Things have been moving along at a brisk clip. The brick guys did their thing, allowing the framer guys to come on out and do theirs. We love our bricks. So much better than everyone else's bricks. Rhett had to go to a special brick showroom to pick them out and pick out a matching mortar shade. Who knew? Details, details. Once the framing started, it was amazing how quickly the outline of the house began to rise from the concrete piers (we were told our architect, one Don Gardner we plucked from the internet, put in a freakish number of piers, which means our floors shouldn't be sagging anytime soon). Day One: beams across the piers for the floor, Day Two: rough floors laid and walls beginning to rise. Day Three: Walls! This is the fun part - now we can actually walk from room to room, trying hard not to step on nails or bean our heads, and actually see how big each room is and how the house flows. I think it will be beautiful, as long as pick out the right stuff!!!!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The outline takes shape
Things have been moving along at a brisk clip. The brick guys did their thing, allowing the framer guys to come on out and do theirs. We love our bricks. So much better than everyone else's bricks. Rhett had to go to a special brick showroom to pick them out and pick out a matching mortar shade. Who knew? Details, details. Once the framing started, it was amazing how quickly the outline of the house began to rise from the concrete piers (we were told our architect, one Don Gardner we plucked from the internet, put in a freakish number of piers, which means our floors shouldn't be sagging anytime soon). Day One: beams across the piers for the floor, Day Two: rough floors laid and walls beginning to rise. Day Three: Walls! This is the fun part - now we can actually walk from room to room, trying hard not to step on nails or bean our heads, and actually see how big each room is and how the house flows. I think it will be beautiful, as long as pick out the right stuff!!!!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Inevitably Disappointed
So we have the perenial "glass-half-empty" or "glass-half-full" perspectival argument. Because we messed around with with big oaks in the back and tried to work around them, we never did get our land graded the way I guess it should have been graded. So we had the "footings" guy come out and do his footing thing and his comment to Rhett at the end of the day was "Wow...I sure did need to use a lot of concrete." And, "Gee, you sure have a high foundation." (I can't vouch the terms were "wow" and "gee"). So maybe we don't freak out but we are definitely very concerned. No one wants to build the ugly, freaky-looking high-foundation house in a normal neighborhood where most folks have three or four steps to walk up to get to the front door and we need a rope-and-pulley system for hardy visitors. I guess we could also direct them out to the back door which will now be leading straight out onto the dirt pile (below).
So, you ask, what's the "glass-half-full" scenario? Well, our real-contractor-in-everything-but-official-name brought a landscaping guy out to look at the freakish dimensions of the foundation and the landscaping guy said that the high foundation provided "interesting landscaping possibilities." Trees and life-size statues of the saints, I suppose.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Dirt Pile
Since last posting, things have moved both really quickly and really slowly. Small things seem to take days (getting a quote for the HVAC), but once a few key "trades" are set --- LOOK OUT -- here come the dozers, the mud, the port-a-potty (which you have to provide, and I've been told to never, never, use -- I'm not passing judgment, I'm just passing this along and I didn't ask questions). The permit hangs proudly in front of Lot 65.
Sadly, we made a costly and upsetting error. We tried hard to keep a couple of large, beautiful oaks in the back yard. However, once the surveyor came down and put down the flags, it was clear that the oaks were way too close to the house. We had to pay to have the heavy machines come back out (did you know it can be $1000 just to transport the bulldozer or whatever it's called to the site?) and take the oaks down. It became apparent that the view out the back window would be an extreme close-up view of the knarly ridges and trenches of a very thick trunk. As one wag put it, we could have reached out our dining room window and fed a squirrel. Very sad. And being novices, we did not realize that "digging the footings" most likely would have killed the trees anyway. I didn't know that I would have to know about trees to build a house, but it's all connected. Now I see why professional builders doze everything in sight down and start with a perfectly clear, flat, lot. It's much easier, if lacking in a certain lovely greeny soul. I had already planned on hanging a rope swing from the perfectly-situated branch, visions of happy chidren making memories to share with their children later on. "Yep...that old oak tree...I still remember how we used to play in its the embrace of its branches while the squirrels scampered merrily about..." We were going to build a patio around it. Now the view out the back is of an enormous dirt pile and accusatory sticks reaching out from the soil like old bones.
In fact, Wyatt wants to name our new homestead "Dirt Pile." Or "Old Sticks." I tried to explain that naming a home should recall something stately or romantic - Willowbrook Pastures, Dovecote Cottage, Camelot Dreams, Thitherfield, Woodside Commons, Ravens Beak....you get the idea. I guess Old Sticks or Dirt Pile does kind of fit us, however. We're not proud folk.
