Sometimes I’m the one who first tells the wider world of what’s happening on The Mountain. More often than not, however, it’s Deb who breaks news to our friends, virtual and otherwise. That’s particularly likely when I’ve run out of time to blog, or when I’m simply exhausted.
“Don’t critique,” she said on Facebook last evening. “We worked hard.”
She posted a handful of photos, documenting what we’d done yesterday.
“Not bad for a couple of old folks who truly have no idea what they’re doing.”
I got out to the cabin early, fired up the woodstove and had the place warming up. I chose mostly cherry — it can’t match oak or hickory for BTUs, but damn, it smells amazing. Deb, with the day off, joined me soon thereafter.
Once we’d moved everything away from the stud wall that defines the north side of the bath-laundry, we put up green board (mold-resistant drywall). At four feet high by ten feet long, that took a little more than a full sheet.
This was the first step in building our kitchen counter.
Next, I mounted a ledger board to the wall, along with vertical supports. We decided on a countertop height of 38 inches, higher than standard. (We’re tall people.)
We built the framework out from there. Because we’re not practiced at carpentry, that sort of thing is both time-consuming and tricky. We did lots of calculating and dry-fitting.
Once we had the structure, we tackled the most problematic (potentially) task of all — building the platform on which our ten-dollar apron sink would rest. The height needed to be pretty precise, putting the top of the sink one-eighth inch below the underside of a countertop we didn’t yet have.
We’d gotten into a good rhythm by that point in the process. Though we still didn’t know what we were doing, we knew what to do (if that makes sense). We cut and mounted the support blocks, then cut a panel of 3/4-inch plywood and slid it into place.
I picked up the sink and set it on the platform. The height appeared to be dead-on. Resting a level on the sink — front-to-back, side-to-side, and both diagonals — I checked our work.
Perfect. No one’s more shocked about that than I am.
The day’s carpentry was done, but we had one more little do-si-do to do.
That secondhand hutch we bought at the thrift shop in Cotter, once we’ve made significant modifications to it, is destined to occupy the rest of that wall. We moved it into its spot, stepped back and admired what had taken us all damned day to accomplish. Big step. Good feeling.
The result, reflecting our limited skills, is over-built. Hell, it’s bombproof. I don’t have the slightest problem with that, nor do I regret taking a cue from Bushradical and “building-in-place.”
He talks a lot about doing carpentry with “no measuring and no math,” which means doing no more of either than is absolutely necessary. Yesterday, we were more concerned with square, level and plumb than we were about eighths and sixteenths. We used pattern boards. We established reference points and built off of those.
I don’t know if that’s why this project turned out better than expected, but I do know that somehow it felt better doing it this way.
We might be onto something.
I figured out something the other night.
I believe the word is “epiphany.”
Around 3am Sunday morning, I found myself wide awake. Suddenly, in the middle of a night’s sleep, I was conscious of something that speaks loudly about why I’m so at home here, something I knew but hadn’t connected.
It’s inseparable from my love of Ozarkansas. Before I tell you what it is, I’m gonna drop a few hints, in the form of captioned photos.
Where I grew up, in the farm country of northeast Ohio, we had dirt roads. And we had lots of ’em. You didn’t have to venture far off of the state highway or the center of a small town to leave pavement behind and kick up dust.
I spent the next 47 years living where virtually everything was covered in concrete or blacktop.
We saw our share of dirt roads in our travels (pictured), over three years ago now. When we committed to living this American Life on The Mountain, we soon learned that The Dirt Road is essential to the culture of Ozarkansas.
I’d missed that. I didn’t realize how much.
On my way back from Mountain Home this morning — Harbor Freight is having its annual “12 Days of Deals” sale, and today’s deal is a floor jack for almost 50% off — I turned off of US Route 62 toward Rea Valley. South of the bridge over Crooked Creek, I jogged east onto a county road.
At the VFD that road turns to dirt, and it brings me to within a mile of The Mountain. It’s one of my favorite passages ’round here.
I’ll leave you today with a few images of the drive.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB