JLC Archive on USB Flash Drive

Bet you never thought of a USB flash drive as a construction tool. Or better yet, as a knowledgeable journeyman. I never would’ve either, until my copy of the JLC Archive on USB Flash Drive arrived a few days ago. This easily searchable archive contains all 324 past issues of the Journal of Light Construction, from January 1986 to December 2012, on a 2GB, JLC-branded USB flash drive:

JLC Archive USB flash drive and lanyard.

My initial impression was how sturdily made the flash drive is. It’s housed in a thick plastic sleeve, with a heavy-duty metal cover to protect the USB connector when not in use. A detachable lanyard is also included. It’s the epitome of rugged elegance!

JLC Archive USB flash drive in my notebook USB port.

The JLC Archive is comprised of PDF renderings of all those aforementioned JLC past issues, plus a master PDX index to speed keyword searches up. From an initial PDF entry-point document, you can browse the archive by issue or topic-subtopic, or search for any articles containing specific keywords.

Below is a screen shot of my own indexed keyword search for “ductless heat pump”. The Adobe Search panel on the left reveals two articles, with a total of 21 occurrences of “ductless heat pump” between them. Clicking on any cited occurrence takes you to the specific page containing that occurrence, with the keywords highlighted, while clicking on the title retrieves the entire article, positioned at the first page:

JLC Archive keyword search results.

You can also perform non-indexed keyword searches that scan the entire archive from beginning to end, but I wouldn’t recommend doing so unless an indexed search failed to produce a result you’re otherwise confident must exist in the archive. I’ve found the indexed searches to be very fast, taking just a few seconds to complete, while full scans for the same keywords took about 20-25 minutes. On the other hand, browsing by issue is probably best when you’ve already got a citation in hand, while browsing by topic-subtopic is most likely preferable for exploratory poking about.

But the bottom line is that the JLC Archive on USB Flash Drive is a really great knowledge tool. As a committed fan of the JLC, I wouldn’t be without one. And as I said, it’s tough! It’d probably survive a long jaunt in a tool carrier, but might be better off living in a project planner. It’d also make a great companion to a ruggedized tablet, no doubt.

Non-Coincidental Incidentals

If you’re so inclined, do a Google search on the string “usb flash drive images” to see some of the latest wacky stuff people are making to house their USB flash drives. Some of it’s pretty amazing.

Far more importantly, and especially if you’re a JLC fan, check out both Notes from Providence :: Welcome to JLC Live — The Sawdust Show, and Notes from Providence :: Press for Products from JLC Live, both by my great friend jb bartkowiak, creator and editor of Building Moxie. jb spent several days in Providence, Rhode Island, at JLC Live last month, and his journalistic account and personal perspectives of the show are definitely worth giving a good read.

Disclosure

I wrote this product review at no one’s request, and received no compensation for it.

Posted in Tools Review | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Feed Me Some Feedly

Many of you are probably aware of Google’s recent announcement to decommission their Google Reader product on July 1st, 2013. I’m first to admit there’s something a bit dated and clunky about RSS readers (or news aggregators, as they’re sometimes called). Yet, I’d come to rely on Google Reader quite a bit, over the years.

Google Reader logo in multiple colors.

There are a number of excellent blogs and websites I find quite important to my efforts, and I’m always interested when something new gets posted on one of them. In most cases, I’ll subscribe for email notifications (if provided), or watch for announcements of postings on dedicated Twitter feeds on my phone.

[Assuming, of course, that the authors make an effort to regularly publicize their new postings via Twitter, something me and my good friend Allison Bailes both seem to excel at!]

But it’s still nice having an RSS reader to organize all your feeds, and keep you informed of changes. I like to think of it as “bookmarking with active alerts”, which essentially is what a reader is.  In the particular case of Google Reader, a very devoted, user community surrounds the product, and I feel very sorry for these folks facing the prospect of having Google Reader taken away from them. I’m sure I’d be just as disappointed if, for example, Twitter were suddenly sunsetted with little warning and no obvious alternatives on the horizon.

Google claims the popularity of their Reader declined in recent years, and as a result, it ended up on a long list of products Google either is consolidating or scuttling. I’ve heard some folks speculate that reader-like functionality might be added to Chrome. I’ve also read where Google might want to reallocate Google Reader resources to Google+. But I’m not aware of any subsuming technology coming out of Google itself. And the only remedy suggested by Google seems to be exporting Reader subscription data to an XML file via Google Takeout, and then possibly importing it into any of a number of similar products. Not really all that helpful, frankly.

Feedly logo.

But recently, Feedly has been getting a lot of good press as a Google Reader replacement (two other alternatives also being talked about are Flipboard and Pulse). So, I decided to give Feedly a try. I installed a Feedly Chrome extension, gave it access to my Google account, and lo and behold, Feedly was all sync’d up with my Google Reader subscriptions. I also found that if I added a new RSS feed either to Feedly, or to Google Reader, it automatically appeared in the other reader. So it seems Feedly directly uses the Google Reader subscription file.

The Feedly user interface is indeed pretty minimalistic, but I rather like it. I also like the display options, especially the magazine and cards views. I’ve read that it’s highly flexible and configurable, but I suspect I’ll have neither the time nor the patience to really explore it much further than this.

Screen shot of Feedly display showing home energy feeds.

My feed subscriptions to a number of home energy publications, as displayed by Feedly in magazine format. For those very few sites that publish no feeds, I simply bookmark them in the browser (note my categorized bookmark bar above), and just check up on them from time to time.

I also installed the Feedly app for Android on my Nexus phone, and once again, so far, so good. It synchronizes with my existing Google Reader, and the user experience isn’t that far off from the browser UI. I suppose there’s something positive to be said about having all your Google stuff kept in synchrony under a single Google identity, and having a phone that’s likewise aware of that identity.

Screen shot of Feedly display showing cards format.

My various feed subscription categories are shown in the tree control on the left, with the "Lost Arts Masters" category selected, and its various feeds' content being displayed in cards on the right. Note this article is also being displayed as a card, since I make it a point to monitor my own outbound feed.

I often wonder and worry about the future of certain other Google products I’ve come to rely on, like Webmaster Tools and FeedBurner. I have no specific reason for worrying, although it does concern me that the FeedBurner blog was shutdown a little while back, and FeedBurner’s frequent solicitations to monetize my outbound feeds have also gone away in recent times. Like I said, this is just idle fear on my part. But it’s certainly disconcerting when anything you find useful is suddenly deemed not so useful by the people in charge, and then taken away from you.

Feedly app running on an Android phone.

Feedly on Android.

Postscript

One of my favorite uses of Google Reader is monitoring Google Alerts that I’d configured for various keywords occurring on the Internet. Since these alerts are realized as RSS streams, they can easily be captured by a reader. Late yesterday, an alert based on the string “Birmingham Point” was triggered, as a result of my publishing this very article that you’re now reading. So it was nice seeing Feedly, as my Google Reader replacement,  performing this activity for me, as well.

Google Alert captured by Feedly and displayed on a smart phone.

Google Alert content for the keyword "Birmingham Point", displayed by Feedly.

Posted in Technology | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Capturing Historic Architectural Detail in SketchUp

In the very first Connecticut houses, architectural detail was minimalistic and strictly utilitarian. But even the earliest colonists wanted their homes to look good, so in time, both interior and exterior detailing began to take hold. Much of this elaboration incorporated both Classical and Jacobean forms. And even prior to the middle of the eighteenth century, arriving English carpenters had begun infusing colonial architecture with the prevailing nuances of Georgian England, and the teachings of Christopher Wren.

Historic detailing in the front entry of the Curtis House, Stratford, Connecticut.

