There's A Hole & A Bucket

I just couldn't stand it anymore.  I had to know. 

There's this space.  It's completely inaccessible from all sides.  Solid field stone and granite foundation on the outside all the way around.  Solid wall-to-wall pine flooring on the inside.  And there's this infuriating poured-cement reinforcing wall (about 5 feet tall under the corner of the 3 feet of exposed field stone and granite foundation) where it adjoins the main house in the basement.  There's a "1962" painted on it.

Those four digits mock me every time I do laundry.  I look at that wall and wonder what got sealed in there.  And, seriously, even if it was a crawl space above grade, shouldn't they have left some access to it, for plumbing or electric or maintenance or whatever?

So, now that hubby has finished all the key elements of demolition in the "tavern", as we call it.  I am finishing up the sorting of all the barn board (the two floors that came out of the ceiling).  Because of the way everything was put together, the only way to get it out was in 36-40" sections.  I am planning on repurposing a good bit of it as pieced-together horizontal wainscot, but that project is for later -- after painting and floor and perhaps some beam reconditioning.

I decided to stack the usable barn board sections in the closet under the stairs up to the bunk room.  It's about the size of Harry Potter's first bedroom at the Dursleys' -- not huge, but semi-climate-controlled and out of the way. A perfect place to put things we'd rather not see for awhile, while keeping them handy to their eventual destination.

Before I started stacking in, it occurred to me that this would be the perfect place to pop up a floor board and peek at what was underneath.  The stairs wrap around the northeastern corner of the tavern -- same wall, opposite corner from the 1962 on the other side in the laundry.

I just happened to have a hammer, a long-handled pry bar, a reciprocating saw and a flashlight handy.   I do not have one of those little fiber-optic spy cameras with the screen and SD card video capture, or I would be sharing this great discovery with you!  (HINT TO SANTA)

So I pried up a floor board and found... another floor.  Why am I not surprised?  Broad plank pine.  I am not and expert, but there are marks on it that appear to be made by hand tools.  No circular or straight patterns from milling.

I checked for nailing patterns to avoid cutting into anything structural below, and  found...  another floor?  It looks almost like lath, but thicker and wider.  It's a mystery.  Did they have subfloors back then (when?)  And did they lay them parallel to the floor?  Does not compute... Or maybe it is lath?  For a ceiling?

So I cut deeper into my peep hole.  I'm feeling some serious draft now.

And I can reach into empty space.  I am just a little bit heebed out about something biting me or grabbing me at this point.  Given the displacement of all of the mice and squirrels from ceiling, they had to go somewhere, right?

So it's about 30" down to a level, silty-sand "floor".  I can't see farther then about a two-foot radius in the area under my hole.  My hole is two small to get my fat head through.  Sigh.

Well, there's a bucket -- possibly galvanized, fluted sides, with wire handle.  I can see a few large field stones stacked inside a repointed portion of foundation.  I can see some older,  modern 2x4s, apparently shoring up the floor under the stair structure.  So now we know that they got in and under this room and did some fixin' here and there, so that's something...

We know from early twentieth century pictures of the outside of the house that the stairs were likely in the northwestern corner at some point (odd square window at odd height, now absent.)

So now I am dying to see the rest of what's under there.  There are some tantalizing hints on the "outside".  The southeastern corner of the foundation is enclosed in our present-day basement, around the corner from the 1962.  There is an old iron/lead pipe coming out of it at mid-wall over a granite block on the floor.  The adjacent are of the main house basement closest to the well (still in use today) has the remnants of pre-1820s lath and plaster with some odd brick work and the remnants of integrated wall supports for shelving.  Summer kitchen?  Laundry area (did they have those)? Dish washing area for tavern upstairs?

I seriously need fiberoptic spy gear.  I can't risk a bigger peep hole where I cut today without cutting something structural and/or load-baring.  Aside from my burning curiosity about what the space might have been used for, I really would like to know that the floor and underpinnings look solid before I spend too much time and money on the room above.  Although, there is no shaking or wobbling in the floor and it's probably the most level, square and plumb room on the property.  Perhaps I should consider my curiosity sated with a hole and a bucket.  And get back to vacuuming, sanding, painting and finshing so maybe, just maybe, we have have finished living space for Christmas.  Sigh.

And, Behind Door #3...

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, in terms of odd color choices...  It seems the Care Bears may have had a little known colonial influence...

In our travels through the many and various basement, attic and garage hiding places of TOPH, we have found a large collection of windows, doors and screens.  Since we moved in this Summer, and the house was still largely "winterized", we made quick, if amusing, work of matching each port to its appropriate ventilated pest barrier.  And we attempted to store the take-offs in a way that made sense.  But, let's just say we had some left over parts.

When the drafts of first frost came, we learned quickly where stop-gap measures were needed. And, as luck would have it, our match-making skills proved generally successful.  The many-doored passages to the outside suddnely made sense.  Although, I must say it is cumbersome to navigate multiple knobs and latches in a cramped space with groceries and children, I do get the yankee-logic of an air lock.

However, there are doors in the house that open directly into living spaces.  It was our intent to shun those passages in the Winter months, but, even closed, they were radiating cold.  There was just no way the previous owners lived with them like that...  Ah.  Spare parts!

In the rafters of the garage hubby found a solid tongue-and-groove door with some old hinges and thumb-latch hardware on it.  It fits the outside of the tavern door jam perfectly.  It swings out.  The old hand-hewn panel door swings in.  Clearly it's been there before -- the hardware matches up perfectly, although some pieces are missing.  No biggy.  We will likely figure out a way to secure it and not open it again until Spring.

The kicker is the color.  Now we have a purple house with blue doors and a bright green (we're talkin' verde gris) "over" door.  This just keeps getting better.  I feel like I'm in a colonial Care Bears movie.

The Chill is Upon Us: New Community, Old House

Our world is a little bit upside down.  When we lived in Annapolis, Spring was the busy time of year.  Weekends and evenings (and quite a few sneak-away-from-work hours) were spent getting boats ready for the season.  Tedious hours were spent getting logistics sorted for the sailing season.  But it was all worth it.  The more prepared we were for the season, the better we were able to enjoy our hours on the water.

It was a busy time when the community shared information on new products and processes they were using.  The talk about the coming season centered on new sail plans and purchases, new crew line-ups, ultimate strategies for long-distance races and tactics for the all-important race to the dock/bar.

Now that we have moved North, the sailing season is shorter and Fall is longer, but (apparently) way too short to complete all of the many Winter-prep projects required to keep us warm and safe at TOPH.  The to-do list for Fall included tree trimming to keep branches away from the house, replacing five basement windows to replace some of the the old, rotten ones (removed earlier in the Summer), ceiling demolition in the tavern to allow for plumbing repairs and some window replacement in the main house.

The tree trimming has been slow-going.  Hubby has been pecking away at it over the last six weeks, but our chainsaw has proven unequal to the task, requiring multiple sharpenings over the course of an afternoon.  Plus, tree work with the kids "helping" is slow-going with constant checks of their giggling-proximity to every given projectile and cutting tool.

