Progress

There's so much happening up there on the Hill that I've been a bit lax at keeping the blog updated. A couple of people surprisingly pointed this out, reminding me that my readership is bigger than the 13 loyalists that have actually signed on to the blog, at least one of whom I know has dropped out. Those of you who read last month's blog and saw the picture of the foundations will be amazed to see the progress on the framing of the house. In just one month our house has been entirely framed and enclosed. Jerry, who is in charge of  framing, has a gift for not only visualizing walls, roof lines and gables, but also being able to construct it from two-by-fours or two-by-sixes or two-by eights or any combination thereof.  He must have been awesome with Lego, I mean how else do you learn this kind of skill?         

My partner and I agreed that the most exciting part of our building journey so far was when we were able to step inside the forest of timber joists and see exactly what the inside of the house will look like -- room sizes, window views, ceilings and hallways. There are a couple of very minor things that in hindsight we would have changed, but overall it's a great floor plan and a credit to our architect and builder. The loft space, which was originally quite small with restricted head room, has been opened up to create a true third bedroom which will be accessed by a spiral staircase. And what was initially designed as a screened porch on the western side of the house has been changed to a windowed room that I call a conservatory. However, I am reliably informed by my partner (and who am I to disagree with her?) that this is a British term that is not commonly used in American home architecture. But I don't care. It is, and always will be to me, a conservatory.

The barn is nearing completion and has reached the point where scheduling contractors in the right order is getting more complex. For example you can't have the plumber in before the bench tops are installed. And the bench tops can only be installed when the cabinetry is done. Therefore work is going a lot slower than we envisaged although we're still hoping for an early April completion. This hasn't stopped me from pushing ahead getting the workshop organized. Last week we installed Home Depot's least expensive cabinets -- made even less expensive with a conveniently timed 20% off sale. There are now so many drawers and cupboards that, unless I label them, I'm in imminent danger of losing stuff forever. We've also taken delivery of a new powerful dust collection system that will be installed, hopefully, in the next few weeks. I say hopefully because I'm not sure what it will take for me to hang the duct work on 10' high ceilings. The picture below is me climbing an 8' ladder with my eyes closed. I'm not keen on heights you see. My partner, who also serves as Director of Public Relations, Sales and Marketing for Bogle Woodworks, a totally unpaid position but one which has several perks such as sleeping with the Chief Furniture Designer and Craftsman, is doing a fantastic job promoting the business. Thanks to her efforts I now have several music stands to complete, including two for Dowling Music in New York, as well as a couple of butterfly tables that I'll be crafting from our stack of locally grown Pecan and Oak.   
           

So what else is going on up there? Well, we're pleased to announce that two of the bluebird boxes we set out in January have residents, with at least one containing bluebird eggs. And, after many subtle hints, I have finally been able to schedule a horse riding lesson with our next door neighbors. You probably never knew that I had a hankering for riding horses but the way gas prices are going at the moment I figure that horses are the way of the future and don't want to get left behind. This could be an entirely new phase in my life depending upon whether or not I (voluntarily) stay on the horse's back. Watch this space!                    

      

Netties in the New House

I can distinctly remember the potty I used as a child. It is perhaps an indication of my fond attachment to that essential utensil. It was a small, yellow tin pot with a handle on the side. While most folks moved on from a potty to a regular toilet by the time they were three years old, I kept my potty privileges, at least at night time, until I was about four or five. This may surprise many people until I explain that I grew up in an upstairs flat, or in American parlance an apartment, with an outside toilet.

The toilet itself was in a small, purpose-built brick building that sat across a concrete backyard. On the other side, directly opposite the stone steps that led up to the door at the the bottom of the back stairs, was the coal house. The toilet, or netty as it is affectionately called in northeast England, was only ten feet or so from the door at the bottom of our back stairs, but on a bitterly cold night that was an endless distance. Of course we had no central heating, the only form of warmth came from a coal fire in our living room that also served as our dining room as well as the bath room on Friday nights when the old zinc tub was hauled up those back stairs and filled with buckets of piping hot water from a boiler that stood in our kitchen.


My boys Andrew and Thomas standing outside my old front door (somewhat modernized since my days!)