A beautiful example of exterior architectural detailing surrounds the front entry of the Edward Curtis House (c. 1745) of Stratford, Connecticut. It features fluted pilasters supporting a cornice with a dentil band. Carved Tudor (6-petaled) roses decorate their capitals. The very thick lights at the top of the paneled doors are known as "bulls eye" glass, and are also found in the front door of the nearby Judson House.

Colonial carpenters sometimes added their own unique flourishes, and often you’ll find variations of the same basic architectural theme in different locations. For example, the fireplace paneling in the parlor chamber of the Rev. Richard Mansfield House (c. 1700), about fifteen miles away in Ansonia, Connecticut, includes elements nearly identical to those detailing the entrance of the Curtis home:

Fireplace paneling of the Mansfield House parlor chamber with pilasters and Tudor Roses.

The fireplace paneling of the Mansfield House parlor chamber likewise features fluted pilasters, Tudor Roses, and breaks in the upper bed molding similar to the Curtis home entrance. The central composition of panels, rails, and stiles, situated between two pilasters as it is, is reminiscent of paneled doors. Whether this was done intentionally, or not, is probably impossible to say.

In recent times, I’ve become obsessed with colonial architectural detail, and its evolution within the Connecticut and New Haven colonies, and their surrounding regions. In particular, I’m determined to capture as many surviving examples as possible, both in photographs, as well as in three dimensional models drawn using Trimble SketchUp. I’d also like to establish an online archive of architectural models unique to our region.

To this end, I’ve selected another example from the Mansfield House for an initial survey project — the fireplace paneling of the hall chamber, which is rather nicely executed, but also sufficiently straight-forward to make for a reasonable first attempt:

Mansfield house hall chamber fireplace paneling.

Fireplace paneling of the Mansfield House hall chamber.

As often was the case in early Connecticut homes, the fireplace paneling here is integrated with the chimney girt and rear post, stylistically “supporting” the girt as a simple cornice or entablature, via a bed molding. This particular fireplace paneling sports a number of interesting architectural features, including this rather elaborately built-up mantel shelf:

Mantel shelf of the Mansfield House hall chamber fireplace.

Mantel shelf.

Also of interest is the heavy bolection (sometimes called Italian) molding surrounding the fireplace opening, while the panels themselves are beveled, and rabbeted into beaded rails and stiles:

Bolection molding surround the fireplace opening of the Mansfield House hall chamber.

Heavy bolection molding and raised, beveled panels.

So, to start off as simply as possible, I decided to initially model the bed molding beneath the chimney girt (excluding, just for now, the small cove supporting it), which is of classical cyma recta contour, and includes a mitered return at the end opposite the post:

Cyma recta bed molding supporting the cased chimney girt.

Cyma recta bed molding "supporting" the cased chimney girt.

The other end of the molding terminates flat against the rear post’s casing:

Cyma recta bed molding of the Mansfield House hall chamber fireplace.

Left end of the bed molding.

I collected contours from three different locations along the bed molding (all were slightly different), and standardized on what I’d hoped was a reasonable interpretation, on my part, of what the original craftsman had intended:

View of the cyma recta molding profile.

A head-on view of the profile of the bed molding, revealing its slightly distorted shape.

I did so using a standard contour gauge:

Contour gauge and notebook.

My contour gauge and notebook.

And transferred them as best I could to my engineering notebook. I also measured and recorded all of the lineal dimensions of the molding as accurately as I could (a pair of very long dividers comes in handy when measuring irregularly shaped or obstructed features):

Page of my engineering notebook with captured contours and dimensions.

Some of the contours and dimensions captured in my notes.

Once I felt reasonably confident in my measurements, I set about building an initial SketchUp model of the molding, by first drawing the rectilinear segments of the molding contour in two dimensions, and adding guidelines corresponding to the vertical graph lines of my notebook:

Initial SketchUp model of molding in two dimensions, with guidelines.

Initial model in two dimensions: Rectilinear profile segments and guidelines.

Next, I added horizontal guidelines corresponding to the points where my captured cyma recta curve intersected with the vertical lines. I then used the SketchUp arc drawing tool to fit as smooth a curve as possible between these intersections:

Initial model in two dimensions: Horizontal guidelines added.

Initial model in two dimensions: Horizontal guidelines delineating cyma recta contour intersections with the vertical guidelines.

The final, two-dimensional representation of the contour looked like this:

Two-dimensional model: Molding contour.

Initial model in two dimensions: Molding profile.

Using SketchUp’s pull tool, I then extruded the two-dimensional contour upward along the third dimension:

Initial model in three dimensions: The molding contour extruded upward.

Initial model in three dimensions, with the molding contour extruded upwards. The vertical lines are a side effect of how SketchUp manages curved surfaces, and are easy enough to hide.

Then, I “flipped over” and rotated this three dimensional shape so as to properly align it with the standard axes defined by SketchUp. Doing this ensures that modeled components are correctly oriented when combined together to build more complex models. I also lengthened it a bit. Here’s what the resulting molding section looked like:

Cyma recta bed molding section in three dimensions.

Cyma recta bed molding section in three dimensions.

Now that a basic molding section had been created, my next big step was to figure out how to miter either end. Unlike real molding, I couldn’t take a double-bevel compound miter saw and simply cut it — that would’ve be too easy! Instead, I had to figure out how to “cut” a 45 degree miter in SketchUp. SketchUp is a bit rigorous about what you can and can’t do when altering irregular shapes. Admittedly, I had to try this a few times before I finally got it right. What follows are screen shots of the steps I performed, in the event this is useful to others attempting to do the same thing (if you’re not, feel free to skip over the impending tedium).

The first step was to rotate the molding section so as to view its back side, and draw a 45 degree guideline across its top:

Molding section with 45 degree miter line.

Molding section with 45 degree guideline.

Then, I “scored” a vertical line down the backside of the molding section, beginning at the miter line:

Vertical line drawn from miter line down.

Vertical line drawn from miter line down.

Next, I selected the near vertical edge, and, making sure that nothing else in the model was also selected, attached the SketchUp move tool to the top corner of that vertical edge, and “swung” this vertical edge over to meet the miter line. The end result looked like this:

Result of moving the closes vertical edge to the miter line.

Result of moving the near vertical edge to the miter line.

The resulting white appendage seen above is the projection of the other side of the contour into the three-dimensional solid, and it now needed to be carefully removed by “intersecting” it with the remaining solid, and then “subtracting” it away. To accomplish this, I first drew a solid line along the bottom edge of the white geometry:

Drawing a solid line.

Solid line drawn along bottom edge.

Then, using ctrl-left-click, successively selected each of the curved contour sections (remember those vertical lines I needed to hide earlier, after I’d first pulled the two-dimensional contour upwards into the third dimension?). In the screen capture shown below, the top two or three contour sections have been selected (indicated by the slightly greyed-out areas):

Several selected contour sections.

Contour sections in the process of being selected.

Next, I used SketchUp’s intersect faces with model operation to effectively divide this section from the main model. Once this operation is actually performed, the curved line where the contour meets the mitered wall goes from transparent to solid:

Intersecting the faces of the contoured section with the rest of the model.

Intersecting the faces of the contoured section with the rest of the model.

Now that the model had effectively been divided, the unwanted portion needed to be deleted. To do this, I rotated the section back the other way, selected the main edges defining the separated contour, and then performed an erase operation:

Selecting and deleting the separated contour section.

Selecting and deleting the separated contour section.

The end result of this was a cyma recta section with a 45 degree mitered end:

Cyma recta section with mitered end.

Cyma recta section with mitered end. The final step is to erase the remaining guideline.

I then repeated the same steps in creating another molding section, but one with a 45 degree miter on the opposite end:

Cyma recta molding section with other end mitered.

Cyma recta molding section with other end mitered.

