Progress

It's hard to believe that we've been renovating this old house since 2001.  Eric started off with gusto, got lots done in the first year, and then other things took over.

Real Life took over, that's what.

Eric decided that this October, he'd take a month off work - unpaid, I should add.  He wanted to tackle the upstairs, once and for all.  The last time I posted about our so-called progress, it was October 25, 2012.  I called the post Renovation Day 1388 to coincide with the day we officially started the knotty pine purge.  If I add 364 days to that count, we'd be at 1752 days, but that's bordering on terrifying.  Let's forget I even went there.

Oh, what a naive and innocent soul I was!  I've often said I'm time-challenged because I need to be, and I'm not kidding.  My sanity depends on looking the other way, and pretending that everyone lives with exposed 2x4's and plastic sheets in place of bedroom doors, don't they?  When people ask me how I deal with it, I put my hands over my ears, and sing LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA, very loudly to prove my point.  That's the defense mechanism I've built up over the last few years.  Maturity is not my middle name.

Remember I said we always complicate things?  That's why we're still here, 12 years later, wielding power tools and cursing, albeit lovingly, at each other under our breath.

Truth be told, our house was massacred at the above spot by previous owners.  A couple of square feet of actual, physical house structure was missing here.

Here's a photo taken last year that shows what I mean.  The master bedroom is behind the formidable plastic sheet, as I've affectionately named what we've considered a bedroom door since January 2009.

 While Eric insists he didn't over-engineer, I tend to agree with him so as not to pick a fight.

Here we can see the BC Fir timber-frame structure that Eric built to shore up this part of the house, and accommodate the rail-mounted glass door from Sadev we're putting here.  Perfection doesn't evade Eric, which is why he talks in terms of 64ths, and uses a micrometer to measure things.

While some people think it might be romantic to renovate an 1850's farm house, I'm here to say but one thing:  NOT.  Knowing what we know now, we'd much rather build from scratch than marry old with new, ever again.  It's, like, six times the work.

Trying to get things to fit flush - on the first try - takes a bit of knowledge, a lot of patience, and the right tools. Make that a lot of knowledge, and a bit of patience, on second thought.

When Eric asks me to hand him the 0.5mm pen instead of the 0.7mm pen for marking, I think he's over-doing things just a tad, but I do have to hand it to him, literally and figuratively.  His attention to detail pays off in the end.  When Eric marks and cuts, stuff fits.  And if it doesn't?  That's where the La La La La song comes in.

In order to finish up this corner, we actually had to remove part of the vapour barrier and the boards we had initially put up in 2009.  Once the timber-frame structure was complete, and the electrical wiring done, Eric insulated using Roxul Safe'n'Sound.  Again, words can't express just how highly we think of this product.  I have to be punny and say it rocks.  Enough said.

We've used a radiant barrier everywhere upstairs.  I cannot extoll the virtues of this misunderstood step enough.  We used rFoil NT radiant barrier upstairs and highly recommend it.  It makes a huge difference in the comfort of our home, and should be considered by everyone building or renovating.  It's an integral step in insulation.

rFoil installed!  Eric is chugging right along!  The barrier is joined to the studs using Mulco's Acoustic.  There's another pun in there, because this stuff sticks like a SOB.  Buy a big container of lighter fluid - that's the antidote.  Where 2 sections of barrier overlap, use the best aluminum foil tape you can find - we prefer Cantech brand.

The only thing missing is the drywall.  Thankfully, Eric has a new foreman:

Capucine is to construction as misery is to renovation.  Crack that whip, kitty!  Here she is on the platform Eric built to be able to work safely in the stairwell.  We've left it in place for now, and we only needed to knock our heads on it twice to remember to duck, both coming up and going down the stairs.  When we remove this platform, I can guarantee you it will take us a few days to walk straight again.

Hark, what have we here?

Why, the drywall has been applied, the joints are done and sanded, and the first coat of primer is down!  We're so excited by this step, we actually run our hands over the walls and burst into gales of laughter.  Clearly, we're not quite sane, but that's a prerequisite for undertaking a project of this magnitude in the first place.

Paradoxically, part of me is sad we don't see the old structure of the house anymore.  While I never really got used to the dangling electrical outlet (see the first photo), and always tentatively fumbled for it when the house was dark, I'm sad to see the old part of our house now covered.

I'll probably get over it by tomorrow.

And, for your viewing pleasure, things would not be complete without two sunsets and a message from Capucine:

Looks like you missed a spot, right there!  Just doing my job!  X O X O, Capucine.