So lying in a cosy warm bed on a winter morning, groggy with sleep and with a film of ice formed on the inside of the window, that first-thing-in-the-morning call of nature was not a welcome feeling. Trying to put off the inevitable I would wait and wait until the last moment when, desperate, I would finally leap out of bed and hare down the short hallway, across the living room - startling whoever happened to be in there - down the back stairs to the bottom door, that was usually locked with a big iron key, and out across the backyard to the netty. This routine was timed to perfection and to the best of my recollection was executed without - ahem - any mishaps. In the winter when we were besieged by cold winds and rain or when snow and ice covered the backyard, it was a test of endurance. This was man against the elements, especially as my routine did not allow me the luxury of donning a dressing gown or a pair of slippers before I took flight. Bare feet and pyjamas were no protection from the cold or wet. I don't know how many times my Mam would tell me to "wrap up warm", but I never did catch the forewarned "death of cold" that echoed in my ears as I took the back stairs two at a time. I was sixteen when we finally moved to a house with an indoor toilet, running hot water and -- joy of joys -- central heating. Heaven could not be any better than this.

Our new house has three toilets (needless to say that these are of the indoor variety) and two bathrooms/showers. Another two toilet/bathrooms are located in the barn. All are centrally-heated of course offering easy access and comfort even in the coldest of weathers. I cannot imagine what my mother would have thought of it all. I can still hear her words ringing in my ears, "Eee our Andy, I wish you'd stuck in at school and made somethin' of yourself!" If only she was here, if only...........

Back on Sandy Hill things are progressing, albeit a little slower due to the extremely cold weather that brought snow and ice to the Brenham area. The barn exterior is now painted, white with green trim and is looking just as we imagined it would. The workshop floor has been painted and last week we bought some ready-made cabinets that I'll be installing in my woodshop. We're hoping that the barn will be pretty much complete by the end of March so I'm starting to pack up my woodshop to get ready to move the ton of equipment and stuff that currently finds a home in our garage. Purchasing a pick-up truck was a brilliant decision and although I occasionally pine for that 3.4 liter Audi Quattro on these winding two-lane highways, the truck has been indispensible. We added a small trailer a couple of weeks ago and that too has been a superb investment. We'll no doubt save money on moving the woodshop ourselves provided I can figure out how to back the trailer into out narrow driveway! 

The foundations for the house have been poured. Instead of a concrete slab, we have chosen a pier and beam system that will minimize damage to any live oak tree roots. This also follows the traditional house construction although instead of laying the beams across pieces of field stone that were just placed on the ground, the new beams will be laid across concrete pillars, 12" in diameter and buried 8 to 9 feet deep into the ground.  We had our arborist use an air spade to check each pier location for tree roots and were really pleased to find that none of the 70-odd piers affected any of the primary root systems.

This week we have to decide on our final window sizes so that the framer can start work. And so it begins again, although this time we'll know what to expect having been through the process with the barn. It was good practice.

  

      

          

      

 
                                         

An Overdue Update

The social life in Brenham, at least in our little corner of Washington County, is pretty good. At least it has been over the holiday period. So I'm thinking to myself, why build a house when we can get all the benefits of living up there without any of the expense? Why can't we just plug in to the parties, dinners and other social events that seem to be happening up there every other week and just stay where we can for the night. This bears thinking about...........

    

The Independence Store

So the holidays came and went and were as enjoyable as ever with our two youngest boys home for the duration. I took them up to the property the week before Christmas to help me with a couple of chores. It was a bit chilly up there on Sandy Hill but we warmed up clearing the homestead site of concrete blocks and a stack of salvaged floor boards that might be reused in some future project. The boys 'played' on the tractor like they did as kids with their Tonka toys, picking up loads of mulch and driving around before dumping it and repeating the exercise all over again. We had an executive lunch of sandwiches and potato chips at the Independence Store, always a treat, listening to Mike tell us stories about how the place used to be a illicit drinking hole during Prohibition. It was evidently the place to hang out, complete with slot machines, poker games and some memorable fights. Must have have been a hell of a place on a Saturday night!


The Barn Nearing Completion

We've realized that there has been a huge change in our role up there in Sandy Hill. Instead of spending three or four days a week working on the property we are now more or less into a project management role which entails a weekly meeting with our builder to check on progress and answer any questions. The barn is nearing completion. The metal roof was put on in the first week of the New Year.  Electrical, IT, plumbing and HVAC have all been installed and the interior walls are almost finished. A lot of time is being spent selecting lighting and plumbing fixtures and we now move on to choosing paint colors, bench top material, tiles, bath tubs and so on and so on. The list seems to be inexhaustible but we are so grateful to have our project manager to help navigate the seemingly endless list of suppliers and requirements. 