As a result, I now had both “left-hand” and “right-hand” mitered sections, saved as SketchUp components that I could readily import into a model and join together to form corners:

Corner formed by joining two oppositely mitered ends of molding sections

Corner formed by joining two oppositely mitered ends of molding sections.

Finally, by extending the non-mitered end of a “left-hand” section out to full length (in this case, 89-3/4″), and appropriately shortening a “right-hand” section to model the return, and then joining them together, I created an accurate model of the bed molding beneath the chimney girt in the Mansfield House’s hall chamber:

Mansfield House chimney girt bed molding.

View of the modeled bed molding from below.

This second view of the same model reveals more clearly how the return had been cut from a separate piece of wood, and simply joined to the mitered end of the main piece:

Mansfield house fireplace bed molding.

View of the modeled bed molding from above and behind.

Conclusion

There’s no doubt that modeling historic architectural detail in this manner is a lot of effort. But it’s time worth spent for anyone serious about capturing this information and making it readily accessible to others. The educational advantages of three-dimensional, digital models are significant: one can readily view, explore, rotate, and deconstruct such models to learn more about them. Also, if arbitrary two-dimensional plans or sections are desired, they can always be produced directly from the same three-dimensional model, without the need to create additional diagrams.

Furthermore, once a library of standard components has been established, new models can readily be created by piecing existing components together, and creating customized versions of those components wherever necessary. Models formulated using Trimble SketchUp can easily be published on the Internet via the Trimble 3D Warehouse. For example, both the left and right cyma recta sections I’ve created here may readily be downloaded from my own Trimble 3D Warehouse page. They can then be viewed using either Trimble SketchUp or Trimble SketchUp Viewer.

Finally, yet another advantage to publishing archives of models of historic artifacts online is that well-established SEO techniques can be leveraged to ensure that these model catalogs are found by those searching for them, while social media can likewise be used to publicize the existence of these archives to their intended audiences and communities.

Postscript

This modeling exercise of mine was (very gently) criticized, recently, via Twitter, on the claim that there was no obvious, practical need for three-dimensional models of historic architectural millwork. While I don’t agree with that claim, I do understand the basis for it.

If I were creating a collection of SketchUp components representing well-known classical forms, or even standard millwork, then I’d happily concede that my critic had a point, as these forms are widely understood, and a great many examples of them have already been published in the SketchUp 3D Warehouse. But what I’m doing here is capturing the architectural details of specific historic buildings, and as such, I consider each modeled element to be fundamentally unique, even if it expresses some well-known shape.

For example, there’s nothing particularly profound (in a more general sense) about the model of the bed molding that I’d developed and illustrated through out the course of this article. But this small component will soon become part of a larger model of the entire paneled composition, which itself is quite unique, and of considerable historical significance. In that sense, even a trivial piece of molding needs to be accurately represented here. So I’m not inclined to search the 3D Warehouse for close equivalents, but rather model these pieces myself, and directly from my own measurements of their real world prototypes.

I should also point out that the models I’m constructing and publishing are primarily of regional historic interest. Some one researching the habits of early Connecticut carpenters might find them invaluable; but general architectural historians, perhaps somewhat less so (or maybe not). These are points I didn’t make completely clear earlier, especially in the above Summary, which seems to suggest more general intentions.

And finally, a secondary objective of the article itself is simply to share my own experiences using SketchUp with others who are undertaking similar efforts.

Post-Postscript

Here’s a photo of another cyma recta bed molding from the Mansfield House, this one from the hall fireplace. A small lower section missing from the return reveals that the molding is shaped from an angled board, as initially suggested in a comment posted by Jane Radocchia, and subsequently discussed by Sebastian Eggert:

Opened cyma recta bed molding from the hall fireplace of the Mansfield house.

Opened cyma recta bed molding from the hall fireplace of the Mansfield house. The small supporting cove also appears to have been shaped from a separate piece of wood.

This molding is of the same contour and dimensions as its counter part from the hall chamber, and I have no reason to believe them to have been constructed differently. So as soon as I’ve had a chance to measure the section, I’ll revise my earlier model to reflect this shape. And that same model will be used to represent either bed molding. So much thanks to both Jane and Sebastian for encouraging me to consider this.

Also of interest is the contour shown below, which was recorded by famed New Haven, Connecticut restoration architect and historian J. Frederick Kelly, on p. 192 of his “Early Domestic Architecture of Connecticut” (published in 1924). Kelly cited it as an example of a non-Classical contour that was indigenous to Connecticut, and often found in later period (Revolutionary to Greek Rival) compositions through out the state. So I’ll be keeping an eye out for this one in my travels, as well.

Indigenous Connecticut molding reported by J. Frederick Kelly.
Posted in Historic Details | Tagged , | 22 Comments

Blizzard Of 2013: Part II

Today was the second day following the Blizzard of 2013, and despite the valiant efforts of many homeowners in our neighborhood at cleaning up pathways, it’s now starting to feel like we’re quite trapped in this predicament.

Snowblower operating over snow covered sidewalk.

Neighbor Greg (snow blowing, cigar smoking dude from previous article) kindly took pity on me, despite my long and public eschewing of snow blowers, and helped me clear this long stretch of side walk. And I wasn't about to refuse his offer.

While I’m confident the town is doing everything in its power to get the streets clear, I also know that physical resources are limited, and our side streets will receive lowest priority. But the clearing just can’t come quickly enough.

Digging SUV out from snow.

Meanwhile, Ryan (cigar smoking shoveling dude from previous article) finally managed to free his SUV from its snowy bounds and re-situate it off the street.

Fortunately, temperatures were mild today: It was a balmy 32 degrees all day, but the sun shone brightly and there was no wind. Some of us (including myself) were given to stripping down a bit and working in shirt sleeves.

Men with snowblowers taking a break.

An impromptu meeting of the minds behind the snow blowers...

At least our neighborhood is now more or less “connected” to the nearby main road, if only via foot travel. And all of us are still laughing and enjoying a certain sense of camaraderie through all this. My only real concern at this point (besides the return of a serviceable street, of course) is the prediction of more precipitation and freezing rains for tomorrow.

A one-finger salute to the camera.

...and a warm greeting to yet another neighbor who's been playing golf in Florida for the past 1.5 months (to whom, of course, I duly texted this photo).

That’s it for today. Things move very slowly in the Land of Way Too Much Snow. We’ll see what excitement tomorrow brings…

[ Blizzard of 2013: Part I ]

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Blizzard Of 2013: Part I

Some called it Winter Storm Nemo. Others called it the Blizzard of 2013, the Nor’easter of 2013, or Storm Charlotte. Call it what you will…but this February snowstorm is bound to be included in the record books as one of the more significant snowstorms to hit our area.

View of houses, Houstonic River, LI Sound, and dissipating storm clouds

The early morning hours of Saturday, February 9th, 2013, saw gusting winds, dissipating storm clouds, and much accumulated snow and wind-blown drifts. Just beyond these houses are the lower Housatonic estuary and Long Island Sound.

From my own perspective, I’ve never seen this much snow here, ever. And I’ve lived in this region all my life. The snow began falling around 6:30 or so yesterday (Friday, February 8th, 2013) morning, and continued building throughout the day. All that evening, and into the next morning, we were buffeted by strong winds and driving snow fall.

Weighted mountain laurel branches and deep snow on main path to house.

At the front door, on Saturday morning, I was greeted by a much weighed-down mountain laurel and deep snow blocking the front path.

Heavily piled snow on bushes.

...and this was the view to the right of the entry way.

By late morning, the storm was largely over, except for the gusting winds. But the snow accumulation was considerable. Stratford officially received about 32″, while neighboring Milford got 38″, and Hamden, farther inland, recorded 40″. But the drifts caused by the strong winds were much higher than these figures in many spots.

House and deep snow covering street and buried SUV.

