Summer Of The Roof
So what’s new?
Not writing. I haven’t written anything down here since last April. All I’ve been able to manage is thinking about writing. But ... THAT’S WRITING … right?
As you may know, we’re building a house. Still. Building. A. House. We broke ground in August of ’21. Calling it a project would be laughable. It’s a life’s work.
We spent the past summer working on the roof. Every day was a beautiful struggle. The spring was wet and foul, mid-June and the clouds were still pissin’. The roof transforms into a high-stakes slip and slide at the first hint of dew. So, we’d work as much as we could between the dark clouds, then climb down to safety while gently cursing the sky.
The summer wore on, got hotter and dryer. Ladders. Scaffolding. Precarious positions. Wrastling tarps turned to sails in the tattering wind. Forever squinting up into the sun, faces crisp in the glare off the pitch.
The roof sheathing and insulation were a righteous pain in the ass. We stacked that shit up like a layer cake in order to achieve today’s Deschutes Co. demand for R value (R38, for you curious folks).
As a bonafide weakling, I couldn’t drag the plywood up the ladder, so I was very limited help to my main squeeze. Unless — is standing on the ground telling him to be careful every 3.5 minutes helpful? But Cale rolled up from Chiloquin now and then to help Mark. Knowing he had a helping hand during the week while I toiled over my laptop relaxed me a little. Sometimes I’d drive down on Saturday and get there in just in time for an afternoon cool out in the Deschutes. Then we’d eat takeout pizza and drink beers while the light fell, feet dangling off the second story deck. We’d conversate and dream — about the days when we were “done” and doing less, spending less, crying less, living like gnomes in the woods, with a grand functioning toilet and shower and stove to cook our righteous feasts, the radical luxury of a day-to-day with no major labor to-do’s — oh it blinkered off in the dusk like a cloud of fireflies. The possibility was beautiful.
By September the metal panels were going on. Each piece clicked into the one that went before it, then you’d sew up the other side with custom gasketed screws. A satisfying process. It was the fastest part of the build, easier than we thought it would be. Un-used to things being easy, we charged forward with a renewed energy.
The weather cooled and wildfire smoke dispersed as autumn winds galloped down off the volcanos. A rainstorm appeared on the weather forecast — fall’s first rain. With impeccable style, Mark rattled in the final roof panel. We packed up the truck. Our baby was all tucked in and ready to snooze through the coming season. What timing! Back in Portland with the rain running down the windows, we didn’t cry tears of joy — pfft that only happens in the movies.
True story: a week-ish later, a windstorm knocked a big ol’ tree down on that brand-new roof.
HOMESTEADING … AMIRIGHT????