The basement windows are more a financial challenge.  This is perhaps on of the only areas of "investment" in TOPH where were were willing to go with the cheapest, effective measure.  However, the window sizes are not stock or common, therefore either significant reframing efforts or expensive custom windows are required.  Sigh.  In the short term, hubby built two "hutches" to match the three contraptions already here.  They look like 3-sided dog houses that sit over the window wells.  Under those, I have used "found" materials to affect some protection from the colder temeratures.  The flat-frame screens I made to lay over the window wells for pest protection during our fully-ventuialted Summer have been covered on both sides (with air pocket in between) with several yards of painters' canvas I had lying around.  Hoping they will provide enough of an insulating barrier to protect window-proximal pipes -- we'll be keeping a close eye on those.

The ceiling demolition is more of a mental-physical barrier.  It sucks having yards of dust, debris, frass, feces and fodder fall on your head.  And working with power tools over your head is rather taxing (and death-defying.)  it's not a project you can work on for more than two hours at a time, yet the prep and clean-up take a good hour.  Finding time and motivation has been the greatest factor.  On the other hand, not having a living/family room for five months has posed its own challenges.  The critical mass of willpower (directed at Couch + Fire + TV/Book) is building a decent head of steam!

And finally, we took forever to make a decision about windows for the main house.  Then it took 6 weeks for our "sample" to arrive.  Truth-be-told, it took hubby less than two hours to install it.  And we like it.  A lot.  Now we just have to line up the pecking/ordering order for the rest.  Each one is about $325, so we figure we can do 2 each month without breaking the bank.  Some rooms have only one window and some have three, so it should all come out in the wash.  Although we'd like to do all nine on the front of the house in one go.  In the meantime, there are several that are "breezy" shall we say, so we have made a stop-gap purchase of shrink film, which is actually quite invisible to the naked eye when installed properly.  And, that is how we are spending our Thanksgiving.

So, back to my sailnig analogy.  Hubby and I have both remarked that it is a little tough embarking on projects in an old house in a new community.  Our community of sailing/Annapolis friends was always willing to lend a hand or opinion on a wide variety of boat projects.  Most folks we've met here, though, are not old house people.  So, although they find our house "charming" and projects "interesting", we have found very few with affinity or experience.  And, perhaps it's becasue we barely know them, we have been reluctant to ask for help when tasks require more hands.  Mostly we miss the commaraderie of the boat yard (and The Boatyard Bar & Grill) in terms of group-think and the inevitbability of drop-by helping elves.

Don't get me wrong, we LOVE living here and we are meeting new folks every day, but community takes time to build and we are freshmen.  We are thankful for all of the new folks we are meeting, but honestly, we miss (and look forward to) the sophomoric comments and sage-senior advice that come from old friends. 

So, on this Thanksgiving, we hope you'll join us it toasting friendships new and old.  Here's hoping the former grow finer with time.  Cheers and warm, homey hugs, all!

From the Outside Looking In...

From the outside looking in, it isn't quit right yet.  It isn't quite right looking from the inside out either.  But overall it looks way better than I thought it would and it was much less muss and fuss than I would have expected.

After enormous loads of research, great debate and considerable consternation, hubby ordered and installed the first new window at TOPH.  Kudos to him, because, in a massive paradigm shift, he left me in the dust of indecision and an epic damming of impetuous energy.  I don't know what it is about windows in an old house. Or maybe I do.

There is a quite a complex framework for decision-making.  The following was ours, in no particular order (perhaps THAT was my problem?)  We looked at cost, aesthetics, energy efficiency, modern-use festures and installation appraoches.

Google Image unearthed with search phrase:
Ugly Replacement Windows on Antique House

The product-alone cost of replacing windows, if you believe the hype, ranges from $150-$1,500 for a standard double-hung unit.  There are "replacement windows", which are cheap and easy and vinyl, for the most part.  They have wood-clad upgrades, but that sends them into the same price range as the others, so that was a non-starter.  My biggest issue with them, though was aesthetic.  They "fit" into your old window holes, but come in a smaller range of sizes than the other options.  So they make up the difference with vinyl fillers in the form of coping and flashing and trim.  The result is less window and more white crap to put it bluntly.

The other end of the spectrum is authentic reproduction windows -- the ones with single-pane, wavy glass in "true divided lights" like they were originally.  Apart from being ridiculously expensive, notoriously energy inefficient and exceedingly difficult to maintain, it set the restoration bar a bit to high for us.  I don't see us doing laundry in copper steamers over the fire on a regular basis.  And, as far as I know, George Washington never slept here at TOPH.

In order to preserve maximum "lite" size and aesthetic we wanted, plus achieve the energy-efficiency and modern functions we wanted, we (briefly) considered using "new" windows (case, frame and all) as replacements.  However, this type of window replacement would require major surgery on interior and exterior trim, in addition to repairs to plaster walls and latex-over-lead painted siding.  On our budget, we are tackling one (or a few) projects at a time.  This approach would just open up too many cans of worms at once without the time or money to finish any of them properly.  And, as it turns out, the window sills are very old -- possibly original (clearly hand-hewn and planed) -- and in reasonably good shape.  Why fix something (one of the very few things) that isn't broken?

One down and 53 to go!

So we had basically arrived at a little-known option.  There are a few companies out there who sell replacement sashes in a wide range of sizes.  Plus, they have these "balance kits" -- essentially modern-engineered, multi-track inserts that fit into the vertical sides of your rough-ish window opening.  They allow for all the insulated, double-hung, tilt-in/out options of modern windows without disturbing existing trim and casing. The sashes themselves are argon-filled, double-pane, low-e glass.  There are thousands of options for muillion sets which can be interior and/or exterior.  Right now we have only the interior sets.  When we get around to siding and painting the exterior of the house, we will add the exterior sets and paint accordingly.

NOTE: Very happy about using a product local-ish family owned company (BROSCO) and ordering through our local lumber yard (Exeter Lumber).

It took about 4 weeks for our made-to-order window to come in.  Hubby ordered one for a not-so-obvious window in his office that we though would be representative of the scope and scale for the rest of the house.  And, again, kudos to him.  I just couldn't pull the trigger on this one.  And now it's done.  It took him less than 2 hours to take out the old and install the new.  Just needs a coat of exterior paint to protect the wood surfaces while we get around to the others.  Hmmmm.  What color?  Pink perhaps?  Let's scare the neighbors!  Hehehehe.

Message in a Bottle

This will be a quicky becasue I am exhausted, but very excited to share.

We had a busy weekend of out-of-town guests and outings, but we squeezed in some outdoor work this afternoon.  Now that we've identified "the road" we can peck away at clearing as time allows, so that's what we did today.  There are a bunch of trash trees that have cropped up-- mostly Norway Maples 1-4" in diameter.  All are very tall -- re-e-e-e-aching up to get some sunlight under the canopy of the more mature elm and oak and ash.

Interesting finds:

• Several piles of dirt and rock debris roughly the size and shape of snowplow leavings.  There are lots of  flat patio-type pieces of slate and bluestone in evidence.  Wondering if there was an outdoor living area or formal garden somewhere around or below the pool at some point.  Thinking maybe we'll  take up a collection and see if we gain critical mass for some future project.  Happy to recycle!
• Lots and lots of past-prime firewood dumped in the old barn foundation and in the woods.  The bad news is the previous owners (and their family and neighbors and realtors and landscape-labor) did a lot of dumping in the woods.  There are areas where the debris is too rooten to move and too big to chip -- basically a big mound of mess.  The good news is that I have identified some older dumping zones where the grass clipping and leaves have made gorgeous compost.  Happy gardener over here!
• And, the pies de resistance, was more archealogical.  Hubby found an old bottle on the ground.  He was excited about the antique glass.  I was excited about what was inside.  There was a little bit of dirt and 3 or four different kinds of teensy weensy plants growing in there along with a small population of visible worms and bugs -- all in miniature.  It reminded me of that scene in "Men in Black" when Agent K (Tommy Lee Jones) found a universe in a train station locker.  Truly a stop-and-think existential moment.