We've spent a couple of days pottering around. Nothing like the clean-up days of summer but it's so nice to be outside and doing things around the place. My partner is really getting into the local nature and is fast becoming an expert on the subject of local flora and fauna. When she first announced that she wanted to be a naturalist I totally got it wrong. OK, so we're not going to be prancing naked through the grass, that would be a naturist. Instead we're implementing a nature conservancy plan that we'll gradually put into effect over the next couple of years. (And when I say we I mean it as the Royal "we". My partner is fully in charge of this bit of property management.) Part of the plan is to encourage the return of bluebirds which are largely missing in this part of Texas despite being originally indigenous to the area.

Erecting a Bluebird House

So we have erected several bluebird houses that will hopefully to attract nesting birds this spring and anticipate adding many more over the coming years. We've also started making a trail through the woods, picking up discarded junk (will it ever end?) and creating brush piles that will serve as hang-outs for small furry animals. We know we have deer on the land - we see hoof prints all over the place - so we will encourage them to keep on visiting our bit of paradise, perhaps putting out some deer feeders.  

On a sad note, Jack Meeker, the Director of Miracle Farms and our dear neighbor, has decided to hang up his spurs. Jack is one of the world's gentlemen. A tall imposing figure, always wearing a cowboy hat and generally not without his spurs, he is every man's idea of a Texan. His gentle manners, his kindness and his friendship to us will always be fondly remembered. We wish him, his lovely wife and family the very best of luck in their new endeavours and we look forward to continuing our friendship. Meanwhile, Miracle Farms will move on to new horizons and we will hopefully find ways of increasing our involvment with this wonderful program for at-risk boys.

The good news. And then the bad!

And just when everything was moving along so nicely!

The homestead has been rapidly changing by the day. The barn is looking great with siding, windows and roof all in place. The old house has been partially demolished, the 'new' extension being totally removed in addition to all of the vinyl siding on the old structure. So we are now down to bare studs. So first here is the good news. We had planned on putting in a simple attic ladder to access the barn loft but were persuaded by Jerry, our framer, to install a set of stairs. Climbing the completed stairs it seemed so obvious that we should build-out a second guest room in the loft space above the gallery. There's plenty of space and although access will be from the workshop, this would provide us with occasional guest accomodation without the expense of building a seperate guest cottage. And so, ever concious of cost, we agreed to move forward and at least have the space framed and roughed-out for the plumbing and other utilities. We can decide on the final build-out depending on how our budget looks in the next couple of months.

Decision made, we believed we were ahead of the game. And then came the bad news.  

As you will probably be aware, we felt very strongly that we needed to preserve the old structure as far as possible and build around this. Our architect determined that the 'bones' of the old house were in good shape and our builder concurred. When the old siding was removed there were some signs of minor termite damage but overall the structure looked good. That is until you looked down. Once the plywood flooring was torn out to reveal the original wood planking, there was a distinct curve to the floor, with up to seven inches difference in level. I should explain here that the orignal building was built on what they call a pier and beam foundation. This entails laying 1" x 6" beams across piers that are usually dug into the ground, or in our case, large rocks and concrete blocks laid on the ground. It seems that there may be a natural water run-off underneath the house, with moisture being wicked up by the concrete blocks. Over time the uneveness of the concrete block and rock foundation, coupled with the dampness that has been transferred to the beams and floor boards has caused the entire floor to warp. Once wood has warped it's not an easy task to unbend it. In fact the warp is pretty much permanent, I know, I've dealt with the challenge of trying to get a straight board from one that is warped. So what do we do? Our project manager and framer gave us a couple of solutions; either we could try and stabilize the piers, relevel the floor as best as possible and then build a new floor on top of the old one, or we could just demolish the entire structure and re-build from scratch.



The Front Room Before and During Partial Demo

So I've been in one of my funks. I mean, when we bought the house, as trashy and shoddy and useless as it was, it still had a value. $100,000 worth to be exact. And so to preserve the historic value was also preserving an investment. Throwing this out of the window is not an easy pill for me to swallow and in hindsight I should have considered this possibility. Hindsight may be 20/20 but as Confucius said, "If you make a mistake and do not correct it, this is called a mistake." Clearly levelling the floor is the cheapest option but this will likely bring problems down the road as there is no guarantee that the piers, and consequently the floor, will not move again. To correct this issue in the future would be, I think, extremely costly and very definitely disruptive. So we have decided to tear the old house down and re-build. At least we'll keep to the original floor plan and so construct a replica of the original house, keeping what we know of the historic features intact.