Easy Steps to Create Your Very Own Moat™

 Part II b - Summer 2005 

A promise is a promise.  It's an absolute white-out outside with snow squalls forecast for the rest of the afternoon.  The winds are gusting to 90 km/h and I can't see the barn from the kitchen window.  I had planned on going out this afternoon, but suddenly, knitting and sipping tea by the side of the wood stove is my only option.

Life's tough like that sometimes.

Eric made a good point reading my last post regarding our foundation work.  Given the fact the work took three summers, we needed to protect the uninsulated parts of our foundation from frost heave.  Our sweet old neighbour, the venerable Monsieur Lefebure, suggested an old-time method.  We used hay bales piled up against the sides of the foundation, effectively preventing frost-heave from shearing insulated and non-insulated portions.  Again, while unorthodox, it worked marvelously.  We must be trend-setters too, because the hay-bale concept is popping up all over our neighbourhood.  People are using this method to keep their water mains from freezing, their septic drains from freezing, you get the idea.  Monsieur Lefebure was definitely on to something, and we miss his pragmatism.

So, for those of you who are still with me, here's the Reader's Digest Not-So-Condensed Version of our work during summer 2005.  We excavated and exposed the entire 24' western side of the foundation.  The white pipe in the foreground served to drain the sump-pump chamber that collects ground water from the french drains that surround the house.  This pipe is now buried, I'm happy to report.  One less thing to mow around.

I know, just by looking at Eric, that he's dejected by the size of the holes in the foundation.  Trees and shrubs belong NO WHERE near your foundation, and this is why:

These are roots from a juniper shrub that was planted about 12 feet away.  While privacy and wind protection are one issue, there's little point in planting a tree if the roots are going to force their way like tentacles through your foundation.  Believe it or not, these roots went right through the foundation and into our crawl space.  In the spring, they proved an awesome entry point for run-off water. To compensate for this, we buried a water collector in our crawl space, chucked in a sump-pump, and when the water level rises, the pump kicks in and pumps the water out through the black hose right beside the little window in the photos above.  This pipe is now buried, and since the foundation work is done, the sump-pump actually never kicks in anymore.  It's good to have redundant systems though.  Only in extreme cases, say when our water table rises during a spring thaw, does the pump go on.

Once the foundation was repaired to Eric's exacting standard, he covered the entire wall with mortar.  The black hose that runs along the top of the foundation is a soaker hose that we ran to keep the mortar wet while it was curing.

Then, we added polystyrene insulation, our fabric-wrapped french drain held in place with gravel.

And then, we added tons of sand to create a smooth and level base for yet more polystyrene insulation.

Here we can see the ensemble of insulation with polyethylene sheeting covering everything.  (Remember Christo? Eric's channeling him and doesn't even know it).  It's just an added layer that water needs to seep through to get to the foundation.  By this time of year, it's dark early and we just want to back-fill everything before the snow starts to fly.  It's been another long, mucky summer.

To finish the surface above ground after we back-filled, we cut the polyethylene sheet at the ground-line, and used that horrible red Tuck-tape to affix it to the pink insulation.  That stuff ain't going anywhere.  We then covered this with a waterproof aluminum membrane.  We used a two-part epoxy-based mortar from Sika to protect the pink polystyrene.  If memory serves, we applied a layer of adhesive fibreglass mesh, and then Eric troweled on the mortar.  Then we capped the top with an aluminum flashing that's tucked under our siding, and Bob's your uncle, as Eric is wont to say.

We'll get around to changing the siding of the house at some juncture.  While aluminum siding isn't our product of choice, it's still doing the trick so we don't see the need to change for esthetics only.  We've got bigger fish to fry.  Eventually, we'll replace it with a fibre-cement covering, something like James Hardie shingles or paneling, or a combination of both.  Our house is crooked, so uneven shingles could nicely mitigate the fact we're not working with right angles or straight lines.  But that will be for another decade.

We'll move on to part III, or the summer of 2006, when we tore down our entry (I use that term lightly), with plans to replace it with a 10' x 12' timber-frame structure built on an actual foundation and basement we can stand up in, unlike our non-functional crawl-space.

Again, nothing goes as planned, and while the foundation and slab are complete, we didn't expect what we found, which is why we moved our renovation show to the inside of the house again.

Remember I told you that if you listen closely enough, your old house will tell you what it wants done?  Well, our old house told us we needed to pay attention to the upstairs.  So did the government.  Before they decided to can their Ecoenergy retrofit program, we moved indoors, where my hammer-blow-by-hammer-blow account of our upstairs renovation, AKA The Knotty Pine Purge, starts.