Hood's Tooth Powder, Lowell, Mass (circa 1880s)

Microscosm complete with soil strata, multiple plant varieties, plus worms and insects -- all in miniature. The weather in "Hoodville" was cloudy with a chance of rain today.

The Road More Travelled

It's always a little intimidating moving to a new place.  You never know who your neighbors are going to be.  And, for us, since we have young kids and this is pretty small town, we could only hope for amiable neighbors with like-aged children.  When we were house shopping, I will admit to reasonable attention to play sets and sandboxes and strollers in neighboring yards.  There were a few in the newer development that wrapped around TOPH in the woods, but you never know if they are "current" or grandparents or whatever.

We totally lucked out.  Not only do we have very nice neighbors pretty much all around us, but there are two families VERY close by with kids that will be in class with our twins.  Yay!

The funny thing is, it was kind-of meant to be as far as TOPH is concerned.

When we were scoping out the upper pasture (now woods) for goats, we found that there were two gates in the old fence.  One was roughly perpendicular to one of the old barn foundations near our garage.  The other -- a straight shot North-to-South -- led directly into the back yard of a wonderful family, who brought us a freshly-picked-blueberry pie when we first moved in.  We had joked that we should clear that path first so the kids could commute.

Our other neighbor -- across the street and down the hill toward Great Bay -- had made a similar suggestion.  Why not make a path through the woods?  Better than having the kids walking in the road, right?

So I set out with my skein of red yarn with the thought that we could identify a reasonable path and do some clearing as time-energy presented itself.  The thing is, the more I looked, the more I found that the path was already there.  There's actually a break in the wall (under a bunch of brambles and poison ivy) at the far downhill corner of our property.  And, if you kind of squint, you can see the old trees vs. the new.  And some evidence of tracks from vehicles (motorized and otherwise) along the way.

The funniest thing is that the paths on the upper pasture (woods) and the one through the lower pasture (also now woods) connect almost exactly at the front of the other (largest) barn foundation.  There are pretty obvious swaths where the trees are younger and scrawnier since they grew up in hard-packed, more-travelled ground.

I strung my string, clearing a bit as I went, and found another cool surprise in the woods -- a meandering row of healthy American Elm trees.  I've always wanted a tree-lined driveway.  And now, it appears, we shall have one, albeit a kid path connecting friends and neighbors with the foundations and intentions of our forebears as landmarks.

Roadies & Rhodies

I think I mentioned before that I joined the Master Gardener program through the UNH Cooperative Extension.  It has been a great way for me to scratch my gardening itch while keeping my won't power intact here at TOPH.  I have pledged not to do any serious gardening here at TOPH until Spring 2013.  But, I will say that I am kind of enjoying living vicariously for awhile.  I feel like a roadie.  And I'm following this band of talented folks who are doing all that I can't right now -- just kind of soaking it all in and nodding enthusiastically.

In the meantime, I am doing a minor gardening project.  I am getting away with it only because it pertains to grading and drainage and foundation-saving.

We have these two enormous Rhododendrons.  They are on the west side of TOPH between the kitchen door and driveway.  The trunks are 8" in diameter and they are each about 8' wide and 8' high.  When we visited TOPH in the late Spring they were gorgeous.  Massive, multiple blooms of a pleasant not-pink, not-purple hue.

Unfortunately, they were planted too close to the foundation and their root balls sit a little higher grade-wise than I would prefer for healthy drainage and sill-health.  Sad, but they need to go. 

Moving large bushes has its risks, but, the way I see it, these rhodies owe us nothing. We bought the house and they came along for the ride -- free parking as it were. Now we just have to figure out how to reassign their parking places without killing them.

We covered  planting and transplantation in Master Gardener class, but I had a feeling that our well-established monster-Rhodies might require some more creative attention.  I was right, according to Michael Garrity (Garden Works LLC & Blueberry Gardens Organic), an expert on perennials and ornamentals, we're "going to have break some rules and make it ugly, before it can be pretty.  Patience is key."

His advice was to prune them hard, selectively stripping off all outer new growth and buds, then cut a trench in around the root balls this Fall, then finish digging them out and moving them in the early Spring, as soon as the frost lifts.  Finally, once they are relocated and dug in nicely (with root ball flare safely above grade -- that's one of his big campaigns), then I am supposed to prune all of the massive (now-budless) growth off the outside and let the inner buds and branches go nuts.  Sounds reasonable.  That way all the inner stuff will be protected this winter and through the move.  We shall see.

Pruning a Rhodie in the Fall is a no-no, usually.  And doughnut trenching around bushes has some real downsides, but this is a special circumstance and Mike seemed to have a rhyme to his reason.  Something about helping the plant to conserve energy, kick-starting some close-in root growth, and looking forward to a spectacular bloom (if they live) in the Spring of 2013 in their new locale.  OK.


So, I have now selectively pruned all of their outer growth and extremities.  The inner buds look very promising!  OK, maybe that's wishful thinking... And I also took out all the dead twiggy stuff to eliminate harmful pest habitat.  That was my idea, but it seemed like good, basic IPM (integrated pest management) practice to me.

I have to admit they look kind of sad at the moment -- sort of like a long-haired cat after a bath.  I still have to do the trenching, but the weathers been rather soggy lately.  I think I will wait until there is more dirt and less mud to slog though for that little task.  The digging will be hard and I will have my bot cutters in-hand as the root system on these puppies is fibrous and thick and woody with no fine hairy stuff.  Quite ingeneious, really.  That's how come they are so acid-loving (-tolerant).  No fine, hairy roots.  Just the smart ones with uptake sensors.  It's really fascinating.  They are closely related to blueberry bushes in that way, you know.

In the meantime, I am chanting words of encouragement to the granite foundation wall nearest to these impinging root balls.  I'm sure it will be fine until spring with the bushes can be safely moved and the small door yard there can be regraded and planted with some storm-water-sucker-uppers.  We will be paying close attention to rooting distance and spacing relative to the house and driveway, as well as appropriate root-ball-to-grade depth assignment.  Right-O!  I'm thinking red twig dogwoods on an island in a drainage pond... Wait, the hubby is wholly opposed to the p-word.  So we'll call it a kidney shaped sub-grade catch basin with appropriate outflow, landscaping and aeration.  And frogs.  Yep, that's it!

Recipe: Ginger-Pear Clafouti

It was my turn to bring the snack to Master Gardener class.  Thought I would share.  Turned out SO yummy.  A real any-occasion dish -- brunch, tea, dessert...  Enjoy!

Ginger-Pear Clafouti (Melissa Currier 9/22/2011)

(Makes 48 servings in 2 lasagna-sized Pyrex.  Scale at-will. Small scale will work in a 10" skillet -- start on stove like a frittata.)