While my husband is doing most of the "heavy lifting" now (seems to be a lot of calling people about things like electricity-- Oh yes sir, may we have some? -- and standing around the now-grossly-disturbed dirt pile making guy-talk with people who presumably know what they are doing), I will be called into the fray soon. Doors, windows, faucets... Apparently, my job will be to figure out how one goes about getting these things. My pre-home-building self knew that doors came with houses. Hinges, knobs -- sure, glad to have them, whatever. Now I know that this isn't just a door -- it's an "entry system" replete with frames and what-not to ensure the opening-closing function happens with no troublesome watery inflow. And faucets come in a bewildering array of shapes and styles - contemporary, Victorian, traditional, country cottage, modern - choosing a faucet becomes something of an exercise in finding yourself. Who am I, really? Do I like a traditional twist on a modern style? Do I fit in with the sleek sensibility of the post-modern world? On the other hand, the Victorian collection adds understated drama to the daily routine...I'm not making this stuff up. Do I want to make a distinctive statement reminiscent of another era? Or do I want to stake my claim boldly in the here-and-now? If heavy sedation were available, would I take it? Mind you, we're just talking about faucets. I find myself scrutinizing every faucet I come across in other bathrooms as if they might hold the the key to future happiness. The low point came today in a dentist's office when I recognized a center-set faucet from a certain manufacturer's collection and was impressed -- this wasn't your normal cheap-o public "lav" faucet. Nice touch, tooth man!
Cabinets (outrageously expensive!), countertops, floors, toilets, light fixtures -- it's up to me to figure out what I like and I need to figure it out fast. Now is no time for an identity check.
Sadly, we made a costly and upsetting error. We tried hard to keep a couple of large, beautiful oaks in the back yard. However, once the surveyor came down and put down the flags, it was clear that the oaks were way too close to the house. We had to pay to have the heavy machines come back out (did you know it can be $1000 just to transport the bulldozer or whatever it's called to the site?) and take the oaks down. It became apparent that the view out the back window would be an extreme close-up view of the knarly ridges and trenches of a very thick trunk. As one wag put it, we could have reached out our dining room window and fed a squirrel. Very sad. And being novices, we did not realize that "digging the footings" most likely would have killed the trees anyway. I didn't know that I would have to know about trees to build a house, but it's all connected. Now I see why professional builders doze everything in sight down and start with a perfectly clear, flat, lot. It's much easier, if lacking in a certain lovely greeny soul. I had already planned on hanging a rope swing from the perfectly-situated branch, visions of happy chidren making memories to share with their children later on. "Yep...that old oak tree...I still remember how we used to play in its the embrace of its branches while the squirrels scampered merrily about..." We were going to build a patio around it. Now the view out the back is of an enormous dirt pile and accusatory sticks reaching out from the soil like old bones.
In fact, Wyatt wants to name our new homestead "Dirt Pile." Or "Old Sticks." I tried to explain that naming a home should recall something stately or romantic - Willowbrook Pastures, Dovecote Cottage, Camelot Dreams, Thitherfield, Woodside Commons, Ravens Beak....you get the idea. I guess Old Sticks or Dirt Pile does kind of fit us, however. We're not proud folk.
While my husband is doing most of the "heavy lifting" now (seems to be a lot of calling people about things like electricity-- Oh yes sir, may we have some? -- and standing around the now-grossly-disturbed dirt pile making guy-talk with people who presumably know what they are doing), I will be called into the fray soon. Doors, windows, faucets... Apparently, my job will be to figure out how one goes about getting these things. My pre-home-building self knew that doors came with houses. Hinges, knobs -- sure, glad to have them, whatever. Now I know that this isn't just a door -- it's an "entry system" replete with frames and what-not to ensure the opening-closing function happens with no troublesome watery inflow. And faucets come in a bewildering array of shapes and styles - contemporary, Victorian, traditional, country cottage, modern - choosing a faucet becomes something of an exercise in finding yourself. Who am I, really? Do I like a traditional twist on a modern style? Do I fit in with the sleek sensibility of the post-modern world? On the other hand, the Victorian collection adds understated drama to the daily routine...I'm not making this stuff up. Do I want to make a distinctive statement reminiscent of another era? Or do I want to stake my claim boldly in the here-and-now? If heavy sedation were available, would I take it? Mind you, we're just talking about faucets. I find myself scrutinizing every faucet I come across in other bathrooms as if they might hold the the key to future happiness. The low point came today in a dentist's office when I recognized a center-set faucet from a certain manufacturer's collection and was impressed -- this wasn't your normal cheap-o public "lav" faucet. Nice touch, tooth man!
Cabinets (outrageously expensive!), countertops, floors, toilets, light fixtures -- it's up to me to figure out what I like and I need to figure it out fast. Now is no time for an identity check.
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