And I'll also try to explain why there's still a drill press in the living room, but that's another digression all on its own.

Easy Steps to Create Your Very Own Moat™

Part II - Summer 2005

For the uninitiated, I posted about our foundation woes in what was supposed to become a three-part series, covering the three summers it took Eric to restore our1850's field-stone foundation.

Somehow, in the midst of our on-going and never-ending renovations, the CD with photographic evidence was misplaced, a common occurrence in our somewhat disheveled environs.

Alas, said CD was found and duly loaded onto my laptop for several months now.  (Who am I kidding?  It's probably been over a year.  I'm time-challenged because I need to be. It's a survival skill I've carefully developed to keep my sanity in check).   From there, the photos have been mocking me, begging me to finally complete the mini-series that the foundation repairs became in our lives.  It's not a place I return to happily, but if this helps but one soul, my post is worth my time and effort.

Given the amount of people who find this blog by searching "french drain" and "how do I repair my field-stone foundation?", I thought it would be best to put a bit of effort into completing my little tome, lest I let any delusional and like-minded soul down.  For what it's worth, I pity and admire you, rolled into one happy emotion, the kind that makes you shudder and smile at the same time.  You poor, poor fool.

So, pull up a chair (hell, pour yourself a drink), read Part I from 2008 (no, I don't procrastinate much, why do you ask?), and hang on for the rest of the ride:

During the summer of 2004, Eric brazenly and optimistically excavated two of three sides of our summer kitchen, as well as the 32' that make up the back-side of our house.  We dug, we drained, we repaired, we waterproofed and we insulated.  It was back-breaking, never-ending and thankless.  When everything was back-filled, you couldn't even tell what we accomplished.

I use the "Royal We" throughout, but it was Eric, of course, who bore the brunt of the work, and I simply as chronicler, and hose-wielder, and gofer and tool-washer and convivial cohort who knew just when to bring out another glass of water, before Eric slid into a dehydration-induced stupor from wearing the fishing pants above.

When summer 2005 rolled around, Eric excavated the third side of the summer kitchen, as well as the western side of the house.

The summer kitchen had been excavated and repaired, probably in the mid-80's.  The job was OK, if you're into half-measures.  The work didn't include proper drainage, which we correctly assumed we needed to keep the foundation from heaving during the long winter months.  Eric excavated, repaired the glaringly large holes that remained, and we insulated, water-proofed and added proper french drains.   It all sounds so easy, doesn't it?

How to go from the above, to the below, I'd qualify as a threesome between art, perseverance and skill.

In the above photo, you can make out the (formerly) black plastic container that served first to mix mortar, and then later, to collect what we came to refer to as "pet rocks" that Eric would use to fill holes shown above.  I'd be in charge of collecting "pet rocks" from several places around our property, such as the water-hole in front of the barn, and the large pile of field-stones on the back-side of the barn, surrounded by raspberry canes and other man-eating weeds.  At some point in time, Eric would hold up a rock, and say, "I need something bigger/smaller/pointier/flatter", and it would be up to me to procure the exact specimen.

I never thought that being a rock-fetcher could provide me with hours and hours of entertainment like it did.  I'd run back to Eric like a hyper Labrador bringing back a stick during a rousing game of fetch.  If my rock didn't meet regulatory approval, I'd hang my head, dejected, and go and look for a better one.  If on my third try I came up empty, it would be at this point my pout would turn to anger, and epithets like "go find your own @#$|%&* rock" would be hurled in Eric's general direction.  I'm congenial and patient like that.

Eric developed a patented wash-and-rinse method of removing the old crumbling mortar and loose rocks with a garden hose.  This method proved effective but messy.  It's also the reason the fishing pants were necessary, and scenes like below part of our routine scenery for months on end:

Eric submerged a sump-pump in the plastic pail to get rid of the run-off, and the plastic sheet served to guide the water to the pit.  Old plywood and particle-board sheets prevented the sun from hitting the foundation and drying the mortar too quickly, and the old Molson Dry umbrella served to protect Eric from the beating summer sun.  When the work was finally complete, I was ecstatic to pitch that umbrella out.  Things looked white-trash enough without the additional logo-representation of beer, no less.

Eric also developed a technique of ensuring the mortar reached its intended rock.  You have to understand that our foundation is about 4 to 5' or well over one metre in depth.  The best way Eric managed to get the mortar to fill the gaps between his pet rocks was by forming a baseball-sized ball of mortar in his hands, winding up, and throwing a fast-ball into the hole.  While I'm sure the stone-masons among you shudder, this technique proved to be the most effective way.  He build up layer of rock and mortar this way, restoring things to their original state.  Unorthodox, but it worked.

