Part 1: The Shovel — When the Day Starts With a Grudge

I showed up on the jobsite for the umpteenth day in West Denver — same foundation we’ve been prepping for over a month. It’s hot. The work is back-breaking. The gravel is heavy, and my entire body is still sore from yesterday.

I toss my lunch and tool bag down next to the fence dividing the property from the neighbor’s lot. And there it is. That dang shovel. Just standing there, leaning up against the fence post like it owns the place.

In that moment, I hate the shovel. I despise it. Because I know what it means: more gravel, more sweat, more grind. It’s not just a tool — it’s a reminder that the day hasn’t even started yet.

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Part 2: The Face-Off — A Silent Understanding

Midday rolls around. I’ve grappled with that shovel all morning. My hands are stiff. My arms feel cooked. I finally set it aside, right back against that same fence post — and sit down in the shade to eat.

I’m halfway through my sandwich when I notice it. The shovel, just staring back at me. I had placed it there myself in a hurry to take lunch, but now it’s back — front and center. Waiting. Watching.

But something in me has shifted. I don’t hate the shovel like I did this morning. Steam rises from the sweat on my head in the narrow strip of cool shade alongside the house as I contemplate. We’ve established some kind of understanding, this shovel and I.

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Part 3: The Truce — Victory, Pain, and Mutual Respect

The afternoon is brutal. The sun doesn’t let up, the gravel isn’t getting any lighter, and my forearms are screaming in pain. But we grind it out with heavy machinery and hand tools that kick up dust like a windstorm in the high desert.

And finally the dust settles.

And there it is — the shovel — still humming defiantly as it stands against its fence post, its dings and dents like so many wounds collected in battle. It is intimidating like the samurai sword. It threatens discipline, toil and change even in stillness.

I stand back after the day is done and nod my silent respect to the shovel. The shovel nods back.

Tomorrow, we will fight another day.

Be defiant like shovel. Persevere like warrior. Call Gold’s Concrete today!

Front Range / Denver, Colorado – 303.451.6951

Salt Lake Valley / Salt Lake City, Utah – 801.541.2540