8 T TJ's Organic Brown Sugar

1/2 C Ginger Brandy

2 t Cinnamon

10 Ripe Organic Bartlett Pears

________________

3 C Bob's Organic Whole Wheat Flour

1 C Organic Bread Flour

12 T TJ's Organic Raw Sugar

1 t Celtic Sea Salt

________________

16 Large Nellie's Cage Free Eggs

2 C Hatch's Light Cream

2 C Hatch's Lite Milk

16 oz. TJ's Greek Yogurt

4 t Vanilla Extract (bourbon-base)

________________

12 T Organic Butter

________________

Preheat Oven to 400 degress with butter in Pyrex

Prepare pear mixture, toss and set aside.  Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl.  Beat wet ingredients in another bowl.  Pour wet mixture gradually into dry mixture, mixing well as you go.  Batter should be smooth.

Ladle a portion of the batter into your preheated baking pan(s) (1/2-3/4") and return to oven until it begins to set like the first side of a pancake.  Remove from oven and spread pear mixture evenly into pan.  Cover with remaining batter.  Put the whole thing back in the oven, reduce heat to 375 and bake for approx. 20 minutes until it puffs up and begins to brown nicely.  Toothpick stuck in center should come out relatively clean.

Serve hot or cold.  Sprinkle with powdered sugar (optional).

Willpower & Won't Power

When you have a lot on your to-do list, sometimes the hardest thing to do is stick to your to-don't list.  That's when willpower is really more about "won't power".  When we bought TOPH, we knew there was a very long to-do list, and we had to make a to-don't list to keep ourselves on track.

As a passionate digger of dirt (and soon-to-be-official Master Gardener), I would like nothing more than to focus on, and obsess about, our neglected yard and escapist landscape and grimmest-of-the-grim absentee gardens. But I have sworn off proactive gardening on our property until the Spring of 2013.  I am limited to clearing brush, cutting firewood, preparing for goats and grading in some minor drainage-required areas.  Oh, and some very selective transplantation and/or removal of "vintage" plantings that are impinging on the solidarity of our pieced-granite foundation and deteriorating sills.

My hubby is sacrificing too.  And, honestly, he's fighting genetics to stay on the wagon, so I really can't complain too much about my clean fingernails.  I married a tinkerer-packrat and the poor fellow will also have to wait awhile to have his dream: a barn.  In the meantime he will have a workshop in the basement and disparate storage in hidey-holes around the house and some no-power, no-heat space in the too-small, not-tall garage, but it's not the same.  And I get that.

I have to say that living without our nearest and dearest habit-hobbies is forcing us to really think and plan and mull over what we will eventually do.  Time will tell if their absence makes our hearts fonder and goals sweeter. I'm guessing YES!

In the meantime, we are progressing on all of the many before-the-snow-flies necessities around TOPH.  And we are available to consult on any of your yard and/or gardening projects and vehicle projects (land or sea).  We are living vicariously through you.  Don't be shy!

POD-crastination

OK, we are officially in one of those cart-before-horse situations.  We've got a lot of projects to do in the short term that require massive muss and fuss (and dust), so we've retained the PODs we used for our move to keep work- and our precious-few living-spaces clear.  But these projects are taking longer than expected (shocker) and the PODs are costing us money, which cuts into project budgets. 

• Basic budget logic says, "Um, hi.  You have a 4,000+ sq. ft. house with a bunch of empty rooms.  Why are you paying to store stuff in the driveway."
• POD-crastination logic says, "Why move things around a bunch of times?  Your boxes of stuff are high and dry and dust-free.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Wait 'til the coast is clear."
• DIY logic says, "Use sweat equity and repetitive-task-torture whenever possible to save the almighty DOLLAR."

SO, it's 2-to-1.  PODs lose. Domestic open space legislation = FAIL.

We shall dedicate this rainy week to find (temporary, but remotely logical) places for everything and put everything in those places.  And just to make sure we accomplish this, I have invited my mother to help.  Nothing like inviting a task master to your own work party.  Sigh.

Counting Our Blessings, Others Not-So-Lucky

Basically the Irene experience here at TOPH was anti-climactic.  We lost power for about six hours during the day yesterday, but, thanks to an energetic romp at the through-the-woods neighbors' house, the kids crashed for a long nap and we got some reading in.  Excellent Sunday afternoon, by all accounts.

The power came back on in time to cook dinner.  I hedged my bets with a pressure cooker. I figured as long as it got up a full head of steam, it would keep cooking even if the power decided to conk out again.  Yummy barbeque pork.

So TOPH came through fine.  No major roof leaks, no major basement flooding and no major tree damage. Unfortunately, some of our friends and family were not so lucky.

My hubby's aunt and uncle lost their dream home on Cat Island in the Bahamas.  They've spent the last few years managing the massive logistics of building in that remote locale.  Finding building materials and skilled contractors is not as easy as picking up the phone down island.  Materials were brought in by horse and mule and brandless motorized contraptions. Managing opinionated local and migrant laborers from afar was even harder.  Getting furnishings to a home there requires IKEA-like palette packing, generous relationships with  customs officers and scarce-vehicle transport.

Formerly "Rainbow House" on Cat Island in the Bahamas.

They had painstakingly installed a whole-house solar power system there, transporting it piece-by-piece friends' sailboats as they came through over several cruising seasons.  And it's all gone. 

One of the major points of contention with the building laborers was cement.  The house was constructed of concrete block, but they were stacked and fastened together with mix-on-site materials.  The quality control when it came to the consistency and content was impossible.  The challenges were either opinion or shear laziness -- it was never clear which.  But, physics always win.  A structure is only as strong as its weakest point.  And Irene found it.

Not quite as dramatic, but equally devastating, our friend Dave was home with is dog Cyrus when a good-sized tree was uprooted in the yard of his rented cottage near Annapolis.  Thank goodness they were not hurt!  And here's hoping he is able to salvage some of his soggy belongings once the tree is stabilized or removed.

Dave's House in Edgewater, MD. As my hubby
put it: "You sank my battleship."

When you see destruction like this, you really start to think what might easily be lost. In the corner of the house where the tree hit was a curio cabinet stuffed with trophies and pictures and memorabilia spanning several decades of sailboat racing, his lifelong passion. We are truly grateful that he and Cyrus are OK, and hoping that much can be salvaged. There are some things insurance just can't replace.

And, some rays of hope, if you will.  As we were all watching Irene make a slow-motion, full-on mess up the east coast,  folks farther south were coming out of their shelters and things were looking up.  The air was dry, the atmosphere "scrubbed" and the colors amazing.  Thanks my to uncle and cousin for sharing.  It was nice to have a preview of  the light at the end of the tunnel.

Sunset in Wilmington, North Carolina as the
final bands of Irene spin onward and upward.

We've heard from the folks down on the Cape and all appears to be fine, altough there is no power.  No surprise there.  No word yet from our friends in coastal Connecticut and Vermont.  Hoping you stayed high and dry, y'all.

Irene: Checking In, Signing Off

This will be my last post until the AI (after Irene.) We are headed to the Cape to help with family property prep there and then, hopefully, coming back to be here at TOPH when the storm passes. But, it may not be possible to get off Cape traffic-wise tomorrow, so we'll play it by ear.

Things here are battened down as best as can be expected. The basement window wells were wide open with their summer screens. Can you say cascade effect? So, we put the winter "dog houses" on the ones in the paths of the greatest roof-run-off. The others are either closed off with the remnants of windows or have their horizontal screens sheathed in contractor bags and canted appropriately. Its not perfect, but it's better than nothing.

We put the new washer and dryer up on wooden palettes. Spin cycle is a little more of a jig now.

And we bought a new sump pump today, realizing later that identifying the actual low point in the TOPH cellar was a bit of a joke. And the debris from the recent plumbing, wiring and window projects would surely plug it up anyway. Well, we have it. If (when) the water comes up over 6", any outflow will be positive. Power to run said pump is unlikely, though.

We called Unitil about the precariously teetering remainder of a 300-year-old ash, which is currently leaning on a utility pole down the hill. They said they would send a truck out to look at "trimming" it. Good luck with that. And sorry to any and all down-current.

We shall see. Fare-thee-well TOPH. Buck and Purcy (the cat) are in charge 'til we get back.

Clean Dirt & Spider Detente

I was never really a fastidious housekeeper.  In our old (new) house, I would keep up as best I could and get truly compulsed a few times a year.  And, if those few times happened to coincide with holidays and/or large-group entertaining, I often called in reinforcements to help tame the beast.  The thing is, that house was new and the surfaces could actually get clean.  On really "clean" days (and when the house was on the market) I could actually wake up in the morning to a level of shine and order that approached hotel quality.  Sigh.

Here at TOPH, the whole clean thing is... relative.  First of all, when we moved in, the house was "broom clean" which meant, literally, that some had walked around with a shop broom and a piece of cardboard and cleared up the loose debris.  Second of all, the first month we lived in TOPH (actually camped with mattresses and patio furniture), there was this constant stream of contractors.  Clem the Plumber (and his awesome fireman/sidekick/assistant Brenda) and Kenny the Electrician (and his dry-witted pinch-hitter Lyle) and the cable guy and the internet guy...  And then the movers came.  Twice.  It was a parade ground in here.  Third, it was "musty" in here and hot out there, so we have basically had the windows and doors wide open for two months.  And the outside tends to come in on the breeze.

It's not that I haven't cleaned at all.  In the rooms where we are actually living with furniture, I've swept and mopped and wiped the woodwork down, etc.  And we have scrubbed the "vintage" kitchen into comparative submission.  But, it's hard to tell what's actually clean, when the baseline is old, stained, dull, dusty and chipped.

Here's a great example. Once Clem and company were finished with "the boiler," I decided to tackle the front hall.  I Shop-Vac-ed up all of the bits from the constant rain of ceiling and the boot grit from in between gaps in the wood floor and the cob webs from every perpendicular joint. Then I got out the Simple Green and a scrub brush and a sponge.  What I found under the film of dirt, dust and a decades-old film of mop water was a Birdseye maple floor.  What I also found was that whatever finish had previously protected that beautiful grain was coming right off with my gentle, but thorough cleaning.  Hunh.  So the dirt was actually protecting the floor.  Not in the market/mood to refinish those particular floors right now.  Maybe next time I should leave well-enough alone.

The TOPH "theory of relativity" also applies to spiders.  When we first moved in, it was a massacre.  They were everywhere (involuntary shudder).  So, whenever  I saw a spider, I killed it (and it's little babies too!)  After a while, though, we figured out that the window screens were no match for the no-see-ems that seem to manifest whenever low-tide and sunset coincide.  And that no window or door is impervious to a particularly determined mosquito.  And the spiders had that all figured out.  Their favorite spaces for webs, were our most vulnerable borders, therefore we have reached detente.  They stay out of my shower, bed and any area where I regularly have to put my hand (light switches, window cranks, etc.), and they are welcome to any spot where delicacies abound.

In fact, they are helping with an important, silent offensive. TOPH has a few resident boring beetles and carpenter ants.  We have identified and treated some problem areas, but nothing structurally tragic so far.  Several of these old-house menaces lay dormant and hatch at irregular intervals.  They cannot, as it turns out, spread or thrive into future generations if they can't swarm after they hatch.  They are programed to "go forth and prosper" until they find a new (not previously marked with pheromone trails) food source.  If they they are trapped at mamas house, they become sterile and die.  (Evil laugh and hand wringing.)

So, when I see our "allies" spinning intricate webs around the structural hardwood underpinnings of TOPH, I give them a little cheer of encouragement.  "Feast on the flesh of those 4-day-old virgins!"

But if they spin one more strand in the tool handles of the DIY collection (involuntary shiver) I will bring Armageddon down on their eight-legged asses.

10 Vignettes of Small Town Living

1) You can stand in line for your car registration and a livestock permit at the same time.  It's different people in different offices, but the town hall is small enough that you can hang out in the middle and see who's free first.

2) If you have a Catch-22 vehicle registration/inspection situation that may leave a vehicle only marginally registered for few years, they ask if you're only planning on driving around town and suggest you probably won't get pulled over anyway.

3) They look at you a little funny when you ask about a Historic plate for a car that's only 21 years old.  Evidently, "Antiques" are older here.  "She's just now old enough to drink!"

4) Permitting is not only easier, it's not really required for all the things you think it would be. We're thinking about getting some goats, so I asked the Planning & Zoning guy what we need to do. "Well, first you'll need some goats.  Have you talked to the lady over in Chester on that sustainable farm?"

5) There is little need for an economic development commission when everyone is so enterprising and helpful and resourceful.  "You know there's a lady over on Union Road.  She got some goats awhile back.  Now she rents them out to neighbors with poison ivy and what not."  Hunh. 

6) The public comment period is open for proposed changes to town ordinances, tax codes and such.  The bulletin board in the town hall boasts two hand-highlighted pages of plain-English that are stapled up for all to see (and surrounded by little waves made from colored construction paper.)  Around the official notices are stapled hand-written "public comments" on personal stationary and notebook paper and monogrammed note cards.

7) An hour with a PhD arborist is free ($40 if it's more than an hour on Friday.)  All trees on our four acre lot are now categorized as "good, bad or ugly."  We now know the trees with the most fireplace-BTU potential, the cost of a lumber truck to come take our "stock" to the mill (and the pros and cons of the four local mills), and which "problem children" are mostly likely to "really mess up your chainsaw and your chipper."

8) We need some non-DIY tree work done along the road.  I sort of groan when I hear a "detail" might be necessary to direct traffic around the lane while they work.  "Oh, it's no big deal.  You can go through the town and it's about $60/hour for a cop and a cruiser, but you could just contact the auxiliary.  They'll usually send someone if you make something nice for their bake sale."

9) The guy across the street found a random wire hanging low over his driveway.  Evidently a squirrel was playing Tarzan in some nearby grapevines and... Guess how long it took for a bucket truck and two guys (from the right company for the right wire) to come fix it?  Sixteen minutes.


10) Instead of charities selling candy bars and magazine subscriptions, the folding tables outside the grocery store are occupied by members of the local grange handing out free magazines with articles on baking with (actual) whole grains and building your own solar heated water trough "so it doesn't freeze just as soon as you fill it."

Boerdom & Selective Service

No, I'm not bored (and I can spell, usually.)  And no this is not going to be a soap box about the draft.

This is about figuring out how to reclaim some of our land from a 20-year free-for-all of poison ivy, trash trees, brambles and burs. Less than 100 years ago there was nothing here on the southern shore of Great Bay but pastures, orchards and marshland cris-crossed with stonewalls and cattle fencing.  Today, in between the tasteful estates and late 20th century developments and remnant antique homes (like TOPH), there is a healthy bit of agriculture still going on, but mostly there are multi-acre patches of young, scraggly woods.