Once the field stone foundation was repaired, we set about insulating everything with polystyrene held in place with polyurethane foam.  I cut a vein in my leg with an X-acto and have the scar to prove it.  It also happened at the exact moment Eric's company called and asked where he was.  Sometimes, "seize heures" in french (16:00) can be confused with "six heures" ( 6 o'clock or 18:00), if you're speaking in a language that is not your mother tongue, and not using a 24-hour clock.

Eric works in a profession where time is money - lots of money.  This is how I found myself, clutching my leg, furtively packing Eric's suitcase while Eric ran into the shower, and (gasp) driving with him to the airport to save him the time it would take him to park his car.  (The things I do for this man, you have no clue).  I still remember trying to staunch the impressive flow of blood as I had my leg up on the dashboard, and the looks of by-standers as Eric jumped out at the terminal, me taking his place behind the wheel, all the while looking like a major-crime victim in my blood-soaked jeans.  One of those star-studded Moments in Home Renovation that simply leaves you shaking your head in recollection.

Alas...

We created a level base for the french drain:

Added the french drain which we wrapped in landscape fabric:

And yes, it's a necessary evil if you're on a clay base, for all of those Googlers who ask.  From there, we waterproofed and back-filled the whole schmeer, and excavated the western side of the house.

It's at this juncture that I realise I don't have any photos to show exactly how we finished insulating or waterproofing this part of the foundation.  It's also the point where I realize unless a day held 30 hours, (like I believe they do), this post is going to be part of a multi-multi-part series.  If that weren't enough, Blogger is giving me fits tonight and not allowing me to save my work at regular intervals.

Lest my work get lost in the shuffle, I'm posting this now for internet posterity, and promise to come up with part 2-B in under 4 years.

Promise.

Renovation Day 1388

Yes, it has been 1388 days since we started the Knotty Pine Purge.  But who's counting?

Today started off auspiciously:

This was our sunrise this morning.  Glorious.  I never, ever tire of our views.

Today Eric installed the new culvert in the drainage ditch that divides our property in two.  With the building of Highway 30 and the drainage work that was done earlier this year, our old culvert was removed last February.  Now that the soy is cut and our field  is accessible again, the new 25 foot-long and 5' diameter pipe could be placed:

Eric still needs to place some rocks around the edges to prevent the clay from washing away, but the biggest part of the job is done.  Our two lots are now accessible again, and heavy tractors can access the back field without having to make a big detour over neighbouring properties.

Here's the back field:

If you "embiggen" the above photo, you can see the two ginormous light standards lit by the setting sun just behind the forest.  Using Google Earth's handy measuring tool, I can tell you they are just shy of one kilometre away from where I'm standing.  This is where the new Highway 30 will pass just before it goes under the Soulanges canal, and then over the mighty Saint-Lawrence linking Cedars with St-Timothée.

Walking back to the house,  I captured this shot:

The phragmite  grass is as beautiful as it is annoying.  Short of using napalm, we can't get rid of it, so we might as well sit back and enjoy it.

Here's a view of the sun setting behind the house:

All's right with my world today, how could you tell?

And if that progress wasn't enough, Eric started work on the final (well, not final, but getting there...) stage of our upstairs renovations.

The missing link is the frame around the door to the master bedroom (behind the formidable plastic zippered door).  Although the master bedroom is finished (well, again, finished but not done to our liking...), the frame around the bedroom door is proving to be quite the production for many reasons.  Part of this is our fault, and our high-falutin tastes.  At some point in time during the upstairs renovations, we decided to finish the master bedroom with a sliding glass door.  Our chosen product is made in France by Sadev, and the hardware has been sitting in a huge tube in the living room for the past 3 years.

Part of what makes this work challenging is the fact Eric is working at critical part of our house.  The unfinished wall you see in the above photo is the old exterior of the original house which has already been butchered by previous owners.  Also, the door leading to the bedroom is not a standard size, and to top things off, it's located right beside the stair and close to the chimney.  It's like a trifecta, a perfect storm of sorts, where more head-scratching, planning and procrastination are needed to fix the various issues.

Of course, the fact we're using a product like the Sadev sliding door rail compounds things even more.  By this point in my life, I don't think we're complicating things, I know we're complicating things.  But when that door is finally rolling on smooth stainless rollers, I'm convinced we will have made the right decision.  I say that with the ease of someone who hasn't had their knuckles ground off against rough-hewn wood, of course.

