Wall Raising

June 1st

What a difference a day makes.  After the long holiday weekend -- which we put to good use with hiking, reading, and snoozing in our anti-gravity chairs or the hammock in the shade of the ponderosas -- we appreciated the drama of raising some walls.  

After our little Florissant excursion on Friday afternoon -- ooh the excitement of visiting the Joe’s Philly Cheesesteak trailer, the library, the post office, the feed store, and getting bread and milk and an ice cream sandwich at the gas station stop ‘n’ shop -- we arrived back to find the subfloor completed.

Nothing is quite so exciting in the building of a framed home as when the walls are raised and you suddenly can walk around in your rooms and gaze our your windows.  Our contractor Brian is usually a one man show at this point (though he is appreciating Bob’s help, especially with the hauling and lifting) and has developed lots of strategies for working solo, such as building the sections of framed walls up on sawhorses and then almost virtually tipping them into place.  

It’s great for everyone that we’re onsite now.  Even though there are building plans, we have the option of last minute changes, such as deciding to add back a window we’d taken out; the view from it will be too wonderful to miss.  Mostly it’s just minor tweaking of an inch or two here or there or deciding where to put the access to the crawl space, but it’s great to have the chance in real time.  After living in this cabin in my head for most of a year, I realize the time was well spent as there are very few things I haven’t already considered and feel confident that any decisions are well thought out over a period of months, not minutes.  I’ve worked with contractors before who made it seem like a federal offense if you asked for the most minor, non-structural adjustment, but Brian is so engaged in our build that he’s looking for clever ways to make our cabin even more unique and wonderful without adding costs.  At less than 1,000 square feet of interior space, this is the smallest home he’s ever built, and has encouraged me to “get creative” in the kitchen especially to make best use of the space I have.  A meticulous and exacting builder -- no, make that carpenter -- he knows little details will stand out even more in a smaller cabin, and wants this to be a little gem.  And we have no doubt that it will be.

And forget “onsite”.  It’s just lovely to be here.  I am so very aware that when we’re sitting outside reading, needing a fleece to keep warm enough in the shade, that we’d be holed up inside if we were in Tucson.  Not that there aren’t strange reminders of the desert here -- downy woodpeckers swoop through the pines, reminding us of gila woodpeckers flitting from mesquite to saguaro, and we hear the call of the great horned owl at night as we sometimes do in the desert.  The pussytoes are starting to bloom here, the loco weed is appearing overnight, and yet we occasionally run across cactus (at nearly 9,000 feet)!  Several of these mountain pincushions dot the more exposed saddle of our five acres, and we run across shin-dagger type yucca on some of our hikes.  Reminiscent to say the least.  I do wonder about the fruiting of the saguaro, the blooming of the ironwoods, and just big those baby quail are now, but if you are going to split time between two wonderful landscapes, it’s best simply to love the one you’re with.

Bob’s readying himself for another day of wall raising, but alas, I must do the Woodland Park run -- we’re out of clean clothes and dinners have gotten quite creative -- so I’m off with five loads of laundry to do at some charming (NOT!) laundromat and a big provisioning (needing everything from bread to bat house paint).  That sort of chore needs a reward, so I’ll stop in at The Hungry Bear for a pile of Blue Bucks (buckwheat pancakes with blueberries) and peruse an antique-y shop or two during the spin-cycle.

The only one more excited about our cabin is Happy, Brian Shelton's dog who comes to the site every day.