TOPH is nicely situated on a hilltop, a hilltop that used to command sweeping views of Great Bay to the northeast.  Our parcel now is just shy of four acres  Let's say, for simplicity's sake, that TOPH basically sits in the middle of a roughly eyeball-shapped lot.  Aside from a sloping swath of "lawn" between the bell-shapped stone walls out front, and decent-sized (and barren) "door yard" out back, the rest is trees and brush.

Clearly we'd like to reclaim some of the water view.  And we'd like to identify and preserve some specimen trees and some shade trees and some strategically-placed privacy trees and bushes.  There is some strong  gardening potential on the southwest end.  And, in the future, when we are ready to rebuild the barn, we'd like a little paddock space on the northeast side.  Nothing radical.  Nothing quick.  Nothing now.

But I did peruse some resources through the various state agricultural extensions about the best ways to selectively clear land.  And out of all the possibilities (clear-cutting, heavy machinery, expensive environmental engineers and contractors, sheer back-breaking labor), one stood out.  Goats.

Evidently, goats are "selective" in all the right ways.  They eat poison ivy and sumac and brambles and underbrush and dried leaves and sapplings of all sorts, but they leave mature trees alone.  They eat grass tops, but not the roots, which is politically correct and environmentally sound. Their poop is basically "organic" since they are herbivores.  And, interesting fact: they eat a great variety of things, but they don't eat much more than they need, so they stay fit and don't poop alot. 

I pilfered this pic from the Field to Fork Farm web site.
  I love their "movable feast."  This is not the normal "goat" pasture,
but it needed a trim, and the goats were happy to pitch in.

This all sort of sounded too good to be true, so my son and I paid a visit to Field to Fork Farm in Chester today.  We just dropped in, actually.  Met the whole family.  They could not have been nicer.  (Wow! What a cool place!)   


Daniella is "the goat lady."  They have a division of labor there that seems to work.  And she certainly seems to know her stuff.  We walked along a gorgeous, rolling pasture with some large shade trees and scenic knots of vigorous pine.  Aside from that, healthy grasses, alfalfa and clover.  Sigh.  Perfect.

Apparently, this pastoral wonderland was not-so-long-ago an impassable scrub forest with little redeeming value.  I couldn't help myself.  The question-peppering spewed forth.  "Wow, that must have been a lot of work.  Did you need heavy machinery?  Did you hire a contractor?  Did it take long for the seed to take hold?"

She looked at me with this miraculous knowing grin.  "The goats did it."


They put up a fence (like the one still standing among the trees on our southwest end).  They lined the top with a charged rope (catalogs sell pulse chargers that are solar powered!)  They turned them loose with a water tub and a salt/selenium block.  And that was it.

OK, in the wintertime they had a little shed and a little water-warmer ma-jigger.  And they do an annual vet visit (house call) for the herd.  They feed theirs only enough grain to keep them kid- and people-friendly -- and they were friendly.  And they fed them small amounts of "selective" hay in the late fall and early spring -- only the kinds of things they wanted to seed the pasture with.  Because, right on cue, these little agro-phenoms spread perfect, fertilizer-encased seed all over the pasture.  Sigh.

They chose Boer goats because they are big and hearty and good for meat (they eat the grass-fattened males, all except their favorite buck).  And they crossed them (a little bit) with Nubian to get tougher feet.  Success!  The only one with yeasty feet (nice) is their buck, the only remaining 100% Boer.

I have to say I fell in love with the Boer goats I saw at the Stratham Fair a few weeks ago.  They have these long ears that flip up at the end.  They are just the cutest things!  So, I'm not sure about the goat-eating thing,  but it makes sense that you don't want to keep too many of the boys around.  Hunh.  Food for thought.

What will the neighbors think?  Well, there's the obvious.  Livestock = Smelly.  But, I've got that one covered.  "Their shit don't stink."   Literally.  I sniffed it.  It smells kind of like arugula with Vidalia dressing.

Anyway, so I'm going to spring this on hubby when he gets back from the Cape tonight.  What do you think?

The Sky is Falling (!?)

I remember so many times, mostly early-on in my professional life in marketing and communications, when the sky was falling and I played the roll of, or professionally promoted the sentiment of, Chicken Little.  It happened in the politically-hyper, left-right roller coaster of DC during the early-90s.  It happened in the anti-gravity, upward waves of NASDAQ in techie-Boston during the mid-90s.  It happened in the late-90s when suddenly the world wide web went mainstream and it was hard for us mere marketers to figure (for sure) what was up, down or sideways.

After 2000 rolled around, I got married, then built a house, then eventually had better-living-though-chemistry twins.  Not much phases me after that last part.  Drama over.  How do I know?

The sky is literally falling and nobody cares.  Well, it's not so much that nobody cares...

See, in our old house (the brand-new, custom-built, all-in-working-order one), a small pool of unexplained water or a problematic grout corner -- it mattered.  You saw it. You put on your troubleshooting hat and fixed it (like NOW) or called someone to fix it (like YESTERDAY).

Now?  Not so much.  The sky is falling.  No, really.  Chunks of ceiling are literally falling down.

You've already heard about the gift that keeps on giving in the tavern.  (Four Floors & A Ceiling)  We're walking, we're walking... Keep up!

In the central hall, the seemed-like-a-good-idea-in-the-70s "textured" swirly plaster is literally sloughing off, leaving sunken continents of "vintage" plaster.  The mystery-fiber ceiling in the northeast-facing sunroom?  Sagging pitifully in long-ago soaked areas.  The paint on the ceilings in five of the six rooms with actual dry wall on the upper plain?  Peeling.  Coming off in odd chips in places where the deltas of heat and cold and dry and damp finally dealt the death knell to the elasticity of eggshell.  And bubbling off in strangely roller-shaped swaths where someone decided to touch-up a smokey corner or draft-dusted doorway with oil-based Hatfield over latex McCoy.

And then there's the spot -- it's more of an "area" actually -- right over the head of our bed.  At some point pre-last-chimney and/or pre-last-roof, there was a leak.  And there's evidence of it in the ceiling just there.  There's no active water now, but the strata of previously abused materials take umbrage with changes in humidity.  When the dew point approaches "air you can wear", little pieces of ceiling soak up the sogginess and PLOP.  It suddenly becomes too much for gravity to ignore.  And a hunk or pebble or bit falls.  Onto my head or pillow, or some other area of ear-destined bedding.  It's like spitballs from heaven.

And yet, I feel no utter compulsion to fix it NOW.  Or to call anyone in particular.  Is it my twin-addled mommy-mind?   Is it my been-there-done-that political/communications attitude spilling over?  Or maybe there's just so much to do here at TOPH, that my brain-transmission is firmly in D (for denial.)  Whatever.

Yep.  The sky is definitely falling.  And I'm OK with it... for now.
 

Diversionary Tactics & Tasking

Life in This Old Purple House can really swallow you up!  Where did the summer go?

I had this grand vision that the kids' rooms would be all set and settled by the time school started.  And we'd have a box-free, semi-finished living space by now.  Sigh.

So we're part-way there.  My daughter's room is reasonably done and settled.  My mom got her this incredibly gaudy (and AWESOME) vintage lamp with winged mermaids and cherubs and other fancy stuff.  It's this enormous multimedia affair (porcelain, gold leaf, bronze, brass...)  It has some harp issues and it needs a shade -- oh, the possibilities!  In the meantime, she is very happy with the bare bulb scenario -- the mermaids appear to be sunning themselves under privatized solar power.

