Whenever I pass a building site or see somebody digging a ditch, I always think, “That’s real work.”
[Liam Neeson]
During the design part of the process, Roy and I were keen to fix things that had been bugging us for the past 16 years. Old house, people couldn’t find the front door; new house, we’ll have a real entryway. Old house, the TV was smack-dab in the middle of everything; new house, the TV will be neatly tucked away from the main living areas. Old house, Roy and I shared an office; new house, we’ll each have our own work-space.
Another change we were eager to make involved our dirty laundry. Old house, our washer and dryer lived in a big closet unfortunately situated in the very heart of our home. The noise of the machines intruded on everything we did, sorting clothes blocked the main floor’s central passageway, and the washer’s spin cycle used to shake me awake in the upstairs bedroom.
Beneath the old house lay a giant, sloped crawlspace that the previous owners had slightly and not-too carefully modified to serve as a cramped, half-assed basement. The area was neatly divided in two; a workbench and some wire racks sat on a small concrete slab on one side, the other half boasted the furnace and a few unfinished shelves. We used the space for storage – tools, wine, old backpacks and camping gear, paint pans, coolers, that sort of thing. As it had no utility sink, nor in fact, plumbing of any kind, poor ventilation, poor lighting, a super-low ceiling, and was only accessible through the carport, storage was all it was good for.
New house… wouldn’t it be great, Roy thought, to turn the old basement into a real laundry room with internal access? Not only did I agree, I upped the ante. Pave the whole lower end of the crawlspace, I suggested, and we’ll get a real laundry room, a mud-room, and a workshop to boot. Nothing fancy, we figured. Just a slab floor, some sheet rock, a couple of windows, some stairs, and we’re there.
Ironically, our “simple,” unconditioned basement is far-and-away the single most expensive, most labor-intensive fix of all.
Geologically speaking, our property is a thin layer of dirt atop a volcanic outcropping. Building on bedrock is brilliant when it comes earthquakes, and the exposed tops of the rocks beautify the site. Excavating the rock to create a basement floor, on the other hand, proved ridiculously difficult. They brought in two backhoes…
… one with a giant jackhammer mounted to its arm.
The operator would pound away at the rock face, get it to crack…
… slide the ‘hammer over a few feet and do it again, and again, until finally a big hunk of stone would fall away. Sometimes, he’d use the ‘hammer to “sweep” the big pieces into a pile before making a fresh attack on the rock face.
It took many days of strenuous, skillful, dusty work to carve out the space for the mudroom and internal stairs.
By June 11th, we had this incredible mini-quarry on the site.
Another step on the path to be-coming home, done dug & dusted.
Such a blessing that no one was hurt! Please let us know if we can do anything to help. I’ve loads of ritual supplies and other odds and ends that I would be happy to share.
Hi risa. What an interrsting story. I would love to see the work
I like things like that. What about you? Love Margreet
@Margreet, Wish you could just pop by to see the house going up, but with a continent and an ocean between your place and ours… but you will absolutely have to make the journey to test out the new guest room, when it’s done.
@Jen, Hi! For ages, I’ve been hearing all manner of nice things about you through Roy. So nice to have you on-board for this journey. Yes, I bet you do have loads of amazing stuff. It’s unlikely the house will be finished before we’re displaced again (the insurance stops paying for our rental mid-November), so we’re trying to keep our possessions to a bare minimum for now. Once we have a place to put stuff, count on it — we’ll hit you up for ritual help fer-shure :)