I feel sad that this old house can't be saved. It's served a succession of working families for 100 years and perhaps deserves a better end than this. But as in life, it doesn't matter how sound the structure may be for without a strong foundation, all is for naught. 

I suppose the saving grace is that this is our heirs' money we're spending, so we really shouldn't be too concerned. Should we? Nah!

And on a final note. A gentleman should never ask a lady her age and should certainly not publish it on the Internet. In my blog of the Independence Day parade, I recounted our joy in meeting one of Thelma's friends, a young lady from England, and mistakenly reported her age as ... well it really doesn't matter. What's important is that she is not as old as I reported. Not in actual years and certainly not in heart or spirit. I am so sorry and I hope she will forgive my clumsiness and indiscretion.







    


                              

Following Our Bliss

I'm just back from Barcelona were I spent the weekend at a stag party for my eldest son who is getting married in February. The group included his uncle and several of his uncle's friends, all of whom were good friends of mine back in the early 70's. This older group was quickly labelled as the "Last of the Summer Winers" based on the popular BBC series featuring the comical adventures of four old farts. I thought we fit the bill fairly well. Plus, it was a great excuse for us to end the proceedings at a reasonable hour and leave the younger Turks to their late night (read 'early morning') drinking. I was sorry that my younger two couldn't join their older brothers in the celebration -- but then again I'm not too sure I could have afforded that! But to listen to old stories and laugh so hard that tears ran down my face was priceless time with guys I hadn't seen in more than 30 years.


The Last of the Summer Winers. 
Left to right, Les, Rob and Ed 

That so much time had passed between us, seemingly so quickly, made me very conscious of my own passing years. Not in a depressing sort of way, but in the way you feel when reading a great book and realize that the epilogue is much closer to your right hand than the prologue is to your left. Several people have commented on the speed with which we consummated the purchase of this property, finalized the building design and started construction. The simple truth is that I don't want to spend more time in this process than what is absolutely necessary. We are not chasing the perfect outcome, for what is "perfection" after all? I believe that perfection can only be measured at the exact moment of analysis - our opinions being very likely to change over time as new experiences influence our perceptions. So we weigh our choices, make a decision based on what seems right at the time and then, most importantly, convince ourselves to live with the consequences in the belief that we know what makes us happy.

"The way to find out about happiness is to keep your mind on those moments when you feel most happy, when you are really happy — not excited, not just thrilled, but deeply happy. This requires a little bit of self-analysis. What is it that makes you happy? Stay with it, no matter what people tell you. This is what is called following your bliss.” - Joseph Campbell


Workshop (right) and Gallery (left) with a driveway,
or what is locally known as a Dog Trot, through the middle

We are thrilled with the progress that our builder is making. We are even more pleased with the feedback and suggestions we are getting that are helping us with important decisions. Like putting a fixed staircase in the workshop instead of an attic ladder so that we can more easily access the large loft space for storage or perhaps for additional guest space in the future. The wall framing for the barn is almost complete. I was surprised at how big it looks, especially as the east wall is five feet off the ground owing to the structure being built on a slope. It will change the landscape, which embarrasses me a little as I wanted to be low key. But there were no alternatives that would have created any less of a profile. So following our philosophy, we know this is the right place. 
    
Our visits to the property are getting less frequent now that building is underway. We're missing our friends over at Miracle Farm but our absence is temporary. In fact most of our recent visits have been social invites from our ever widening circle friends in the area. This is so exciting. Perhaps in thirty years time I might be sitting with them too, reminiscing over a few beers and some good laughs!

Real Tonka Toys

It's hard to describe that primordial feeling we males get in the presence of big trucks, huge cranes and large pieces of noisy machinery. It stirs something in the male psyche which is probably why our boys just loved to push around those big yellow Tonka toys in the back yard. And so it was last week when the concrete was poured for the foundations and a train of concrete trucks rumbled up our rutted driveway to pour concrete into the skip of a huge concrete pump. Up on the foundation forms, a large bearded guy quietly stood to one side holding a radio-controlled remote in his hand, casually directing the pump around the foundation as it spewed out thousands of pounds of the wet, gray material, while a gang of workers fussed, filled and flattened the concrete until it was level with the top of the forms. And while some sort of controlled chaos might have been expected, this was a well orchestrated performance. Everyone knew their job and their place and simply got on with it.     