Just beyond the entry way, one could see the street covered by a deep layer of snow, and that one of the residents across the road unfortunately had left his SUV out. Not a single snowplow was in sight, nor could reasonably be expected.

All in all, much of New York, New Jersey, and southern New England were affected, including Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire. But according to the news reports, Connecticut and the Boston area seemed hit about the hardest, receiving, on average, about three feet of snow.

Snow covered street and late afternoon sun.

A view down the street a bit later in the afternoon. The road was graced by snowdrifts of varying heights, as far as the eye can see.

But, fortunately, the snow at least was relatively dry and powdery.

At the Poole Ancestral Homestead, in Stratford, where I’d spent the night, drifting snow blocked the front storm door, and made it impossible to open.

Snow piled up against exterior storm door.

A great deal of snow had drifted up against the exterior storm door, and made it impossible to open, no matter how hard I tried to force the door outward.

So I lowered the front window, and basically dived head-first out of it, right onto the high pile of snow below.

Storm door with much snow before it.

Of course, after diving out the opened window, and then getting up, I compacted and displaced much of that same snow, or so it seemed. I still couldn't open the door until I cleared the snow away with a shovel. Note the crater in the foreground from my graceful head plant. Only my pride was hurt...

Then cleaned myself off and started clearing it all away.

Snow cleared away and door finally opened.

A bit of snow cleared away, and the door finally opened.

The neighbors meanwhile (while not laughing at my antics) were busily clearing their driveway and attempting to free their cars. You can get a good idea for how deep the snow actually was from the following two photos:

Digging a car out of the snow.

Our neighbor removing much snow from around his buried car at the end of the driveway.

Neighbor standing behind deep snow wall.

Our other neighbor just visible above the high snow wall that remained.

I devoted the next hour or so to clearing a path to the main sidewalk, digging my way through the deep snow drifts, which in one case I measured as high as about 45″.

Cleared path through deep snow.

The path I finally cleared, which amounted to only about a quarter of all the work I actually need to do. But this was was quite a bit of hard work in itself.

Shovel against snow wall.

The snow was deepest at this point at the end of my path, about 45". A few more feet of digging will finally connect us to our neighbor's pathway.

The street was covered by large drifts and completely impassable. So I suspect it’s going to be a few days before any of us manage to get out of here.

Convertible fleece mitten and fingerless glove.

The hand apparel of choice for the committed snow blogger / Tweeter is a fleece Thinsulate mitten whose cover can be flipped back in an instant to expose one's fingers (but not if it's too cold, of course...).

One thing I love is the variety of shapes often carved in accumulated snow by heavy winds on the lee sides of many structures. Below is an interesting wind-blown shape on the flat metal roof of our side porch:

Wind-carved snow formation on roof of side porch.

A wind-blown "molding" of snow, with an almost perfectly symmetrical section.

A few readers might be wondering if all this snow accumulation is going to necessitate another roof raking exercise, as I’d written about nearly two years ago in a past article recently republished here as Snow Screeding Fluffy Slabs. That’s a good question, and the answer is: I’m not sure yet.

This snow fall was relatively dry and light, and although large quantities of snow are on our rooftops, the situation isn’t that dangerous right now. But the forecast is for rain on Monday, and then again for Wednesday. I’d love nothing more than to remove all this overhead snow before Monday. But since my bull float roof rake is elsewhere, and travel still seems well neigh impossible, it might just not happen this time around.

Anyway, that’s a wrap for today. Possibly more tomorrow… Stay tuned if you’re sufficiently interested (or otherwise sufficiently bored :-) ).

John Poole out in the snow.

The author, resting between intervals of shoveling, and wondering why the two guys blowing snow across the street were both smoking cigars...

Men with snowblower and smoking cigars.

"Have a cigar."

[ Blizzard Of 2013: Part II ]

Posted in Weather | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

Historic Cut and Drop

Yesterday, I had seamless gutters made for the Mansfield House. Ray from Advanced Seamless Gutters of Milford, Connecticut, stopped by and cut me two 42′ lengths of K-style extrusion, and also dropped off the leader sections and other accessories I’d spec’d out:

Capping the end of a freshly shaped gutter.

Ray, with a freshly pressed seamless gutter.

My new gutter system is just one component of a bulk water control strategy I’m developing for the house that should prove far more effective than what had been done here previously. And my approach not only respects historically significant exterior details, but also attempts to work in concert with them, wherever appropriate, as you’ll see in a few examples below.

Van parked out front.

The Advanced Seamless Gutters van at the end of my proto-driveway.

The new gutters will have a leader at each end, whereas the previous system had one per gutter. Not only was having a single leader inadequate, given the gutters’ lengths, but it also rendered the rear gutter less effective at removing water from the rear lean-to roof, which represents a very large percentage of the total square area of the roof system of a typical saltbox style home:

Mansfield House rear lean-to roof with much snow accumulation.

The Mansfield House rear lean-to roof, with much snow accumulated from a recent storm.

The lean-to roof catches and sheds far more water than the front roof, and that water needs to be dispatched rather quickly. It’s my contention, in fact, that much of the water damage incurred at the rear of the house in the recent past had been due, in part, to an undersized or poorly maintained rear gutter system.

Another detail related to the rear roof is the fact that, since the property is quite narrow, and slopes significantly from rear to front, all of the rain water collected from the lean-to roof needs to be carried to the front of the property and properly diffused there. The existing single leader in the rear does indeed drain to an underground pipe, but it’s not at all clear to me where this pipe goes. So I’ll need to find out. I’ll also need to similarly route water away from the new rear leader:

Downspout leading to a drain in a concrete step.

The single existing rear downspout connects to a drain, which in turn connects to a PVC pipe below. But where that pipe presently goes is not obvious.

One of the challenges of hanging a continuous gutter here will be aligning and fitting it to the rear eave in an optimal manner. As you can see from this photo, the rear eave has a rather interesting “shape”:

Mansfield House rear eave.

The Mansfield House rear eave line is pretty much distorted in all three dimensions!

Meanwhile, the front presents its own challenges. The main cornice is moderate in projection and reasonably straight. However, at the gable ends, the rake is defined by an open rake board, or barge board, which is nailed to the roof planks and extends from the peak down to the eave line. These barge boards extend well beyond the cornice, suggesting they might interfere with a modern hanging gutter:

The barge board at the Mansfield House's north gable protrudes well beyond the main cornice. The same situation exists at the south gable.

But considered from an historic perspective, barge boards were an early weatherization solution for the house. They provided something of a drip path for water at the gable end of the roof, and protected the exposed roof planks and roof/gable siding intersection from driving rains. Ideally, they should continue to function in this manner, while complementing any modern gutter system:

North gable of the Mansfield House, showing barge boards and rake transition.

A view of the north gable of the Mansfield House, showing the rear barge board of the main roof (right), and that of the lean-to roof (left). The "break" where the main roof transitions to the lean-to (center of photo) is also mildly problematic in terms of water control. The solution there, of course, is to flash above it so as to divert water onto the lean-to roof, rather than allowing it to spill over the end.

The most reasonable approach to unifying old and new, in this case, would seem to be to flash the upper edges of each gable barge board pair with a continuous drip edge, folded and mitered at the peak, and have the cornice end of the front barge board terminate above, and just within, the gutter end cap. The lower end of the front drip edge might need to be shaped so as to divert drips right into the gutter. It might also require (preservation gods forbid) shortening the barge board a bit by trimming its lower end, or perhaps positioning it just slightly farther up the rake.

Royal brown elbows.

Royal brown elbows on stone wall.

It’s obvious from the previous photo that the barge boards are quite weathered, and should probably be removed, straightened, treated, refinished, and re-hung, as a prerequisite to getting any permanent and historically-sensitive rain water control system in place. So most likely, they’ll be coming down before the front gutter goes up.

Gutters blocked and tied-down.

