Every morning, as I drive up the dirt road that leads to the hillside, I experience a small moment of joy. As I ascend the final hill and come around a bend in the road, there she is. Up on the hillside, through a stand of oaks, birches and an occasional hemlock, stands a stout wooden structure that looks as if she belongs there. It was a goal of ours to have our house sit in its surroundings comfortably. Equitably, if you will. The hillside is as important to the house’s character as is the shape of the house itself, and they should work in tandem to create one whole entity. One doesn’t dominate the other. And if your view of the world tends to lean towards romanticism, you might even think that the house has grown from the site, as opposed to being built upon it.
The fact that the house on the hillside is constructed of solid wood lends itself to this sentiment. If she was sheathed in plywood, or stick framed every sixteen inches with 2x4’s, the marriage of house and nature would be harder to achieve. But built as she is--stout, sturdy and natural—you truly can see the connection of the house to the hillside, and be grateful that the hillside has opened its arms to embrace her.
My favorite photo of the house captures this viewpoint. I took it because I knew that as we moved into the roof sheathing phase, the harmony I have come to cherish, the moment of joy, will be a bit lessened. We are applying Typar house wrap on the roof as we progress upward, introducing an unnatural (though wholly necessary) element to our structure. Though it is a welcome symbol of progress, it is a bittersweet victory. Gone is the symphony of wood I have come to cherish every morning as I approach the hillside. It is muted by house wrap and blue tarps, the deepest notes deadened, the purest tones lost. So I ask you to keep this view in mind in the weeks to come, and still strive to hear the music of the hillside.
The walls are done. It feels as if a major corner has been turned and we are heading towards a strong finish. Not that we are close to finishing, mind you. Just that we are approaching the point of being completely closed in. I am not sure how quickly sheathing the roof will go, but let’s hope we can have it done by the new year. With a few helping hands over the holidays and some extra time off for Anne, that just might happen. Of course, every prediction I have made so far has turned out to be wrong, so I really shouldn't bother anymore. But what would life be without a little bit of optimism? Cross your fingers.
It was a productive weekend on the hillside. The unseasonably warm weather continues and allows us to work a bit more efficiently than one would expect in December.
I have come to the realization that I really do not like putting up sheathing, the main reason being that the quality of the end result is somewhat out of our hands. We do all we can to make sure the boards are level and use clamps to achieve tight joints. But when the boards are milled as little as 1/16th off, there is nothing you can do to achieve perfection. And that doesn’t always sit well with the grumpy foreman. So, regardless of excess time spent choosing boards, clamping in three different locations, and silent, desperate prayers, our interior walls have slight gaps between the boards now and again. Oh well.
Speaking of unseasonable weather, a strange sound is still being heard on the hillside from time to time: wood frogs. These little guys are supposed to be hibernating, buried in the leaf litter with a natural anti-freeze coursing through their veins to keep them alive in freezing temperatures. Instead, they are still hanging out by our pile of roofing, calling out occasionally with their duck-like ‘Qwuock!’ They are as confused as the rest of us, it seems, and on the hillside, that is saying a lot.
So with the wood frogs calling out their encouragement, we managed to get the entire west side gable end sheathed, and a good part of the east side as well. Hopefully I can finish the east side by tomorrow, and then its on to the final kneewall.
The north wall is done in its entirety. After a weather delay I managed to squeak in the kneewall before darkness fell today. So the back of the house is done…or is it?
You see, here is the question: what is the actual backside of the house? Is it where the ‘back’ door is, meaning not the formal entrance? Or is it the side that doesn’t face the road? The problem is, these are two different things on the hillside. The front entrance is facing north, away from the road. But in my head, I call it the back of the house, since it faces nothing but woods, while the south side faces what will be some lawn, and the driveway, and a bit of road. This seems more naturally to be the front to me.
At any rate, the north side is done, and onward to the west and the further manifestation of our destin
The cold weather has snapped, but it didn’t
leave quietly. Over an inch of snow fell on the hillside last week, and temps
didn’t break out of the teens for a few days. I lost one day of work to the
snowfall and frigid weather, but soldiered on for the rest of the time, cursing
the time I had cursed the heat and wondered when things would cool down.
Anne and I worked all weekend on sheathing the west and north sides of the
house, putting up boards while trying to keep our footing in the snow. I thought
we were moving at a good clip, but it wasn’t fast enough for Anne, so she called
upon her alter ego, Tough Molly, to make sure I kept my nose to the grindstone.
