The old tub has been removed, and the new cedar design is finally here. This project is already a significant stretch for us, financially and otherwise. The pump and tubing are spread across the deck, the yard is torn open, and everything looks messy. That's okay, I tell myself. Projects often look like this before they come together.
I want to believe we are close.
The workers move through the space. I feel uneasy and say nothing. They answer questions quickly and make each next step sound manageable enough. I am uncomfortable, but I keep telling myself this is a phase to push through. If I speak up, or fire them, starting over will be too cumbersome, too costly, too chaotic.
Still, the details keep feeling off. Inconsistencies. Errors. Requests for more cash.
In May 2025, I do not yet know they are unlicensed. I do not know that, in many ways, they literally do not know what they are doing. I do not know the tub will not work, or that every piece of equipment in this photo will eventually have to go.
At this moment, the bubble is still intact.
What I cannot see yet is that the bubble is the project itself: the belief that this setup, these workers, and this plan are going to hold. When it bursts, the truth will be painful. It will also be the beginning of stopping the work, ending the relationship, and finding a more capable and trustworthy team to help us move forward.