Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Construction Update 5: A Recap of the Last 2 Months!

I arrive home, late at night, after having spent almost a week in the city of bridges.
Pittsburgh is beautiful.
Excitedly, Adam walks me through the house.
While I was gone, he insulated interior walls (for sound reduction), HVAC ducting was installed, and the walls were sheetrocked.
Instead of being excited, I panic,walking through the house noticing all the things that are wrong.
- Framing is still missing here.
- And here.
- This doorway is too tall, too wide.
- We forgot a dryer vent!!
- THAT HOLE IN THE FLOOR IS IN THE WRONG SPOT.
I lay awake too long and worry.

Gorgeous reclaimed 10 inch wide fir planks from the now deconstructed Salvation Army, formerly located in downtown Missoula, are delivered by WasteLessWorks and Adam fastens them to the decks and porches. There are three!!  We deliberate on how to finish them and then decided to just use them the way they are: square bolt marks, paint stripes, burn mark and all.

The view of the "Great Room" from our bedroom.
The far doorways are the kid's rooms.
The ladder leads to the loft.
All upstairs.
The sheetrock seems to take forever.
The weather turns cold.
Rain drenched fall leaves before dawn.
It rains and rains.  The wind forcing water into places it shouldn’t be and I frantically call for the roofer.  Where is he? (Hunting, I imagine.) Finally, and not a moment too soon, the stack of reclaimed metal makes its way onto the roof.  The galvanized metal, once a part of a mill, finally fulfilling its new purpose. I traded months of childcare for this metal.  It was delivered by Heritage Timber years ago, and I’ve just waited. A stack of metal sheets that the kids climb onto and then over the neighbors fence, summer after summer.  

We clean up the mess left after the drywallers "cleaned up" their mess.
Spraying Primer
Adam covers himself from head to toe and sprays primer on the walls, the ceilings.

We buy coffee and deliberate paint swatches.  The kids pick their favorites. We paint blocks of color.  We paint them white again.

None of these swatches feel right.
Darker ceilings in the bedrooms.
Slowly one room after the other gains color.  Yellow. Green. Lilac. Blue. Teal. Green. Terracotta. Cream. The whole rainbow, really.
Yellow Kitchen.  Green Entry way.  Lilac Guest/Maker Room.
A still unpainted Piano Room between the kitchen and guest room.
Most of downstairs.
The downstairs bathroom is painted a bold copper wire, complementing the hand thrown sink I impulse bought from a going-out-of-business-sale my first week in Missoula, and carefully lugged from rental to rental.
I have had this sink in a paper bag for almost 10 years.
I can't wait to see it being used.
It is gonna be awesome next to the claw foot tub that was repainted gunmetal grey.
Gunmetal Grey Tub.  Freshly primed claw feet.  Look at that detail! 
A few paint touch ups are still needed here and there.  
One white wall remains undecided.

We sweep, and sweep again.

My electrician buys me my own brand new wire strippers.  
They are mine!  MINE!  (Ivory's room)
On the inside, I’m doing a happy dance. I can’t think of a better compliment. On the outside, I coolly wire outlets, switches and lights. Adam moves through the rooms after me, tightening everything into place. We hand the kids screwdrivers and they attach faceplates.

We order appliances. Ceramic tiles. A door lock.

Sylvan helps us carry stacks of oak parquet flooring from the shop into the house.  The flooring is the remnant of the Florence Building Ballroom remodel. Last summer, I happened to ride my bike past a builder’s moving sale and claimed it.  The help of friends makes quick work of the stacks of flooring. The bundles of maple for the bedrooms, the first item from last winter’s crazy try state craigslist road trip, to move into our house.  Four of us roll out underlayment and suddenly we are ready to install flooring upstairs.

Reclaimed maple floors in our bedroom.
The largest puzzle I have ever played is in progress as we choose each piece of wood individually and lay them across the floor.  
We have snow.
So much has happened during the past two months.  

It is hard to remember we are making progress.  

Adam and I work all day, and then come home to try and manage to keep things semi-normal (HA!) and moving forward at the same time. The stupid waste oil burning shop heater is on the fritz again, a seasonal occurrence that takes up too much of Adam’s time, so far with no results.  I make as many mugs as I can and am loading my last kiln of the season today.

Bozeman Made Fair! 
Flower Frogs!



Two craft fairs are behind me and two more are coming up:  The Missoula Holiday MADE fair and the Hip Holiday Market

I wake up every morning with the heaviness of the to-do list weighing down my chest. I struggle with the daily guilt of juggling parenting with three jobs, and the frustration of not being able to do it all - ever. I hope that soon we can say we did the impossible. 