You think I am joking?
Needless to say, I picked up the pace. We finished the west wall and moved on
to the north, humming like the proverbial well-oiled machine (although I am not
sure what proverb said machine appears in). By Sunday evening our kitchen was
just about walled-in and we returned home in the dark.
I am happy to
report that the weather has warmed up a bit and I can finally shed a few layers
of clothing, at least for the time being. My long johns actually walked
themselves into the hamper this morning and wouldn’t come out, no matter how much
Fe-breeze I sprayed on them. I’ll take that as a subtle sign to do some
laundry.
I should finish sheathing the north wall tomorrow, and
hopefully will move on to the second floor kneewall by Wednesday, weather
permitting. Weather not permitting, I’ll probably just nap a lot. And maybe do
some wash.
The cold weather is back. I guess I cannot be too surprised, seeing that it is December in New Hampshire and all. But the lack of a gradual shift was a bit jarring. Friday it was about 60 degrees. Saturday we didn’t break 35. So we dug out the cold-weather gear that we had previously broken-out but then subsequently buried again, and we headed to the hillside.
Anne’s sister Bridget made another appearance this weekend, braving the cold and the prospect of taking orders from her little sister to lend a hand. It was the commencement of a new task—sheathing. Most houses would be putting up sheets of plywood at this point, but we don’t do things like most people here on the hillside. Our sheathing is 1x8 tongue and groove boards. This achieves two things: it is easier for one or two people to handle, and it creates a finished interior wall when it is nailed on. No sheetrock for us unless we want it. So Anne and Bridget tackled the east side of the house while I finished framing out the doors and windows. As usual, it was a bit of slow going at first as systems were figured out and the level of quality control was determined, but all in all by Sunday afternoon the East side first floor and some of the south side was sheathed. The rest of the building should go ok, if this weekend is any indication. Now I just need to frame the windows for the second floor and finish up some rafter details.
Let us go now in peace. The recessional hymn is ‘Bringing in the Sheathing,’ page 242 of your hymnals.
“Bringing in the sheathing
Bringing in the sheathing
We shall come rejoicing
Bringing in the sheathing”
If the eyes are the windows to the soul, and the windows the eyes of a house, then does it follow that the soul of a house can be seen through its windows? I contemplated this and other lofty ideas (such as how do they get that filling into Twinkies, and what exactly is that filling in Twinkies, and why do I love it so?) as I worked on framing the window openings the last few days. It is meticulous work, as I made sure everything was perfectly plumb, level and square. This will result in smooth sailing when the time comes to install the windows later. It was fun to watch the views we will be seeing from our windows define themselves, like a sneak peek into what is to come. Almost like a movie trailer. If my window openings actually had a movie trailer, it might read something like this (put on your deep melodramatic voice and read aloud for optimal effect):
In a world of boundless vistas
Where eyes wander aimlessly
And minds cannot cope
One man
Dares to bring order to the chaos
This winter
Bring life back into focus
with
The Fenestrator
Do you see what he sees?
I am a sucker for traditions, superstitions and rituals. I always throw salt over my shoulder when spilled. I love the ritual that comes with making tea from loose leaves and baking bread form scratch, or writing with a fountain pen. I relish the certain food and drink that is tied to specific times of the year—apple cider in the fall, fresh tomatoes in summer, and that first pint of stout that beckons winter onward. Things that hearken back to an older time when the pace of life wasn’t so hectic tend to warm my soul. They impart a sense of connectedness to something bigger than yourself. Traditions tie you to those who came before and will hopefully serve as a bridge to those who will follow you when you are gone.
There is an old Scandinavian tradition where one nails a small evergreen to the high point of the building when framing is complete. It is a show of respect to the trees that went into the construction. It also serves as a symbol of the house’s roots and the roots that will be established by the family that will live there. I have been awaiting the time when I could nail my own evergreen to the peak and continue this time-honored tradition. That time was today, after the last rafter went into place, and the framing of our house was complete.
True, we did it a bit different. We used a bunch of evergreen boughs, since evergreens are scarce on our land and we didn’t want to pull up a small tree. I screwed it into place instead of nailing it, since I was balanced on a ladder rather precariously and it was safer to do so. But the sentiment is there, and the feeling I get as I look up at the peak of our house and see the dark green branches waving against the blue sky can only be described as rooted. We are rooted to this place, this hillside. I am thankful to all of the things that have brought us this far, and await the time when traditions will be born within our four walls.