My new seamless gutters sufficiently blocked and bungied-down (at both ends and two intermediate points) for the time being. If a stiff breeze arrives, we should be fine. If falling branches or metal thieves arrive, I'm probably hosed. But what happens, happens...right? :-)

Postscript

My good friend John Nicholas of Efficient Energy Savers suggested (see comment below) using infrared imaging to trace the path of water through the below-grade leader. An excellent idea! And one I’ll try,  as soon as temperatures here get above freezing.

Posted in Weatherization | Tagged | 7 Comments

Vintage Wooden Drawer Repair

This week, several of my favorite designer-blogger friends are on Modenus’ Blog Tour Cologne 2013, taking in the culture and Gothic architecture of Cologne, Germany, while learning more about their sponsors’ latest home design products, and busily blogging and tweeting their impressions. There’s no doubt many of us with ties to this vibrant community are perhaps a tad envious (I know I am), but there’s something nice about seeing good friends of mine enjoying their camaraderie, while also deeply engaged in their craft.

Now, if you happen to be looking for bleeding edge interior design and ultra modern home decor here, you’ve really come to the wrong place! But, if your preferences include the timeless workmanship of centuries past (or even just sixty or seventy five years past), then there’s bound to be something here that’ll interest you. Perhaps this story might…

Vintage china closet cabinetry and open drawers below.

Circa 1950 vintage china closet and storage cabinet.

Yesterday, I’d spent most of my afternoon at the Shell-Poole homestead, in Stratford, Connecticut, repairing some very old wooden cabinet drawers, and felt inspired to give a brief account of their simple, but quite effective, traditional design. Perhaps more importantly, I also wanted to demonstrate how readily repairable old work really is, and why I think repairing it is worth the effort.

Removed cabinet drawer and broken bottom panel.

Removed cabinet drawer and broken bottom panel.

These particular drawers (there are three of them, altogether) are part of a large, custom-made, built-in china closet, that had been crafted here, on-site, probably some time in the 1950s. As far back as I can remember, they had always been veritable archives of the cherished and the ridiculous — packed with so much junk, that I never saw them actually function as the day-to-day, working storage they were intended to be. Only the top few cubic inches of each drawer’s volume were ever accessible, and you basically proceeded at your own risk if you attempted diving deeper.

The cabinet's face and web frames.

Vintage cabinetry face-frame and web-frame.

A common malady incurred by all three drawers, in fact, is that their rear, lower corners all had split to varying degrees, with some even shattering. I’d like to think this was due to the ravages of time and wood movement, but no — it was more like the ravages of being forever packed beyond any reasonable capacity. Since the drawers incorporated wood-on-wood slides, they gradually became too difficult to open, and we’d all fallen into the unfortunate habit of lifting upward on the pulls, and sliding the drawers on their rear corners, which is what eventually caused all the breakage.

The broken, lower, rear corner of one of the drawers.

The broken, lower, rear corner of one of the drawers.

Even the bottom panel of one of the drawers (the most heavily loaded one) had completely split in two, lengthwise, along its grain. But however dire this all might sound, the damage was easily repairable, requiring no more than some gluing and clamping (and, of course, throwing away that decades old  junk, before returning the drawers to service — clutter is evil, and thoroughly capable of destroying a house in time; it’s true). I’ll cover the repairs shortly, but first, let’s delve a bit into their traditional design.

The shattered rear corner of one of the drawers.

This corner is even worse, having nearly broken completely apart.

Each drawer consists of five panels: front, rear, two sides, and bottom. The edges of the front panel are halved and beveled all along the perimeter, so it can fit flush against the face frame when the drawer is closed. The side panels are through-dadoed and rabbeted where they join with the rear and bottom panels, respectively, whose edges in turn are cut with tongues to fit the dadoes and rabbets. And the entire drawer assembly is simply nailed together at these corner joints.

Close-up of web-frame mortise and tenon joint.

Close-up of a mortise and tenon joint of the web frame. The "channel" to the extreme right is wear caused by the wooden drawer slider, and the drawer stop is just up against the cabinet side.

Both the web and face frame sections are constructed using traditional mortise-and-tenon joinery, with the mortises somewhat wider than the tenons to allow for seasonal wood movement. But perhaps the most significant aspect of this design is that the bottom edges of each drawer’s side panels function as “sliders” for the drawer, moving back and forth over the rails of the web frame, with a small stop on each side ensuring the drawer moves in a straight path.

Close-up of a mortise and tenon joint of the face frame.

Close-up of a mortise and tenon joint of the face frame, and the drawer stop just behind it.

Of particular note is this small “rise” just at the front of each slider, which has the effect of slightly raising the drawer just as it’s closed, and smartly “locking” it against the face frame. An ingenious example of wood-on-wood engineering, and a design that was commonly employed long before the more recent, widespread use of metal and nylon sliding parts in cabinet making.

The rise just behind, and slightly below, one of the front panels.

The rise just behind, and slightly below, one of the front panels.

Now, for the repair work. Most of the broken or shattered corners were easily enough repaired by injecting some wood glue and then clamping the affected edges, both depth-wise and width-wise. Since many of the rabbeted edges had split three ways, it was necessary to ensure that they were clamped so as to remain reasonably square. But that was about it.

Clamps at one corner

Clamping in two dimensions.

The split bottom panel, on the other hand, required a bit more effort. First, I clamped the two halves together dry, so as to figure out the best possible placement of the clamps when forcing the break back together. Although the break was relatively clean, it had happened a good number of years ago, and the two halves didn’t completely align now without applying some force.

Bottom panel glued and clamped.

The bottom panel glued, clamped, and set upright to clear some floor space. The blue Quick Grips on either side ensure that both sides of the edge are aligned where it's been re-joined.

Next, I scored each side of the break with 60 grit sandpaper, criss-crossing the grain in both directions, to ensure better glue adhesion. I brushed wood glue on both edges, and applied a final bead down the center of one edge. Then, I clamped everything, cleaned the residual glue up (I’ve found those small, plastic, ScrapeRite blades very handy for culling wet glue oozing from joints, BTW), and set the panel aside to dry overnight.

Several clamps on one panel.

The worst shattered side panel required several clamps after gluing.

This morning, I removed the clamps from the bottom panel, scraped away the remaining dried glue, and worked it back into the drawer. Some beeswax applied to the rabbeted edges and dadoes, and a little gentle hammer tapping, got the repaired bottom panel back in place.

A big block of beeswax.

Beeswax is a great natural and non-toxic lubricant for getting wood-to-wood sliding contact to work. I much prefer it over products like silicone sprays.

I also applied beeswax to the sliders, and then re-installed the drawers in the cabinet.

Rubber-and-plastic hammer and repaired bottom panel fitted to drawer.

A little gentle hammer tapping, plus the beeswax, easily persuaded the repaired bottom panel back into the drawer. Two small brads in the back finally secured it.

All this (and no more future overloading of the drawers, of course) has brought them back to a fully functional state, while also making them a pleasure to use once again, and hopefully ensuring their ongoing service and survival for at least another five or ten decades.

Drawers reinstalled in cabinet.

Finally back in business. Eventually, these drawers and the cabinetry will get re-finished when I finally re-finish the entire kitchen and pantry. But at least they're fixed and fully serviceable now.

Posted in Historic Details | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Snow Screeding Fluffy Slabs

Today (Tuesday, December 4th, 2012) marks the 226th anniversary (1786) of one of the worst New England snowstorms of recorded history. Snow began falling heavily around midday, and was driven by a fierce nor’easter, which rapidly piled snowdrifts and caused coastal sea levels to rise. The storm continued unabated until Wednesday evening. According to Sidney Perley’s Historic Storms of New England (published in 1891), nearly six feet of snow was deposited in much of Boston by the storm’s end.