Thursday, September 27, 2018

Construction Update 4: Keep on Moving


Tired is lodged between my shoulder blades. 

I pick a shovel and one scoop at a time close up the trench connecting the power from the shop to the shell of our house.


Seven hours later I shower and drive Adam to the airport.  He is mostly out of town for two weeks and I have no option but to keep moving.  Every day starts and ends with an impossibly long to do list.   


I am woken up Tuesday morning a semi load of insulation being dropped off at my curb.


 After work an (unbelievably kind) neighbor and I lug each giant bag of rock wool into the house and pile some in every room - down stairs and up the stairs – until my arms no longer can hug the bags to my chest.  Wednesday night we do the same, but when I try to bear hug the first bag insulation to me I find I can’t carry a single one on my own.  As we round up the corner of the stairs the first time a flutter catches my eye.  An owl is trapped against the window screen upstairs.  It must have flown in through the deck’s open sliding door.   I slowly move close to the frantic bird, opened the screen, and it silently flies away. 

It must be a good omen.

A friend joins me on Thursday and Friday. We turn on the music and begin to open bag after bag of insulation and stuff it into the cavities of the house.  The itchy dust finding its way through gaps in our clothes.  The upstairs is done.  The downstairs is done.


All of Saturday I fill gaps.


Monday, I am in the rafters, stapling insulation stops into place and foaming gaps.  I am perched two stories above ground, my legs wrapped around the trusses. Hours later I look around and I feel defeated.  After dinner and bedtime books, I plug in the long cord of lights, turn up the music, and keep stapling. 

Tuesday, I go to work and try and keep up with the little things that have to happen to make life run smoothly.  I put away the clean dishes that have gathered on the counter.  I fold the piles of clean laundry that have taken over the little living space on our bus.  While the kids sleep behind the curtain, I tuck each thing where it belongs.   


Wednesday committee meetings are canceled and use that time to I run to the studio to try and get a few more mugs thrown and finished before I leave town.   By noon, I am back at the house, and lugging individual bats of rock wool up a ladder into the loft.  I count the bays, calculate the number of bats and climb up and down, up and down, up and down.  


The kids come home from school and a hoard of children bounces on the trampoline next door.  There is screaming and laughter until the sun starts going down and I can’t put of making dinner any longer.  I’m so close to being done, but, so not done.

Brightly colored ears of corn from our garden.  Planted too late, watered too little,
loved by the kiddos. 
In spite of having showered my neck itches as I walk to work.  The leaves on the trees are changing color: red and yellow against the backdrop of stubborn green.  


Adam comes home, a day and a half earlier than expected.  We briefly see each other as he stops by my office to check in.  “Here is the list of what needs to be done”, I say, “before Monday”. 

I fly to Pittsburgh on Sunday and part of me is looking forward to being able to just sit down, the other is trying not to panic:  I have to pay normal bills and construction invoices.   The HVAC guys are in and done on Monday.  Two inspections have to be passed before drywall can start on Tuesday. 

It has to be fine. 


Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Construction Update #3

I climb up and down a ladder moving it across the room as I place lights,  connect and then secure wires.  The smell of paint wafts up the stair case from below, where Adam is staining pine tongue and groove boards for the soffit.


The roof is dried in, but not yet roofed. The windows and doors are in. 

In spite of reservations and the looming lists of things yet to be done, we commit to our annual river trip. "The kids would never forgive us", we say to each other after bed time. Sylvan paddles his kayak,  Ivory rides with a friend, Adam pushes a canoe with all our gear and I stand a top my new paddle board as we move down river to our over night camping spot. 

photo credit:  Joe Nickell
I leave my phone in the car. I allow myself the space to not think about anything at all.  I still need to wash towels, and pack away our life jackets and camping things. 

The plumbing and wiring is almost complete.  I am waiting on the phone call letting me know that my insulation has arrived.  Everything feels slow and yet time is going by fast and I am dreading the coming of the cold weather.  I anxiously consider the non-existent walls and just hope the drywall can be hung before it actually gets cold.  

The stained and tattered work plan I drew up has so many boxes that still need to be checked off.
Purchase deck decking (done). 
Have it delivered (not done). 
Get flashing for deck (not done). 
Siding (not done).
Sand the old cast iron tub (mostly done).


Pick paint for tub (not done). 
Paint tub (not done). 
Rough in plumbing (mostly done). 
Rough in electric (almost done). 