Eric, who over-engineers something fierce, set about putting up a frame composed of 5"x5" BC fir.  The beams need to fit squarely against the original structure of the house, which, being about 170 years old, calls for some fiddly framing work:

Here's a look behind the chimney, where we have legal clearance of just over 4" (really not obvious from that angle, but the clearance is there).  The old wall needed to be notched and carved out to fit the new beam, but thanks to our new Fein tool, even this onerous task proved do-able.

Again, we can't laud the Fein MultiMaster enough.  We actually hold it and shake our heads in dismay, wondering why we didn't buy it earlier.  We'd probably be finished our renovations by now, come to think of it...

Here's another view of the ensemble, where I'm letting it all hang out, so you can get a good impression of the hovel we somehow manage to thrive in:

Once the frame around the door is complete, we can finally finish the insulation and vapour barrier.  The white thing taking up valuable floor space is but a tiny corner of Eric's massive drafting table.  I'd love to hurl it out the window, but Eric's somewhat disturbingly attached to it.  I fully intend to offset the drafting table with my junk when the upstairs is finished.  That should serve as a warning to Eric that my three sock machines are heading upstairs, along with my sewing machine, and a table large enough to let me work comfortably.

Anyhow, we still have a way to go before finishing the upstairs, but the start is made, and Eric is back into the swing of things.

Hopefully, my next report won't be 1388 days in the making.

As Eric likes to muse, "This is not a race, it's a marathon".

Truer words have never been spoken.

Cleaning out the Attic

The crap we hang on to!  Both Eric and I owned 3 bedroom condos before moving here.  The fact we were both in our 30's when we met meant we'd already accumulated a plethora of goods.  We both had hobbies that took up space:  Eric owns scuba equipment, motorcycle racing leathers, loves his radio-controlled models, photography and books.  He owns the largest drafting table I swear I have ever seen, plus a drum set.

In retaliation, I own both downhill and cross-country ski equipment, tons and tons of books, and have a long-standing fetish for antique decoys and old linens.  I own a ton of Christmas decorations.  We might or might not want to mention my wool collection, which takes up about 5 large Rubbermaid bins.  We should mention that between the two of us, we owned 2 of everything:  irons and ironing boards, coffee machines, espresso machines, coffee grinders, cutlery, dishes.  Towels, beds, linens, chairs, desks, and sofas.  It's a miracle we actually need to buy anything ever again, as a matter of fact.

We have a barn beside the house with a little attic we store our duplicates in.  When friends mention they're shopping for something and we think we might have a match, we invite them upstairs and let them have a  look.  We're delighted when kids grow up and move out of their parents' home.  We give away things like colanders and bundt pans and pots and pans.  Need 30 champagne flutes for an upcoming event?  No problem, we've got you covered.  You might as well take the organza table runners and tea-light holders while you're at it, too.

Living in a sparsely decorated house with no attached garage, basement or attic, coupled with the fact old farm houses have no built-in closets caused us to become creative.  Rather, it caused us to become slovenly.  We'd pitch stuff up there so haphazardly that the attic storage started to become unmanageable.  And the more stuff we'd bring up there, the worse things got, obviously.  Excuses for not tackling the space piled up like the contents:  it was either too hot or too cold.  We didn't have the time, or we weren't in the mood for organizing.

Finally, it was Eric who made the first move:  his collection of National Geographics was on the chopping block.  I decided to take them to the War Memorial library, but when I got there to drop them off, a volunteer told me to chuck them straight into the recycling bins out back because there is no demand for them.  The horror!  I couldn't bring myself to do it.  Then I had a brain-storm.  Maybe the Montessori preschool was interested?  I keep forgetting to drop by and ask, so it looks like I've got a permanent collection of National Geographics in the trunk of my car now.  Dammit.

Well, with Eric parting with his precious National Geographics, we moved on:  We culled boxes and papers and obsolete computer equipment.  Mice had taken a feather bed to task, so in the garbage that went.  We found clothing that neither of us claimed to own.  (Maybe someone's living up there besides the mice, and we don't even know it?)  We've recycled tons of stuff, given away tons more, and every day, we put stuff at the road for passers-by to pick up.  By the next morning, it's almost always gone.   It's so nice that we've managed to make space upstairs and get things under pseudo-control.  My conscience is nearly eased.

Today, I went through boxes of old books and sorted a whole lot out.  All the books are going to the War Memorial Library for their monthly fundraising sale.  The paperbacks are left at the bookcase at our local IGA, which sort of functions as a lending library.  You take one book out and put one book in.  Or in my case, you put the books in and don't even THINK of taking one home.  (Must. Avert. Eyes.)