My son's room is furnished, but unpainted.  The humidity has been a killer this summer.  This requires us to actually plan (hunh?) certain projects as opposed to following the whim of wafting coffee vapors in the morning.  I'm thinking we'll have to consult the almanac for likely dry, temperate 5-day windows in September.

We've been on a mission to get the last of the PODs unloaded (costing us $399/month to have the two behemoths sit there), but hubby had to take off for the Cape last night (with the help of our up-for-anything daughter) to deal with our dear, neglected Infinity.  We have ignored her so completely during her prime summer-wind season that she chaffed through her dual mooring lines and landed on the beach. My heart is aching for her.

I am here at TOPH with my son, who is sick with a horrible, lingering summer ick. Hopefully, he will feel up to helping me unpack some.  And organize some.  And clean some.  Perhaps laundry and dishes are more realistic goals for today.

God, I would love to head down to the Cape for a couple of days for my mom's birthday, but I fear my horizontal hacker would be an unwelcome guest.  And we've got so much to do at TOPH!

The wielding-of-overhead-power-tools (and the catching of awkward, gravity-loving chunks of "vintage" debris) required to take the remainder of the ceiling down in the tavern has proven to be a two-man job. With hubby working on the weekdays, the project has been slow-going.  It had been our goal to have actual living space finished for our annual Oktoberfest (our first at TOPH).  Actually, that's still the goal.  I just have no idea how to make it happen.  Maybe we'll have to press-gang ourselves for some early-AM (shudder) sessions.  Who knows?  Maybe power tools in the morning are just what we need...  More coffee, please.

Temptation & Curiosity

I've posted our first poll (see right bar), which closes exactly 24.5 shopping days before Christmas.  Big-box investment? Stocking Stuffer? Scary Alternatives? No Peaking? You choose!

There are so many areas of burning curiosity in This Old Purple House. This morning I was thinking about how this multifaceted, multi-variable project is kind of like one of those uber-planned (and luck-laden) spy-thief thrillers.


Remember Stella (Charlize Theron) from The Italian Job?  She needed her scopes!  Whereas her dad (Donald Sutherland), he did it by touch.  Then there was Left Ear (Mos Def) -- he just blasted his way in (with finesse, of course.)  And last, but certainly not least, Handsome Rob (the truly yummy Jason Statham), who patiently waited in traffic (in the sequel), because that's what the job required.


So, put yourself in first-time-master-planner Charlie's (Mark Wahlberg) shoes.  Which tool should we have on our wish list for Santa?

DEWALT 12-Volt Max Inspection Camera Kit ($300)

or

Kids Spy Net: Flex Neck Snake Cam ($15)

Or neither?  Please weigh in on the poll and add any comments you feel relevant to the decision/discussion.  Thanks, all!

Establishing a Baseline

Short and sweet today.  I posted all of the historical docs and maps and photos in "Reference Pages" (see links at left).  Essentially, this is what we "know".  Everything else we've got is:

• Basically immovable landmarks and clues: foundations, stonewalls, well heads, relational references to other documented properties and landmarks, etc.
• Info from the local Historical Society (Wiggin Memorial)
• Resources from the local Library (also a Wiggin Memorial)
• Anecdotal "Evidence" and Oral History from locals re: the last of the Wiggins to live in this house around the turn of the last century.
• Observations from driving around town looking at the (many) other period homes, their architecture, their size, their scale and those little plaques provided by the local Historical Society (hint!)

Based on all of the above and a couple of hours perusing "A Field Guide to American Houses", we are pretty sure the house was built after 1767 and before 1790, and most likely in the pre-Revolutionary period of that window.  It's certainly a side-gabled Georgian.  It now has paired interior chimneys, but it may originally have had one central chimney (with very cold outlying bedrooms).  The major sticking points (I think):

The space between the top of the second floor windows and the roof overhang puts it later in common applications.  But there are notable exceptions (Brice House in Annapolis and Williams House in Deerfield).  Also, there are a couple of 1717 and 1723 houses around here with a good 14" between windows and roof.

The front door is the (potentially original) solidly Georgian (1700-1780) front door paired with the more commonly Adam (1780-1820) leaded elliptical fanlight and sidelights (also potentially original) on the front door. But, leaded glass elements and fixtures were commonly wedding gifts and Richard was unmarried when he was deeded the land in 1767.  Maybe the fancier front door was a wedding present?

Still pondering.  As always, input welcome!

Muscal Windows: Symmetry, Rythm & Balance

If the sincerest form of flattery is imitation, then it stands to reason that in order complement something, you must first understand the essential elements you wish to emulate.

As near as I can tell, there are three essential elements of 18th century architecture.  First, there is symmetry -- colonial homes are all basically symmetrical.  Post and beam structures were beholden to the span length/strength of locally available timber.  There wasn't too much creativity in design because, in a truly communitarian culture, where you learn from others trials and errors in relatively new surroundings, things settle at the base and the average.

Second, there is an energy and rhythm -- one that emulates the order and pace of the utilitarian life of the household.  This Old Purple House was, first and foremost, the homestead of a 50-acre dairy farm in a close-knit community of family and more family.  Although rural by today's standards, its location was convenient to the busy road between Portsmouth and Exeter and proximal to a busy ferry crossing.  One can imagine that this house saw a lot of comings and goings.

Third there is the balance of heat, light and draft.  Hearths and windows and doors.  Colonial homes were designed around chimneys as the hearth was truly the heart of a colonial home. Window glass was available (at a premium) so larger windows were strategically located to provide maximum usable light in daytime living areas, while smaller windows were placed in bedrooms to preserve warmth at night and in winter, plus permit airflow in the summertime.

Wood was readily available and cheap, so colonial homes had lots (and lots) of doors.  This Old Purple House is a great example.  It is literally a warren of interior halls and doors, which provide privacy, but also an intricate zone system for heat containment and strategic drafting.  I can almost imagine the ladies of the house moving in some habit-driven dance of opening and closing as the weather and seasons changed.

OK, so based on the symmetry, rhythm and balance we have observed in This Old Purple House so far, we have arrived at the first big decision we will make that effects the facade of the house itself.  The windows.

Last Winter, while we wrangled with the former owners to arrive at a contract price, a squirrel somehow got into the house but couldn't find a direct route out, so he tried to chew one through the mullions between the first course of window panes in just about every window of the house.  We could, of course, buy a gallon bucket of wood putty and start retooling them one-by-one.  But I personally have more important and less tedious things to do between now and 2016.

So, we are looking at replacing windows.  We looked at replacement windows (blek).  We considered new construction windows (and the related detours of retrimming or residing or resurfacing just about every interior and exterior vertical plane of the house in short order -- Cha-ching -- NOT).  And have now come around to the current thought leader: replacement sashes.

No matter which we choose, we will get some significant energy savings (and rebates, we hope) and some  modern conveniences like tilt-to-clean and two movable sashes.  Yay!

So now we are back to the symmetry, rhythm and balance thing.  The windows that are in the house now are not original.   Most in the main house are circa 1950.  Some are double hung (6-over-6).  Some are cottage-style (6-over-9 or 9-over-6). There is little-to-no rhyme or reason to the pain size and proportion.  Pictures we have from the 1920s show enormous 2-over-2-pane style windows on the whole main house.  We know those weren't original, for sure.