The peaches are falling off the tree.  We have eaten most of them.  I don't have time (or space) to deal with the rest of them.  The paths at my community garden plot are neglected.  Someone else is picking most of my ripe tomatoes and peppers in the garden beds at my work.  "They must need them", I think and we pull carrots to take home.


Sylvan pulls one of the Lego boxes out of the attic of our wood shop, and when I walk into our converted school bus, there is a Lego explosion covering every inch of the sofa and table.



We cook dinner outside and eat at our picnic table.  I'm grateful that at this time of the year chopping is the largest component of dinner prep: tomato basil salad, a medley of Dixon Melons and hot dogs are perfectly acceptable.   


I am back inside the house as soon as my plate is cleared, trying to make the most of the remaining daylight. Adam hollers at me to look out the window and see the sky.


Adam climbs into the loft to help me for the last little bit.  It is dark and we don't want to pound away too late into the night.  I didn't finish as much as I hoped over the weekend.  But then, do I ever? There are a few more wires left to pull, a few more light fixtures to mount, a switch to add here and there.  We did have fun:  I danced on the Higgins Street Bridge,  the kids wandered Sunday Streets Missoula, we got ice cream and I sneaked into the studio while Adam played the last Missoula Outdoor Cinema movie and the kids sold popcorn and candy bars.  While the kids slept I managed to carve designs onto 6 mugs and 6 cups... and 18 more are waiting, stashed in protected spots on the bus.  


I curl into bed and try, not to think about where I could have been more productive.

It is what it is.  




Friday, August 3, 2018

Summer Days, Weekends and Walls: Construction Update #2

The bright light creeps into the ceiling vent in the back end of the bus.
We heat water for coffee on the picnic table.  I sheepishly greet the crew of workers that show up as I shuffle through the yard in my slippers and pajamas to grab half and half from the fridge in the garage.

The summer work weeks are broken up by a weekend trip down the Bitterroot Valley.

Logger Days in Darby Montana

Jumping High at Logger Days
Jump Jump Jump

No Hands Water Melon Eating Contest

Cooking Dinner under the Big Sky
The days are marked by stops at the river, impromptu back yard slumber parties, movie marathons and games of hide and seek have expand to cover the whole block. 

We pick huckleberries, cherries show up in our CSA delivery, the apricots on our tree are sweet and juicy,  the plums are turning red but still hold firmy to the tree.

It is the first time this tree has fruit.  Red Plum Surprise!!

I am reading our way through the stack of Madeleine L'Engle books I tucked into the limited bookshelf space.  With dirty faces and feet we crawl into bed when it gets dark and the air cools.

The height of the walls doubles, and in half of a day the roof takes shaped. It looks like a house. I can't stop smiling.  I cover my face with both hands. I feel silly and giddy and my cheeks are sore. 

Sylvan and I sleep in a tent, in our house, under the big sky. 



The roof is decked.  
We choose paint for exterior trim. A dark, clear blue. 
The porch and balcony are beginning to be framed into place.

Compared to our old house, and in contrast to the bus, the new house is big, almost enormous.  The four of us have never slept far apart.  In one room or two connected rooms, and now stacked on top of each other in the confines of the yellow bus.  Sylvan and Ivory fight over the two kid's bedrooms.  They heard one framer say that a room is bigger, ever so slightly.  It is true, but the kids are wrong about which room it is.  There is a loft.  There are extra rooms.  There is a plan for a dishwasher.  It feels extravagant, excessive, decadent.  I waiver between excitement and guilt.  "It's okay,"  I tell myself. "We will have room for family, for whole family slumber parties, for neighborhood potlucks and pie breakfasts." We accept a friend's invitation to the lake.


Breathing and gentle snoring fills the air.  Sylvan giggles in his sleep.  I click of my light and tuck my book away.  It is dark and close and comforting.  I miss this already.  


Current Construction Status:  

Street View of House (14 ft wide)

The house faces east:
the beginnings of the Porch and Front Door

Facing the Back Yard, future green house site???




Tuesday, July 10, 2018

No Going Back: Construction Update #1

I brush a cobweb from my hair and bag up remnants of old insulation bats.  They are damp from a week of rain and no roof.  I pull the trash bag behind me, through the shallow space, under what is left of the original house.  A giant spider scurries up a wooden post.  I pause to watch.

Last Picture of the Old House! 
After the frantic final boxing up of everything we own, the roof came off and the walls came down (courtesy of Heritage Timber), and we relocated into 200 square feet (?) of a school bus.  It seems sudden, but years of planning and saving might just be reality.

Decon in Process
There is no going back now.