Now, why would I bring up such a cheery topic? Well, partly to mark today’s anniversary of this auspicious storm. But also as a reminder that, no matter how bad winter seems, take comfort in the fact that there was always a time when it was far worse. And to inspire my readers even further, here’s a reprint from The Hawkins House of another such horrific, past winter storm, and the courageous New Englander who, rising to the challenge, and against all odds, altered the very meaning of winter snow removal forever — a tale otherwise known as…

The Most Fakakta Thing I EVER DID

[ Screednoun \ˈskrēd\ 1) A lengthy discourse (e.g., personal account, or rant); 2) A leveling device drawn over freshly poured concrete [Source:Merriam-Webster]. A screeded concrete surface is usually finished with a float. For this article (which itself is a screed), snow is the metaphorical concrete, the North wind is the screed, and the float is, well, … an actual float. ]

January 26th-27th brought us yet another intense winter storm. In our area, the storm dropped about 14″of snow – not quite as much as we’d received two weeks ago. But the total snow accumulation for the month of January was about 52″, setting a record for the snowiest January here since 1965. And cold temperatures ensured the older snow stayed around, so accumulations both on the ground and on the tops of structures were quite deep.This caused numerous collapsing roofs here in Connecticut, and many folks are making efforts right now to remove roof-top snow.

In a previous post, I’d written about how my home faces north-west, the same direction (more or less) that winter storms tend to blow from in this area. My main roof has a 10″ pitch and presents a large profile to the wind, causing lots of snow to blow over the ridge and get deposited on the rear and mud room roofs. Furthermore, the front of the house blocks wind at lower levels, often causing a large build-up of snow on the entry porch roof and in the front yard. So I wasn’t totally surprised to see this after the storm:

Needless to say, I’m glad I sistered the columns with 2×6 Ts before the winter. They’re not in the greatest shape these days, but I hadn’t had time to properly replace them in the fall. The mud room roof also had much snow, and my first priority was to get both porches cleared, which I can safely do with a shop broom from overlooking windows. But what really worried me was the cumulative snow on the back main roof:

Furthermore, the current forecast calls for more snow next week, or possibly even rain. So I really wanted to remove as much of it as possible. I needed something like a roof rake, but with about a 40′ extension. I’m not sure roof rakes actually come that long, but it really didn’t matter, as no one around here actually stocks roof rakes, and supplies weren’t expected until sometime the following week.

But it turned out I had something easily adaptable: A four foot magnesium concrete float and several sections of aluminum shaft that screw together. I ran out to Home Depot and bought a few more sections so I could get the total length I needed. A bit pricey, yes, but I was determined to get this all done as quickly as possible:

First thing I had to do was remove the attachment point from the float, re-orient it 90 degrees, and bolt it back on:

Then, I angled the attachment point at about to about 45 degrees, and screwed one of the aluminum sections on:

My reasoning was that this would enable the float to ride up over the surface of the snow on the up-stroke, and then anchor into the snow on the down-stroke, thus breaking chunks of snow free. I collected everything together, and then headed out to the back of the house:

Not long after, my good friend and nextdoor neighbor Gary Farrell came over to see what I was up to (I think he probably realizes by now that I’m a little crazy). Gary grew up in the Hawkins house, which his family had owned since about 1853, and he had been the steward of the place for a good many years until I bought the house from him in 2007:

While Gary watched with some curiosity, I made my first attempt to get the float up and anchored in the snow just above the eave. Only two shaft sections were attached. It wasn’t quite as easy to do as I initially thought it would be. Once I got it in place, I attached a third section:

It took six sections to get the float just beyond the ridge line, at which point, the float tilted a bit, requiring me to push it a bit higher and spin the shaft to straighten it:

Meanwhile, Gary went back to clearing his side porch roof. I was a little leery watching him up there, hoping the porch roof was strong enough to support his weight and all that snow. I offered him to try out my experimental method, but he seemed quite content to continue with what he was doing (like I said, he knows I’m crazy — everybody does :-) :

But soon enough, I cut my first swath of snow with the float. I found that shimmying the float would easily dig it in, and then a slight up and down undulation loosened the snow and released a small slough:

Once I had cut the first swath, I drove the float upwards again and attempted the next one (you can see how some portions of the first few sloughs settled on the mud room roof):

Then, I momentarily anchored the float up on the ridge, and took a minute to rest (and snapped this photo, too, of course), while the float waited patiently:

Next, I worked the float over a few feet and began cutting the next swath:

Controlling the float was tricky and took quite a bit of practice. Sometimes, the float would want to veer off to one side, and I’d have to move quickly across the ground (not easy with a lot of deep snow underfoot) and get back under it to make it stop:

In general, the more surface snow removed, the more challenging the float became to control, as it would want to slide across the exposed lower slab, which was hard-packed and icy:

Another point of difficulty was the need to occasionally add or remove a section or two of shaft, depending on how high the snow was where I was standing, versus where I was trying to get the float positioned on the roof:

In this case, another pair of hands was indispensable, and Gary provided me quite a bit of help in getting the job done (in addition to taking some good action pics):

Toward the end of the afternoon, I managed to remove most of the upper layers of snow from the roof. In the photo below, I only needed to clear a bit more snow from the vicinity of the main stack vent, which was effectively buried. But I stayed well clear of the rake line, given the float’s tendency to slide sideways:

Needless to say, there was a lot of new snow on the mud room roof. I went back inside and removed it from the safety of the windows. Only I needed a shovel in addition to the shop broom, because this fine, sloughed-off snow had set-up hard (in fact, exactly in the same manner that slough sets up like concrete after an avalanche in the mountains). There was also a lot of displaced snow all around the perimeter of the mudroom and house, which now needed to be removed:

But at least it wasn’t on the roof any more, and I had no further concerns about additional precipitation during the coming week.

Some Important Points on Safety and Property Damage

Despite my relative success with this project, I don’t necessarily advise my readers to attempt the same. There are a number of risks associated with undertakings such as this one, and although I was able to eliminate or minimize the major ones, this might not always be possible in another person’s situation. The major risks include, but are not limited to:

  • Potential for electrocution. Aluminum is an excellent conductor of electricity. Sending a long aluminum shaft aloft while standing in wet snow could be a very dangerous thing to do in the presence of overhead wires (e.g., power company service drop, or feeder to an out-building), or any other sources of electric power. In my case, there were no electrical wires nearby, and my service drop is clear on the opposite side of the house. Had it not been, or had I needed to clear snow from the front roof, I would’ve requested the power company to shut my power off first, and not resume service until I told them I had completed my work. Otherwise, I never would’ve attempted this. On the other hand, there are several outdoor light fixtures just beneath the eave where I was working, but I de-energized their circuits beforehand. Note that a roof rake with a wood, plastic, or fiberglass shaft is arguably safer, but still shouldn’t be used in the vicinity of live wires, or any other electrical sources or fixtures. Remember: That shaft is going to have a continuous stream of water dripping down its length, and on to your hands and body.
  • Damage and/or injury from falling snow. Even though these falling sloughs were relatively small, we were surprised by the impact they made hitting the ground. There should be no bystanders (especially small children) or easily damaged property, in the fall zone. Furthermore, if conditions are right — fresh snow, or fresh snow over a consolidated, older layer of snow, and a very steep roof – you have the potential for triggering a small avalanche, in which more snow than you’re expecting can suddenly free itself from the roof. The reason why I used so many extensions, in fact, was to deliberately distance myself as far as possible from the falling sloughs.
  • Damage and/or injury from the shaft/float. As I mentioned earlier, the float was difficult to control, and had a tendency to slide sideways, as the extended shaft is not very rigid. Again, no one should be in the fall zone, nor at either end of the house. There is also a potential for the butt end of the shaft to hit you in the face or body, if not properly controlled. Finally, rain gutters and nearby windows are also at risk for damage.
  • Damage to roof shingles. It would be easy to tear or knock off more than a few shingles doing this. In my case, I had good reason to believe there was at least one hard, base layer of snow covering the shingles, and took care not to penetrate it.
  • Build-up on other structures. As one reader pointed out in a comment, care should be taken to avoid too much snow building up on the roofs of smaller, attached or nearby structures. Be mindful of where the cleared snow is going and what it ends up resting on.
  • Physical injury. I found this work required far more physical exertion than shoveling heavy snow from a side walk. I wouldn’t recommend it to any one who wasn’t in exceptional shape.