With the upstairs of our house in a state of renovating flux, my decoys don't have a proper home yet.  Today, for the first time in a decade, I opened up the box and had a look-see:

Ahhh, I'd forgotten all about the pin-tail.  I love those birds like they're my off-spring.  Every decoy has a story behind it, and I clutch them to my chest and carry them around, smiling like the damn fool I obviously am.  The photo above is just the tip of my decoy iceberg.

When we tore out our old staircase, we saved those balusters and newel posts that weren't cracked beyond repair.  Of course, we pitched them upstairs:

I have no clue what we're going to do with them, but I can't bring myself to part with them just yet.  I thought of refinishing the best newel post and putting it back into the house, but I'm not sure how I'm going to integrate it yet.  I guess time will tell.

Those lamps I swore I'd turn into piñatas?  They're all up here too...just waiting...for what I don't know.  Probably for me to clean them off and stick them on craigslist or kijiji:

I'll probably just get pissed off, one day soon, and put them at the side of the road.  I'm sure someone, somewhere, would love to hang one of these in their basement, above their poker table...

(I'm dreaming, aren't I?)

These hanging rattan chairs were THE cat's meow - what - 40 years ago?  They're like...vintage...yeah...vintage, that's it.  We have two and one day...one day...we're going to put them somewhere.  I remember swinging in these when I was a kid, and thinking I was a character straight out of a Pink Panther film.  I'm just seriously wondering if we can make them work somewhere in our house.  You'll notice the feathers stuffed in the top corner?  Part of a mouse nest, made out of that feather bed that died an unfortunate death.  I'm sure those mice were pretty happy, though.

Oh.  Pray tell, what have we here?  Why, it's box, a relatively LARGE box, with hundreds and hundreds of corks in it, that's what!  One of my friends has a gorgeous cork-board made from used wine corks, beautifully framed and hanging above the sideboard in their dining room.  It's a work of art, and when I saw it, I was smitten.  I feel bad for all those wine corks, unceremoniously chucked into landfill sites, slowly rotting away.  Sadly, this box makes us looks like we're world-class winos, but rest assured, we're pretty sober most of the time.  One day, I'm going to turn these into a bathmat.  Or trivet.  Or room divider. Or birdhouse.  Or whatever images dot google dot com spews up the day I get around to transforming them.  (Seriously.  Google used cork art.  You'll be amazed at the creativity.  You'll never throw another cork into the garbage, ever again.)

And that, dear friends, is but a small sampling of the goodies stashed away in the Shim Farm attic.  Slowly, we're organizing this jumbled space into a more functional area, clearing our conscience along the way.

The Barn

Our barn took a bit of a beating during our most recent windstorm.  Considering the severity of the storm we had, we were surprised to even find it standing the next morning.

It looks like we added a bit of unintentional ventilation, didn't we?  The metal roof that's stored in the fore-front of the photo above is destined for the south side of the barn, after we tear down the dairy addition that was probably added at the turn of the century.  The half-wall is the original outside wall.  When we tear down the addition that runs the length of the barn, this will be the outside wall once again.

Here's how things looked on the north side of the barn in spring 2007.  That's the year we had this side of the roof re-done:

There's nothing like a good patch-job, is there?  I'll never understand half-done jobs, but this is not a philosophical discussion, I'm just voicing my opinion.  (That doesn't explain why today, five years later, just half of our roof is done, but at least it's the whole half!)

Moving right along...ahem.

When we re-did the roof of the house (remind me to tell you how that went someday!), we were encouraged to buy the roof for the barn at the same time, because metal prices were set to jump 30%.  We knew what needed to be done, and although we didn't have a clue who would do the work, based on the gong-show of workers we had for the house, we went ahead and ordered the metal roof.

Entire sections of the roof needed to be replaced before the metal went up.  Working with our local wood-pusher, we kept the sawmill humming with lots of custom orders.  The white pine used to make the repairs was cut on order and delivered as needed.  It's experiences like this that make you realize you've got friends in your suppliers, because I don't know anyone who would turn around and deliver wood the next day like our sawmill does.  Our wood-pusher is rooting for us, of this much we know.  The fact I ply him with home-canned goods might have something to do with it, too.

The roofers we found were methodical, thorough, and got the job done in a timely manner.  I think it took about a week to re-do this side.  We were happy with the roofers' work and professionalism.  You'll notice Cooper in the above photo, too.  He made many new friends, and shared many a lunch.  It was win/win all around.

The north side of the barn is looking good.  It's re-done, it's solid, and now we really need to concentrate on the demolition of the lean-to on the south side of the barn, and bring the barn back to it's original state.