We are a month and a half into our remodel/rebuild and the walls are going back up.  I dance around the a space that looked good on paper, and feels even better.

The walls of the Laundry Room, open space of the dining room, viewed from the kitchen.  

I'm wishing I had remembered to put on sunscreen. The tops of my feet are burning and the sandal strap tan I try and mitigate all summer long is a sure thing.

It is hot.

I score and snap apart another piece of blue foam insulation. It pops. It is satisfying. The insulation in old crawl space is finished and we puzzle the pieces of blue foam into the spaces between the first floor joists hanging from the new foundation.


The floor joist for the second story are being placed.

I call the plumber, touch base with the electrician.  "Walk me through this process", I say to the Northwestern Energy phone operator. A vision that started to take form, initially in a model constructed out of cereal boxes, and then was revised and revised and revised again in google sketch up, is taking form.

Piles of wood and metal, windows and doors, the claw foot tub, stashed away light fixtures and drawer pulls, the hand thrown sink I bought my first week in Missoula (long before I even owned a house) - a combination of found things, craigslist scores, warehouse sales, crazy road trip pick ups, work trades - are and will become a unified structure.

The kids ride bikes through the neighborhood.
They pick strawberries in the little bit of undisturbed yard.
They move between our yard and the neighbor's and down the street as we rebuild our house with a village behind us, a whole lot of faith, and a little crazy.



Tuesday, July 3, 2018

On the Road in our School Bus, Tiny House Adventure


I braid one thin braid after the other and secure the ends in a rainbow of hair bands carefully selected and organized. The motions seem like right of passage and it is officially summer break.

We are on the tail end of a whirlwind road trip, moving down the highway at moderate speed.  We took the converted school bus we are currently living all the way to Niagra-on-the-Lake and back.We are rolling along, somewhere between the east and west boundaries of South Dakota.

We cooked dinner while the day darkened and the stars emerged in the sky.


We drove and drove and drove as we put the jagged peaks of the rocky mountains behind us and the landscape became flat then then the plains grew to hills and mountains and water.  The lush green of a deciduous forest, ferns and flowers all around us. 


Somewhere along the way our bus gained a name - meet Alice.

The dense vegetation broken by ponds dotting the landscape, the intermittent water become vast and we skirt the edge of first one Great Lake and then another.  

We drive more and sleep less than should be possible.


As we get close to our destination we pass through, in the middle of the night, a city with the population of 2.7 Montanas and thousands of cars flow around us on the highway.  The traffic, and lights, and tall building fade behind us and we pull into our destination and sleep. 

When we wake, we are surrounded by family we haven’t seen in years, the maximum density of vineyards and wineries possible, the overarching branches of large trees, and a vast view of water.


Activity filled days (and nights)fly by. There are things to see, and taste, moments to savor, and stories to share.

Much too soon we start our journey home.

We have a little more driving time, but had hoped for even more.  
To circumvent Chicago, we drive our bus into the belly of the last operating coal fired steamship, the S.S. Badger and take a ferry, labeled as a US Highway, across Lake Michigan.



We play bingo, and both the children win. They watch a movie. We stand on deck, in the warmth of the smoke stack and can see no land. We sneak into the dark room and curl up in reclining chairs to sleep a few minutes in the flicker of a screen, before we keep driving west.
  

Adam tries to sleep as I drive us down small state highways, through quaint, quiet towns, past farms, and finally across the Mississippi River.


We smooth out the wrinkled, worn pages of the road atlas.  It has lost its cover and was shiny and new just 10 days ago. We trace the final few days of our journey. Ivory, has a pass available to all fourth graders, for free entry to all the National Parks.  Our first destination is the Badlands, then Wind Cave, Yellowstone and finally back home. 



"Dangerous Cliff - Keep Left"

We stand in vast landscapes that defy reason - above ground. 

Betty, our on board Jack Metcalf original, thinks the Badlands are Bad Ass!
We find ourselves in an equally mystifying landscape - under ground. 


We drive over one, and then two mountain passes.  



Here we catch catch glimpses of the space between. 





We can see from the space above to the space below. 






At 1:30 in the morning Adam pulls the bus to the curb of our house (lot?). Exhausted, and in need of showers, the bus is put in park and we drag ourselves to the back and crawl under the covers.
We slam into the routine of real life.
Adam heads to work before 8.
I stop by the gym for a quick shower and head to a day of solid meetings.

Ivory’s braids stay.

Time in Lists

Every morning I make a list of three things that made me happy the day before. A practice I started when life became crazy - and that was a ...