Building Houses, Part 5

Building houses for a living is a lot of things. It’s always hard work and usually profitable, sometimes not. It requires a lot of dedication and can be a little stressful, sometimes a lot. It’s always interesting, it’s never boring, and occasionally it can be pretty entertaining. A few such entertaining moments come to mind.

One such moment involved a lovely, if somewhat buxom, client named Estelle (not her real name), who adopted a dog soon after moving into her new home. The dog, named Frodo (his real name) was not a puppy, but quickly bonded with Estelle, none-the-less. Frodo was a friendly dog and quite mellow when someone, preferably Estelle, was home, but when left alone, Frodo went ballistic. The first time he was home alone, he chewed an escape-size hole through a two-inch-thick hollow-core door. A brand new door, with a brand new doggy door installed, solved the problem. The entertaining part (for me at least, not so much for Estelle) came when I arrived at the house for a punch list appointment to find Estelle, who had evidently locked herself out, firmly wedged, half in, half out, in the brand new doggy door. I removed the doggy door, Estelle attached, and cut her loose. Another new door, sans doggy door, was subsequently installed in the house. Frodo was subsequently reinstalled at the pound.

Another such moment came at my expense, figuratively and literally. The clients were a delightful elderly couple. I say elderly: they were actually younger than I am now, but that’s another story. In any case, prior to starting construction for their large home on their wooded lot that had “been in the family” for years, it was necessary to remove an impressive (meaning nearly 100 feet tall) pine tree that stood in the middle of what was to be the living room. Although a task of this nature would normally be contracted out to a tree removal service, I decided to save time and some of the client’s money and cut down the tree myself. The lot was empty, or nearly so, and the owner wanted to keep the wood. It seemed like the logical thing to do. It seemed a bit less logical when, as the tree started, to fall, I realized that the brand new screen house, just erected to enjoy the lovely pastoral setting, wasn’t quite 100 feet away. The replacement screen house was my house warming gift.

Perhaps my favorite memory involves the first house I ever built for clients. Dale and Alice (their real names) were wonderful people, wonderful clients, and remain friends today. Dale was a financial aid administrator, but also a skilled carpenter, so much of the work, especially the detail work, he was planning to do himself. Alice was a teacher, but taking time off to care for their brand new baby (for which I take credit, but that’s yet another story). The construction was going well, if at a leisurely pace, and Dale and Alice decided to move in before the house was complete. Conspicuously absent at move-in was a stairway to the second floor. The interim solution, until Dale could find time to build the stairs, was a not-too-sturdy, twelve-foot, aluminum extension ladder. Alice was terrified of the ladder, and only with Dale to steady her would she even attempt the climb to the second floor master bedroom suite.

Imagine my amazement and amusement when, a few months later (it was a very leisurely pace), I witnessed Alice, laundry basket in one arm, nursing baby in the other, bound up the ladder, with no free hands and not a moment’s hesitation.

12/13/10