Here's a view of the inside of the dairy addition after this latest storm:

We've got a bit of a cave-in happening here.  (Notice my optimism - a "bit of a cave-in" is like saying, "a bit pregnant", perhaps).  Let's face facts here.  If we don't do something - soon - we'll be shoveling sawdust before long.

I can't tell you how many builders we've had look at the barn in the past 10 years.

They all say the same thing: "We'll call you".  And then they peel out of the driveway, kicking up gravel, and looking in their rear-view mirror as they shake their head in a combination of sympathy and despair.

That is why I see myself with my hard-hat, a harness around my middle, dangling from the roof as I take my tin-snips to the metal in a feeble attempt at destruction.  Eric's read about 20 books on timber-frame construction, and the wood for the repairs is already stored in the barn.  We're this close to doing the work ourselves.

Stay tuned for yet another saga in our lives at Shim Farm.

2011 in Review

Going through my photos for 2011, I have come across a few that I have either neglected and/or forgotten to post, so I am liberating these from my hard-drive and plastering them here for posterity.

In no particular order, and with no particular theme, here are a few images of 2011:

The new super-deluxe, double-decker, twice-the-fun cat bed.  With 3 cats, do you think any one of them would have adopted this as their favorite resting place?  I even put it in front of the wood stove, with limited success:

Ohhh.  I have a taker - it's little Schatzie. For about all of 5 minutes.

 

January sunset over the cut corn-fields.  This is the view out of the living room window, facing west.  (I don't know why I state that - it should be obvious).

Awwww.  We lost our Popina in 2011.  That made me very sad.  Here she is sitting in the kitchen window, AKA my wide-screen TV, sniffing the wilting blooms of my Christmas cactus.

I waged a (hopefully) winning battle against anything that had thorns or spines in the garden.  This thistle would have grown to 6 feet tall had I not eradicated it:

And in a stark contrast to the spiky thistle, here's some mullein, also know as bunny's ear or flannel leaf.  This plant was spared:

My favorite Elm tree survived another year.  It's a favorite perch for crows and hawks:

Two of the four barn doors on the front of our barn.  One day we're going to have to pull the Elderberry bush out.  But every year, it gives us so many berries, it's a hard call.  Eventually...

Awww.  More Weenie Popeenie photos!  Popina was always on the prowl.  I have never seen a cat with such a huge prey-drive in my life.  She was unreal:

Moss on the side of the barn.  Under the same category as the Elderberry bush, one day we'll have to clean all of this up.  Until then, we'll enjoy the verdant fuzziness:

Another glorious sunset:

And yet another front moving in.  It's so nice when the corn starts to grow, and things get green again.  At this point during the season, we've had enough of cold weather and dormancy - give us green and give us growth!

I was going to post about these horseflies.  For the first time in years, we've had huge (no, let me repeat:  HUGE) horseflies.  These rip out a piece of flesh.  These are more common in the higher north, but this year,we had 'em.  For scale, the orange flasher in the photo is about 1.5" high.  Who needs a fly swatter?  Give me a sledge-hammer:

Little Tessie is enjoying the new cat basket.  Again, for all of 15 minutes:

Another glorious sunset.  Why do I spend so much time staring out of the window?  Well...the same reason you spend so much time staring at a TV set probably.  Just the stuff I watch is probably prettier, and isn't interrupted by commercials.

Another big, fat gratuitous cat photo.  BobCat's such a motivator:

And again on Channel 4, another glorious sunset scheduled for exactly 6:17PM, sponsored by Mother Earth:

The construction of Highway 30.  This huge overpass is going to link Highway 20 to Highway 30 and Highway 540.  Those cranes were enormous.

As the metal girders for the overpass were trucked in, they caused massive traffic jams around the Montreal area.  They must have been about 150' long, and were hauled on these gigantic dollies with tons of pilot and police cars.  You couldn't miss them, and they were impressive to watch rolling down the highway:

The nightly news on Channel 4, brought to you by Shim Farm Central:

Oh my dog.  We finished the floor in Eric's office/atelier.  It's been months now, and it still exciting:

If the floor weren't enough, Eric finished the window frame and molding.  Gorgeous, just gorgeous, I tell you!  A Hallmark Moment of Home Renovation.  This room is officially DONE!

I wanted to show you how I machine-steek my Lopi sweaters.  I made yet another one.  Actually, I made two, but who's counting?  Here I hand-basted my sewing line beforehand.  Had I not done this extra little step, I would not have been able to tell where to sew.  Unfortunately, my machine-sewing tutorial stops here.  You'll just have to wing the rest.  I did.