As I watched all this action unfold I suddenly started to worry about the cost. (You know me and if you don't then you need to read my earlier blogs on this subject!). I mean, it's one thing to buy a Tonka truck at the local toy store and imagine it digging, lifting, hauling and tipping; but it's quite another thing to have a whole fleet of real Tonkas performing on your account! I guess I need to trust our builder who has after all budgeted the project and who, I hope, has a lot more experience in these matters than me.

The foundation is what is called an engineered foundation, meaning it's like a waffle with deeply formed and reinforced concrete beams criss-crossing the pad, with a concrete slab being poured into the space in between and to a depth of four inches or so over the entire area. The workshop sits on a slope so the foundation at the lower end is elevated about five feet. We will eventually build a wall with field stone that will hide the concrete and give the effect of having the building standing on a field stone foundation. Framing will start this week and our first priority will be to finalize the window locations and select the windows.  

My overall mood was not helped last week when I stupidly tripped on the stairs at home and ended up breaking some tiny bone in my wrist that necessitated the wearing of a soft cast. My right wrist! We had arranged a U-Haul truck to pick up some milled boards from our sawmill in Houston. Unfortunately, the sawmill owner had his own problems and instead of being there to help us load the wood was at the hospital having surgery after a tree trunk rolled on to his finger. So there we were, me with my wrist in a brace and my partner decked out in her work gloves, facing a stack of 26 boards, each one about eight feet long, two feet wide and 2" thick. So we set to and after some maneuvering managed to lift the first board into the back of the truck. It was surprisingly heavy. We looked at each other and realized in some despair that we had, to coin a phrase, a problem! We were never going to be able to move this pile of wood on our own. My partner, who is never afraid of asking for what she wants, spied a couple of road construction workers, walked over to them and politely asked if they would help.

I stood there looking helpless, cradling my damaged wrist and feeling fairly sure that their supervisor would not allow them such a distraction (My partner would argue that I still haven't lost that British reserve). Surprisingly, for me at least, they took pity on us and our problem was solved. Except that we still had to figure out how to unload the wood at the other end. This particular issue was sorted by a phone call to our good friends over at Miracle Farm who turned out in force to help. So all's well that ends well and we now have 500 board feet of pecan, saved from the city dump, air drying. I should add that the wood drying saga is not over as we have another five logs at the mill waiting to be milled.








                          
             



                   

Live oaks and a lively dog!

Fall has enabled me to work without the oppressive heat and humidity that has given me the "Mad Englishman" nickname gained in certain circles! The weather has been so perfect here. We have picnicked at lunch and dinner and have enjoyed the fabulous sunsets and a glass or two of wine with our very special neighbors with whom we are growing increasingly fond. The site is cleared up. The majority of the fences have been removed. Work is progressing on pruning out the live oak trees. We have settled on a workshop design and location. We agree our floor plan is good to go. And now we have a builder in whom we have confidence to bring our dreams to fruition. We'll call him Bob (as in the Builder) and he has already started building the forms for the workshop and garage foundations. Seeing the action, our friends across the road at Miracle Farms brought over a couple of picnic tables for the workers to use, thoughtfully placing them in the shade of a nearby live oak.

Live oaks are revered in the southern United States. People down here have a special respect for their age and their grandeur and the unique shade that an old live oak offers with its leafy, drooping branches that welcome and then envelope you in a green-domed, sun-dappled sanctum. To stand next to one of these huge organisms and to touch its rough bark is to feel the history that is encapsulated in its twisted trunk and branches and realize that this beautiful creation will likely still be around long after we're gone. How can you not be overawed by such beauty and majesty?                           

We had a crane lift a live oak trunk that had broken off one of the trees. Live oak is one of the densest woods in North America and we estimated the weight of this trunk to be six tons or more. Although most of the trunk was hollowed by decay, we did manage to cut two straight pieces about eight feet long and 36" round and have sent these to a sawmill in Houston where it will be cut into boards. I hope to give this old wood a second life and longevity as a piece of furniture. A small concreted and covered area that we had been wondering what to do with, has now been designated as a wood drying shed and I spent most of the week fabricating the shed walls and drying racks. It's a lot of fun rough cutting wood with a chain saw and makes a welcome change from the precision of furniture building. But it didn't help when a neighbor's puppy dog, a border collie mix, who we think is called Mandy, created a pile of confetti from my chainsaw manual that she quietly and expertly stole from right under my nose. I say expertly because she has similarly taken work gloves, water bottles, and socks - you name it. In short she's an out and out thief. But I admit that I have developed a bit of a soft spot for this puppy and enjoy having her around. Every man should have a dog but I need my sister to come out here and train it!