The bottom line here is: If you’re concerned about the quantity of snow on your roof, please hire a licensed and insured contractor to remove it!

Postscript [8 February 2011]

Since writing this article, it’s become apparent to me that I could make the float less damaging to the shingles by attaching door weather stripping, or a section of foam pipe insulation, to the bottom edge.

The Real Postscript [ or, perhaps, Post-Postscript ]

This article, Snow Screed…Or, How To Float A Big Fluffy Slab, was originally published on The Hawkins House blog, January 29th, 2011 (nearly two years ago), and has been re-published here [by me] with the expressed permission of the author [also me]. It’s representative of the kind of carefree and seat-of-the-pants sort of writing I used to do when I was far less serious and not constantly obsessed about people knocking down old houses. A form of writing I desperately want to return to. Soon. Perhaps with the next big New England snowstorm…

By the way, if you’ve enjoyed this article, you might want to view some of the original comments, which were… uh …quite varied and nearly as entertaining! Just scroll down to the bottom of Snow Screed…Or, How To Float A Big Fluffy Slab. New comments, however, I’d appreciate being posted right here. Thanks!

This house is frozen brittle, all except
This room you sit in. If you think the wind
Sounds further off, It’s not because it’s dying;
You’re further under the snow – that’s all –
And feel it less.
- Robert Frost, Snow

[ One of my all time favorite Frost poems ]

Posted in Weather | Tagged , , | 8 Comments

Napalm Girl and ACI 2013

I won’t be attending the 2013 ACI National Home Performance Conference next spring in Denver, Colorado, even though I was totally planning to. In fact, I’m boycotting it. Or, rather more precisely, boycotting its recently announced host sponsor, Dow Building Solutions.

Now why would I do such a thing?

Because I have a life long, moral grievance against all things Dow, which goes all the way back to the Vietnam war. You see, Dow Chemical was (nearly) the exclusive supplier of napalm to the U.S. military during that conflict. And napalm is just about the most inhumane weapon of mass destruction ever conceived by the human mind. Comprised essentially of jellied gasoline, it’s nearly impossible to remove from your skin, while burning at extremely high temperatures, and asphyxiating you with burning, noxious gases.

Napalm B Flame Thrower

Napalm B Flame Thrower (Source: Wikipedia Commons)

A number of chemical manufacturers, including Dow, began supplying napalm under contract to the U.S. government in 1965. However, amid rising protests and human rights concerns, the others stopped. But Dow continued, stating “its first obligation was to the government”, to which I say, bullshit. Their first obligation was to their shareholders and executives, and they suddenly found themselves in a position to conveniently reap all the profits that their competitors conceded.

The use of napalm is totally beyond the pale in its inhumanity, even when targeted at enemy combatants. It doesn’t discriminate between guerrillas and innocent civilians, and far too often, Vietnamese civilians ended up its hapless victims. Those of you who are old enough to remember might recall the iconic film clip of the little Vietnamese girl, Phan Thi Kim Phuc (only three years younger than me), screaming and running naked down the road, with half her skin burned from her back, following a napalm attack on her village:

Photo of Kim Phuc running down the road, crying, screaming

The Dow Chemical Company's legacy: Kim Phuc badly burned and running from her village in 1972 (Source: Wikipedia Commons).

The clip is considered by many to be singly responsible for turning public opinion against the manner in which the war was being prosecuted. And that it was taken in 1972 meant that Kim Phuc’s intense pain and disfigurement was the direct result of the “application” of a Dow product.

Now, I’m sure some of you are thinking “That Poole guy is a cynical, jaded old coot, inordinately clinging to sentiments he picked up back in the sixties that he can’t let go of. Why should he still care about something that happened over forty years? We live in a different world now, so get over it.”

To which I respond with a resounding NO. There’s no statute of limitations on wide scale inhumane behavior, and large corporations, even though they’re far from being “people” (sorry, Mitt Romney), need to be held forever accountable when their products or business practices, by design, bring grievous suffering, pain, and disfigurement to innocents.

And those of us who remember long can never forsake our convictions. So, to this very day, I still boycott all things Dow. I won’t buy any product made by Dow, nor by any of its subsidiaries. And I certainly won’t use any Dow Building Solutions products on my house. Never.

Now, you can probably imagine how disappointed I was, just two days ago, when I saw a tweet and press release from Affordable Comfort, Inc., announcing that Dow Building Solutions would be a host sponsor of the 2013 ACI National Home Performance Conference, and furthermore, how proud they were for it. So I immediately cancelled my plans, and even politely withdrew a session proposal I’d submitted to the conference.

I suppose had Dow Building Solutions been, say, just another exhibitor, or some lower-level sponsor or advertiser, I perhaps could’ve afforded to ignore them. But as the big press, big name, host sponsor of the conference, no. Sorry. I just can’t abide by that.

Which is really too bad, because it looks like it’s otherwise shaping up to be a great home performance event…

Pete's Banjo

[ For a good summary, and additional information on the role Dow Chemical played in supplying napalm during the Vietnam war, check out this page from PBS' American Experience: Two Days in October. ]

Posted in Social Responsibility | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

Oronoque Saltbox Requiem

It’s been just about seven weeks since I’d published Imminent Historic Teardown, an account of an historic home in Stratford, Connecticut, nearing its demolition by commercial developers. On October 26, 2012, demolition and waste removal began, with only about a quarter of the house remaining the next day:

Oronoque Saltbox Front Side

The Oronoque saltbox, on October 27, 2012.

Oronoque Saltbox Rear

Rear of the saltbox, on the same day.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprisingly), this partial structure survived Hurricane Sandy, only to finally fall to a backhoe on the afternoon of All Hallow’s Eve:

Oronoque Saltbox Final Destruction

Final demolition on the evening of October 31, 2012. The backhoe is compacting removed material by pulverizing it against the ground. No part of this house was recycled.

What follows is an account of some of the more noteworthy happenings during the month leading up to the demolition, and some thoughts about what this event means to those of us determined to conserve historic structures.

Residents’ Consternation

The impending destruction of the house raised the ire of many. Both current and former Stratford residents familiar with the home shared their opinions about its forthcoming tear down in a forum on Stratford Patch, while locals and non-residents alike also posted comments on Imminent Historic Teardown.

Most objected strongly to the tear down. But one or two suggested that all the emotional energy, while understandable, was happening too late to be of any real use. And quite frankly, they were right about that. However, there are specific reasons why concerned folks often don’t learn of these things until it’s too late, and later in this article, I’ll discuss this point further.

Oronoque Saltbox Hand Hewn Joists

Hand hewn joists in the 2nd floor hall chamber of the Oronoque saltbox.

Last Minute Salvage Attempts

My timber framing colleagues Jay C. White Cloud and Donald Polaski, having been alerted to the plight of the home, made a good many attempts to locate potential buyers who might be interested in the house frame. This was a long shot, as it was doubtful that house and frame could’ve been disassembled and removed from the site within the time lines required by the project schedule.

Nonetheless, an interested party was indeed found, and Don came down from Vermont to inspect the house. But he finally concluded that too many of the central timbers had been scarred by fire to be of interest to his buyer, who was looking for an aesthetically pristine frame.

