Besides destroying junipers, one of the first things that came to mind was that upon occupation I needed warmth. For me, installing a wood burning stove was an obvious decision. Even before a single shingle was pulled the process to design, research, and purchase everything stove related was underway.
Lucky for me, the one square and well-built addition to the house was a firebox and chimney. Totally ineffective and certainly inefficient as a heating element, the structure itself would provide a sort of shell for the stove and piping. First to gut the old fireplace of its cheap glass facade and thin tile hearth.
Another stroke of luck was that the tile hearth sat on a concrete block that formed part of the base of the chimney. The concrete provides ample insulation under the stove and this meant that the new hearth wouldn't have to be so thick, important because clearance for the pipe out the back of the stove and into the firebox was an issue.
From there it was time to build the new hearth. A piece of plywood was cut to the size I wanted for the new hearth. My plan was to lay new tile but while running in the hills above the house at a certain elevation I started to notice flat stones of various shapes and sizes and, voila!, my plans changed. I returned later with the truck to forage.
I'm not a rock dude so as far as I can tell what I collected were some sort of rhyolite with traces of andesite, both extrusive results of some serious volcanic activity.
Wayne donated some pieces of fir for the frame that he cut with a nice beveled edge at his shop. I cut the pieces to length joined together with a miter joint and nailed the frame to the plywood.
The stones were set to the plywood with cement then a day or two later the gaps were filled in with grout and the help of a pastry bag. I liked the uneven texture of the stones and wanted to maintain that so I only leveled four stones for the legs of the stove.
The next task was the pipe. I managed to wrap and tape insulation around its length, haul the entirety of it up on the roof (pre-snow), and stuff it down the chimney all by myself. It was soon apparent--of no fault of my own--that I was short six feet of pipe which had to be reordered with a connecting collar. Reordering a week before Christmas meant that there was no Christmas fire.
The new pipe arrived as did help to stuff the extended length back down the chimney. A 500-pound stove was wrestled onto the hearth and the pipe was wrestled onto stove. The frame was stained. Wood was split and stuffed into the stove and now the stove provides warmth and beauty and with every log burned I feel more and more comfortable here.
After raising and stabilizing inside the roof, and all of that pretty much took a week to complete, we moved outside. First came the stripping of both wood and asphalt shingles, the latter at least 50 years old, the former even older.
Then the endless pounding of leftover nails.
To strengthen and support the old roof Wayne decided to lay 2x4 'sleepers' on end, on top of the old rafters. The nice thing about Wayne's plan is that the sleepers will extend past the old, basically nonexistent, eaves and the house will now have proper eaves which will provide not only more shade but also some definition to an otherwise rectangular design.
An Idaho morning and the once and future sun room, minus the washer and dryer:
As mentioned, nothing is straight or true so we had to do some serious finagling with the sleepers to insure that the plywood would align and seams would fall on the sleepers for nailing. From there, felt paper, fascia, soffit, and, finally, shingles will be laid in pretty much the same way as any other roof.
It's the event of the season. It's a new roof and by the looks of things not a minute too soon. My first thoughts were, "Those shingles look bad, better replace them by the winter." Soon after the first shingle was stripped I decided, "God-a-mighty, this is a disaster."
The first and so far best step was to hire Wayne to run things. He runs the saws at a local recycled timber shop but he's also an ex ranch foreman, an oil field welder, a cowboy, a farmer, and all-around genius. He's a perfectionist and is dedicated to quality work. None of what follows would have happened without him and he is owed a lot more than the money we will pay him.
The supplies arrived, part of the roof was stripped, and we were on our way.
The roof is a damn mess. There isn't a true corner or straight line on it and it rolls and waves like the ocean. The first issue has been severe sagging. To solve this, Wayne devised a way to jack the old rafters up from inside the attic. The only things holding up the roof were old 1x6 supports shot in at suspect angles and various locations. Many of these were cracked and some weren't even connected to any support, just kind of hanging there. Frankly, it's a wonder the whole thing hasn't collapsed. We hauled two giant laminated beams up through a hole we cut in the roof, ran a line, then went across the beam jacking up every rafter that sagged.
There is a false ceiling in the house. The original ceiling is made of lathe and plaster. It, too, was sagging severely--which probably prompted putting up a new ceiling from within to hide it. To stop the sagging we put a third beam across the top of the ceiling rafters, then sucked it up a bit with a jack and nailed new blocks to the old rafters. It didn't raise the old ceiling as much as it will prohibit it from sinking any more.
First night in the new/old house. The roof is still under construction. There is no insulation. The wood floors are dry and full of splinters. The electricians left several holes in the lathe and plaster walls. The new wood stove is outside waiting to be installed. It's 29 degrees outside and the high tomorrow is supposed to be 34 where I will work on the roof.
I'm sitting on a dusty 50-year-old chair sipping génépy, eating a bowl of stove top popcorn (first meal!), and listening to Yo La Tengo. In total, it couldn't be much better.
Once the junipers were dead and gone it was time to enter the house. Unoccupied for three years and fairly neglected for at least a couple decades, the first chore was to undo what 60-plus years of living had done. This included wading through and sifting, sorting, dumping, recycling, repairing, and organizing everything from furniture to clothing to books, kitchenware, appliances, food, plants, hardware, and much, much more. Some things were sent straight to the dumpster, some were piled together for relatives to claim, some hauled to charity, some were claimed for ourselves.
A classic Mormon pantry: bleach bottles filled with water and a five-gallon bucket of (now) crystallized honey in case of a nuclear disaster or the Judgment Day, whichever comes first.
Those who experienced the Great Depression learned not to waste. You never know when three cubic meters of grocery bags might come in handy. Interestingly, the grocery bags were stuffed in the 50-pound flour bin while the flour, maybe 20 pounds, was relegated to a smaller drawer in the pantry.
An International Harvester deep freezer, no longer running but stuck inside of a pantry when new cabinets were placed in front of any exit space.
But you gotta make lemonade out of lemons so the new job of the International Harvester will be to store wine at a respectable 60 degrees and 65 percent humidity.
Eveready cell batteries for a telephone line found in the cellar.
Joys of Jell-O, an undated recipe book published by the General Foods Corporation, and glazed ceramic pots.
A C. Kurtzman & Co. upright piano circa 1915 (?) and sheet music for Marty Robbins' "A White Sport Coat (And a Pink Carnation)" and Bob Wills' "San Antonio Rose".