This Old Purple House circa 1920

This Old Purple House was in
the same family from 1767
(and the land before that),
until the early 1900s when it
was sold to the Odde Family.

It was called Greenacres then.

Then we took a closer look at those pics.  Colonial folk were thrifty, right?  Reduce, reuse, recycle?  Who had windows in their barn? Ah!  People who had leftover windows from their house, that's who!  So, there were 12-over-8 cottage-style windows with basically square panes... Wait, haven't I seen those somewhere?  Yes.  The "tavern" was a barn then too.  And it got some leftover windows.  Lookie, lookie.  We have old warbly, bubbly glass!  So, now we know (generally) what they had originally.

OK, so here's where we throw it out to you guys for thoughts and opinions.  On the main house, the windows on the first floor are 10-12 inches taller than the windows on the second floor.  So, we can either try to match pane size and proportion (my pick) or we can match pane count and layout (hubby's pick).

Essentially, my way would end up with same-same pane sizes, but 12-over-8 cottage windows downstairs and 8-over-8 double-hungs upstairs.  Hubby's way would be double or cottage in both applications, but the panes would be larger and taller downstairs and essentially square upstairs.  What say you, blog-follower-folk?

Four Floors & A Ceiling

NOTE: This one is a long one.  Hubby suggested I get your opinions on some things (since you're here and all), and I figured you need at least enough info to give educated guesses/advice, so here goes.

I am an impulsive planner. I am sure there is some psychological pigeon hole for people like me, but I'm OK without a label. Clearly, I'm embracing it, whatever it is.

Every once in a great while I get a bee in my bonnet and I draw up a grand plan for whatever it is I'm planning to do. And I'm very proud of myself.

When I was in the "professional" world, things like status reports and benchmark surveys and quarterly analyses kept me honest. I was good at planning and forecasting, sticking to them and making them happen. But now I'm a mom and my full-time job is "homemaking" in every sense of the word, and then some.

Although there is a certain routine and rhythm to our days here, four year-old children have a way of turning plans into puddles. And our quarter-millenarian (my term -- all the options on Wiki for 250 years were wrong, long or nonsensical) house has a way of arbitrarily (and quickly) changing your priorities.

The other thing that happens with both young kids and old houses is absolute stalemates when best laid plans suddenly require a detour, which itself necessitates several intermediary steps, and so on.

Case in point. We're thinking we would like a room in which to sit and read and watch TV, and maybe entertain some friends and neighbors. I believe it's called a living room. Yep, that's it. But we don't have one. Yet. This house has a tavern. And it needs help.

Let me take you back a month or so...

We decided we could live with a living room (great room, whatever) that was dark and wood-bound. Of course eventually (very common word around here) it will have bigger windows and window seats and a wall of bookcases with a rolling ladder and... Cha-ching.

So, all we needed to turn the "tavern" into our living room was a refinished floor and a couple of grounded (not cloth-wired) outlets.  (We were planning to get this all done before our furniture arrived.) So, I started sanding with a boatyard favorite: a "vintage" Porter-Cable Random Orbital 6" Vacuum Sander (no link for that one!)  Love that tool.  Worked beautifully, but it took several days of trial and error and prowling the industrial parks of Portsmouth and find the right sanding discs and figure out what grit would actually remove "vintage" sap-wax without heating it to a shiny glaze or irreparably marring the soft "vintage" pine.  Very fine line there.  So several days in, and we had gotten about 1/8 of the 800 sq. ft. room done.

Change of plan.  Not going to happen before furniture arrives.  Put on hold until movers go away and relative baseline living returns.

So, the movers stacked all things "great room" unceremoniously into the now unusable northeast facing "sun room".  All I can say is, we suspect Buck was "involved" in our floor sanding frustration and delay, because...

The day after the movers left, Clem the Plumber was back to turn on and test the new boiler and bleed the system.  The water went into the system.  And the water came out of the system.  Through the tavern ceiling.  (We had anticipated a whole house of exorcistic plumbing, but had yet to find any major leaks or failures.  Found it!)


The pipes ran straight down the middle of the very large, beam-spanned ceiling to feed the radiators at either end of the bunk room upstairs.  The only access to said pipes was either through the level and lasting oak floor in the bunk room or the already spotted, now sagging and sodden, ceiling in the tavern.  No contest.

Clearly, before we could continue with the "just refinish the floor" project, we had to get at the pipes and make repairs in the ceiling, right?  (And, thanks to Buck, our furniture and electronics were out of harm's way when the deluge came!)

So we spent an entire day tearing down the mystery-fiber panels between the beams of the ceiling.  (Thank God for the Shop-Vac!)  We found ourselves in a steady shower of debris that had been sitting on top of said panels.  Contents included 93 cubic feet (I calculated it.) of mouse poop, corn cobs, walnut shells, and tiny four-legged skeletons; sawdust, wood scraps and nails (from the 1953 bunk room floor project); and, paper dolls, postcards, purposefully diced-up parental correspondence, toy parts, doll parts and a well-worn Brownie beenie.

So, after all that, we could fix the pipes, right?  Not so much.

No pipes yet visible.  It turned out the mystery-fiber ceiling panels were attached to a tic-tac-toe of 2x4s and 2x6s, which were in-turn nailed (generously) up to the underside of one of two layers of very old, unfinished plank-pine, loft-type floor.  Hunh.

Over that there was a void of 8" or so and then the more modern diagonal-sheathing-type sub-floor for the oak floors in the bunk room above.  Did you follow all that?

OK, so in the "void" was the biggest surprise we've found in the house so far.  Steel I-beams (shadowimg above the cedar hand-hewn beams of the ceiling) and a modern-ish 2x6 structure supporting the floor upstairs.  Hunh.

OK, so now here's where the "plan" completely derails.  We can't "just refinish the floor" anymore.

Hubby wants to open up just enough of the tic-tac-toe and layered loft floor (reminder: these are strata of the ceiling) to get to the pipes down the middle.  And then leave the rest (with the remainders of mouse meals, mice and feces sifting down on us from above), finish the floor and furnish/live happily, temporarily after... until we get back to it.

I, on the other hand, acknowledge that a whole-hog remodel of the space is way outside the realm of time, money or mental capacity at present.  However, taking out all of the ugly, not-even-rustic-looking tic-tac-toe and layered loft floor would leave the ceiling at tabula rasa: beams and a view of the underside of the diagonal sheathing from the floor upstairs.  I can live with that!  And, over time, before putting in a "real" ceiling back in-between the beams (circa three years from now), we could rewire/replace the ceiling fixtures (enormous wagon-wheel and jelly-jar affairs), play with recessed lighting, run piping for radiant heat for the later-to-be master bedroom in the bunk room, rough-in plumbing for the later-to-be master bath up there...  The possibilities are endless, but the the interim would be aesthetically-pleasing enough.

So,  there you have it.  Hubby wanted me to "engage" the audience.  So, should we open up only as much as we need to get to the pipes, or should we get it over with and open the whole thing up?  Or, perhaps you all have some other idea we are missing (due to mouse-poop-induced brain fog)?  Either way, we'd get back to the "just sanding the floors" part within a month and furnish/live in our living room (under Buck's watchful gaze) within six weeks.

Comments, questions and counseling welcome.  Really.