Oronoque Saltbox Chimney Post And Girt

Exposed framing members at the south end of the chimney bay. Blackened by soot from the fire, but with no serious damage.

I also offered to recover all the old, wooden window sashes. Although not all were necessarily original to the home, they were, nonetheless, still historic. But I was told the Connecticut DEEP required them to be disposed of as hazardous waste, given the high concentrations of lead found in their coatings. So rescuing the old windows didn’t seem to be in the cards:

Oronoque Saltbox Historic Window

One of the twelve-over-eight, double hung, historic front windows.

Beyond that, there were no plans, nor any interest, on the part of the general contractor, nor the demo company, to recycle any of the old timbers, floor planks, or sheathing. This really was a shame, as not only does a good market exist for this old growth wood, but reclaiming it would’ve enabled this rare building material to be re-purposed elsewhere.

Historic Home Survey

Much to his credit, general contractor Brian Hulse, who seemed sincerely regretful about the impending loss of the home, allowed me considerable access to it, so a record of the place could at least be captured. I took many photographs and measurements, and uncovered a number of material facts about the Oronoque saltbox that revealed it’s architectural historic worth to have been considerable.

You might recall how, in Imminent Historic Teardown, I criticized Stratford’s Planning and Zoning Office, not only for approving a plan that called for the destruction of this home, but for their cursory decision that it held “little of historic value” — a conclusion apparently supported by nothing more than a claim, made by non-experts during a public hearing, that the home’s historic fabric some how had been eradicated, decades earlier, by a house fire.

Oronoque Saltbox Derby Tying Joint

A vernacular tying joint of the lower Naugatuck Valley (possibly derived from a Dutch design) identified in the framing system of the Oronoque saltbox. "Expressions of localism in the framing of joints", as J. Frederick Kelly once observed.

But I found, quite to the contrary, that the house possessed a number of historically significant features that spoke greatly to the evolution of colonial architecture and timber frame construction in our particular region of Connecticut. So much for “little of historic value”. The final report, photos, and other artifacts from my historic home survey of the Oronoque saltbox are all posted here.

Why Did We Lose This House?

A natural question to ask, of course, is: if the Oronoque saltbox had demonstrable historic value, and could readily garner the support of many local residents, how could it have been destroyed so easily? In my opinion, this was an example of what your typical bureaucrat might call a process failure: there’s no one, single person or group to blame, yet plenty of blame (or perhaps accountability) to go around:

1) Officials of any municipality need to be conscientious stewards and protectors of their built heritage. While no one expects them to save every threatened historic building, most of us expect them to use all reasonable means available to prevent their demolition when demolition isn’t strictly warranted. This includes making informed decisions by consulting the right experts (no, that doesn’t mean development company engineers), and vigorously publicizing the plight of a  threatened property, so others in a better position to do so might have a chance to step in and take action. In my opinion, Stratford’s Planning and Zoning Office didn’t quite live up to this expectation.

[ And please don't remind me how all these decisions and approvals are matters of "public notice", and how this particular project was approved over a year ago. Yes, you're right -- on both counts. But the public notices posted on boards at your town hall, or buried in the pages of local newspapers, don't quite say things like "Oh, and by the way, the structure in question at lot number such-and-such is that well known Prairie-style bungalow designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and once used by FDR as a summer vacation home." No public notice is going to include that sort of information, in large part because it's usually in the best interests of those posting such notices not to reveal these kinds of details when the law doesn't require it. ]

Oronoque Saltbox Summer Beam

Chamfered and detailed summer beam and joists in the Parlor Chamber of the Oronoque saltbox.

2) Another big slice of accountability goes to me, and many like me, who claim to be advocates of their regional, built heritage, but don’t quite have their act together when it comes to discovering situations like this early on, and initiating any legal remedies that might happen to be available. These kinds of knockdowns almost invariably take preservationists by surprise, and often far too late in the process.

Local preservation communities, which presumably already have detailed knowledge of historically significant buildings in their areas, need to be more proactive in monitoring the proposals and applications being considered by their local P&Z commissions, as well as the permit applications filed with their local building departments.

3) I don’t blame Brian Hulse and his crew for any of this. Although I can’t reconcile myself to what they’re doing, they’re not the property owners; rather, just a team of construction professionals trying to earn a living in a very stagnant industry.

Oronoque Saltbox Primary Rear Plate

Elevated rear plate supporting the large "lean-to" roof system of the Oronoque saltbox.

4) I know nothing about Arista Stratford, LLC, who’s listed as the most recent purchaser of the property at 7296 Main Street in Stratford. I suspect they’re a funding corporation of some kind, or maybe an agent for the actual purchaser. Technically, the demolition of the home is their responsibility, or that of their assign(s). But frankly, parties like these are simply too far downstream in the process to even fuss about. Presumably, they’ve purchased the property free and clear of encumbrances or restrictions, and with all necessary plans and approvals in place. And there’s no reason to expect them to care about the historic or cultural status of any existing structures on their land.

5) The previous owners of the Oronoque saltbox did the home a real disservice by allowing it to become so run down, neglected, and completely filled with trash, that it would’ve had little chance of attracting any serious buyers with longer-term intentions for the home. In my opinion, none of the damage I’d encountered in this house was so severe that it necessitated its demolition. But seeing a grossly neglected place often invokes a negative, psychological reaction in many that makes it all too easy to conclude it ought to be torn down, even if the building is still structurally sound.

Oronoque Saltbox Final Days

The final days of the Oronoque saltbox saw various random acts of theft and vandalism. Note the stolen second floor window and paddle-bit drill marks all over the front siding and trim. Both are symptoms of the same ingrained societal-cultural disregard that eventually brought about this home's downfall.

And whether or not the past fire damage ultimately left the place structurally unsound and unsuitable for any form of re-sale, re-purposing, or transporting elsewhere, I can’t competently say. Rather, a licensed, professional engineer, with a solid background in timber framed structures, would be required to determine that. But I seriously doubt anyone like that was ever called in to look at this home, because it was already a foregone conclusion that the place no longer served any purpose, and it would be far more convenient and cost-effective just to knock it down.

How Do We Avoid Surprise Teardowns?

As I’d stated previously, town officials (in general) need to be good stewards of their built heritage. Many are, and some need to do better. But either way, local preservationists should never trust them in this role. I’m not suggesting they’re not trustworthy; rather, that it simply makes good sense for any local preservation community to actively monitor all decisions being considered by public officials that potentially impact historic properties.

Furthermore, it’s necessary to stay on top of these things in real time. We’ve already blown it when a plan is approved that we knew nothing about, or when we first realize a property is threatened because it’s just been cordoned off with fencing. The best way to protect threatened properties is through early awareness of the threats, knowledge of all legal remedies offered by local, state, or federal laws, and a willingness to intercede and directly participate in the process itself.

Oronoque Saltbox Kitchen Fireplace

The kitchen fireplace, filled with its share of the decades old trash that was strewn through out much of the house.

Finally, public awareness and support is paramount to these efforts. I’ve observed that many (if not most) individuals tend to look unfavorably upon the destruction of a cherished landmark. Local residents should be kept informed, and engaged as early as possible when historic properties are threatened, and provided with a means for expressing their displeasure. One thing the Oronoque situation demonstrated is the efficacy of using social media (primarily a local news forum and blog, but Twitter, Facebook, and Google Plus had also played roles in this) to acquire, accumulate, and make known to others, the opinions of supportive individuals.

In some future article, I’ll elaborate further on my above points, and attempt to draft a more definite, actionable framework that might better help local preservationists accomplish (or least begin working towards) these goals, especially for properties outside the protections of local historic districts, communities, or commissions, as both the Oronoque saltbox and the Smith-Tomlinson house had been.

Oronoque Saltbox Peace

Peace to All

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