighborhood we noticed that the driveway of said mysterious occupants’ house had two giant RVs and a slew of other cars. Something was up.

As we rounded the corner past the razed plots, we saw it in all it’s glory. The high-wire trapeze structure had been resurrected, like a phoenix in it’s own right, stretching to the heavens. The crowds again had come to watch. But where had everyone been for a year? Tradeshows? Conventions? The Redneck Riviera? We have no idea.

Indeed, though, The Carnies™ are home, and it’s going to be an interesting year.