Freezing rain.  Beautiful in just the right quantity.  Photo credit goes to Eric:

Time to haul out the Christmas lights.  Unfortunately, I keep these lit until, what...maybe March?  My winter sanity depends on these lights.

Finally!  I found a use for my frogged Malabrigo!  Behold, the GAP-tastic cowl.  This wonderful pattern, using 2 strands knitted together, nicely mitigates the wild variation in colour of this hand-dyed yarn.  Brilliant!  And wearable?  You have no clue.  It's like wearing a hug.  Cast-on 131 stitches on an 8mm needle and knit in a K1P1 pattern for 15 inches.  Cast off and fall in loooove!

Yeah.  So I'm obsessed with the window frame.  I want you to stare at it as much as I stare at it.  Stare away.  It's finished.  I can hardly believe my eyes.

And it's not just nice, it's gorgeous.  Eric swore a lot finishing it.  He should have his mouth washed out with Varsol.  Once again, Eric nearly met his paint-finish Waterloo.  But lookit that shine, baby!

And just because it actually snowed before Christmas, here's another photo of the fields across the street.  Note the snow on the road.  When the tractors leave tread-marks like this, the roads are cold.  I think it was -18C (about 0F) the day I took this photo.  Unless you're used to driving in these conditions, take heed.  We don't call them greasy roads for nothing.  And since our road was just repaved and the ditches were dug out and they're even deeper, you'll go in further if you drive off the road.  This combined with the fact our newly paved road doesn't have a shoulder anymore should make for some interesting extrications this winter season:

I have been so good bashing away on my Lopi haul.  I'm about ready to place another order...but wait!  Isn't one of my resolutions for 2012 to use up my stash first?  Maybe Lopi isn't considered as stash wool anymore, but a staple, something like a major food group in my knitting world?  Can't we make an exception for Lopi?  Since it's my resolution, I'm making a new rule.  No new wool until stashed wool has been used.  Except for Lopi.  And if buying new wool to combine with stash wool is allowed...well...let's just play my knitting resolutions for 2012 by ear, shall we?

This "Ranga" pattern from Lopi book 29 is gorgeous, if I may say so myself!  I also just realized I wanted to re-sew one of those little claps that's a bit off-kilter and forgot to!  Another ridiculously quick knit, save for the yoke.  Somehow, all those purls in the yoke combined with the steek purls threw me off a bit.  Stitch marker or no stitch marker, I had a mental block when it came to following the chart.  If you're a knitter and your eyes aren't glazing over yet, go back up to my photo of this sweater being machine steeked.  See what I mean?  It's like a forest in there!

And here's a photo that proves that those crazy Icelanders love their floats, and with good reason!  Lopi is super-wool, remember?  No need to twist those long floats, just let them float!  It has nothing to do with lack of craftsmanship, or laziness, but more with practicality and time-saving.  Those floats will felt with wear, and make an almost double-lined fabric with time.  Warm?  You think?   Super-freakin' warm is more like it.

Never again will I make a surprise sweater for Eric.  NEVAR, did you hear me?  (That's more of a mental note for yours truly).  Moving right along.  Okay.  So I knit this Fugl (code name:  Birdie) for Eric in like, 5 days.  Super-easy.  Just super-not-the-right-size.  My Dad's getting this one instead.  Eric's got biceps that could fix your clock.  Next one's going to be an XXL modified for Eric's arms.  I also used his old sweaters his Mom knit as a template.  Guess what?  All the arms are too long.  That'll teach me.

So, remember the part of my new year's resolution to use my wool stash before buying more new wool?  Part of that therapy involves spreading wooly goodness all over the floor in the living room whilst one's spouse is away and can't observe hoarding tendencies the likes of which are shamefully displayed above.  The good news that I consolidated 5 Rubbermaid containers into 3, and expropriated one for Victoria's guts, which were somehow unceremoniously spread around under the staircase.  It also soothed my nerves a bit, and organizing my stash made me realize that I had blown things out of proportion.  I think.

All my sock wool in one happy container.  See the P-touch label maker?  Everything is labelled now too!  No more opening lids in search of what again?  Sock Wool.  I better get cranking again, and soon.  Maybe tomorrow.  Another plan for 2012.  Even more socks.  This stuff was bought in July when I went to Germany.

So there you have it.  2011 in photo review.  A Good Year, all told.  Next year will be even better, I always say.

With time comes experience, the more you know, the better you do.

Wisdom is the saving grace of aging.

Happy 2012.  Health.  Happiness.  All that is good.