It’s been a decade of personal trials, transitions, and transformations unlike any previous ten-year period. From seemingly insurmountable lows to highs that I’d never dreamed possible, it has been life at its fullest. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Today, with a glorious late-December sun warming a snow-covered landscape, I opted for a blend of traditions and celebrated the New Year a bit early by hanging a new set of flags on the wind. (The traditional date for hanging new prayer flags, the Tibetan New Year, falls on March 5th in 2011.)

From high on the hillsides of Vermont, Happy New Year!

The equipment shed is complete (with the exception of various finishing touches). Winter’s cold is upon us and I’m taking a few days (okay, it’s been a week) to relax before beginning the next project, the tool crib. During the down time, I’ve been browsing various building publications, gathering ideas, and educating myself on the many new elements I’ll be tackling on our next barn project. (We’ll break ground sometime in the coming year.)

In this day and age of work-a-day routines we have come to value our worth in terms of the dollars in our pocket after a paycheck arrives. With self-worth assured, we use those monetary rewards to purchase the necessary stuff of life – a shelter in which to live, fuel to provide heat (for those of us in northern latitudes), food for sustenance, and the transportation which gets us from our homes to the workplace and back again. (Of course, in our affluent society, much of the spending goes well beyond basic “needs.”)

That’s not the only model, of course. In fact, we don’t have to go too far back in our history to find lifestyles of lesser monetary dependency and greater self-sufficiency, but the economics of that bygone era are sometimes hard to grasp in this modern world of profit/loss accounting. In my family, I only have to go back to my grandfather to find an example of an essentially subsistence based way of life. My mother recalls little disruption in her lifestyle during the Great Depression years as there never was much money in the pocket but there was always food on the table. Most of that way of life was left behind over the course of two subsequent generations, including the measures by which we evaluate self-worth.

As I’ve tended back in the direction of my grandfather’s day, there have been many who’ve tried to enlighten me by urging, “You could be earning $XXX,XXX if you did “this or this” for a living,” In response, I ask them, “Why would I want to give up doing the things that I love to do so that I might earn a paycheck so that I can pay someone else to do the things I love to do? It just doesn’t make any sense!”

In a typical year I receive a paycheck for about half of my working hours. The other half of my time is spent providing for myself – services that would otherwise require monetary expenditure – i.e. building shelter, cutting wood for fuel, growing food, performing repairs, maintaining vehicles, etc. Last year the bulk of my energies went into the building of our equipment shed, so I’ve decided to take a look at what I’ve “earned” in that process.

A traditionally built timber frame barn is certainly not the least expensive option in today’s market. In fact the opposite is true. But, to our advantage, most of the cost of a timber framed barn is the labor required for building. The raw materials are relatively inexpensive, especially here in a state where forests cover 75% of the land. For our project we used locally grown hemlock that was rough sawn in a local sawmill, then transported to our land via a trailer behind my poor overworked pickup truck. The earthen fill required to level the site was hauled in by my neighbor (who owns a dump truck) from the village pit a few miles away. The crushed stone for the final layer of the floor was hauled from a quarry about 10 miles away. The oak pegs were turned by a woodworker not far south of us in Walpole, New Hampshire. The forms for the foundation piers, the concrete, and the steel rebar encased within came from places unknown, as did the metal roofing – the component requiring the most manufacturing energy. (Perhaps someday I’ll trace its path from raw material to rooftop, but for now I’ll remain blissfully ignorant of its origin.)

Adding it all up, our out of pocket costs were just over $5,000 (about $1000 for the site-work and foundation, $3,000 for the wood, $1000 for the roof, and another couple hundred dollars for assorted hardware). That translates to about $8.50 per square foot. The bulk of the value added to the project came in the form of our own labor.

So, what did we earn on our investment of time in this project over the past year?

If we’d had to pay contractors for a completed building, we’d have been looking at a price tag upwards of $75 per square foot of ground floor area for a timber framed building of the same quality. (If the loft area were included in the calculation, the price would have been about $50 per square foot.) That price includes all labor and materials for design, site-work, foundation, timber framing, siding, and roofing.

Adding it up, the total market value of the building is approximately $45,000.

On an income/expense sheet that gives us net earnings of $40,000. But here’s another way to look at it. That’s $40,000 we didn’t need to earn in a paycheck (after taxes) in order to pay someone else to build for us (again, doing something that I love to do).

Those numbers assume, of course, that one has the cash on hand to pay up front. If one had to finance a $45,000 project, say with $5,000 down over a ten year period at 6% interest, the total out of pocket cost would be $58,300, making the value of our time worth significantly more.

Alright, I feel better now. I’ve determined (rationalized) my self-worth. I have a dollar value, therefore I am. I’ve found justification for this mini-vacation. But now it’s time to put this Sunday morning exercise to rest. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the pros and cons of dry laid stone vs concrete block vs poured concrete vs insulated concrete form (ICF) foundations . . . I’ve got another barn to build someday.

As I write this post the mercury in the thermometer outside my door is dropping steadily toward zero. Tonight will be the first night of the season with sub-zero temperatures. It hardly seems possible that just three weeks ago, when we put the siding on the equipment shed, the days were still reaching 50 degree highs.

The final stages of the equipment shed were on a tight schedule. We had to have the building complete enough to move into by the week before Thanksgiving or we’d risk having to wait until spring before transferring belongings from (expensive) storage units in Burlington. We were lucky that November was mild and relatively dry (as Vermont Novembers go). On November 11th we put up the first of the siding boards along the front of the loft.

Marion cut the boards and passed them to me. I swung a hammer and cursed the narrow ring-shanked siding nails. The work took longer than I’d anticipated. By the end of the day we had only completed one side.

The end wall siding involved 26.5 degree cuts at the tops of the boards and more rungs up on the ladder. In the photo above, I’m trimming the pegs in the rafters flush to accommodate the siding.

In order to prevent water from flowing between the posts and the concrete piers we installed flashing at all of the post bases.

By November 14th we were closing in the final side along the back of the barn.

For rough sawn hemlock, the fit had been incredible. The only piece that needed trimming was the final plank. Siding complete!

Before moving in we wanted to get the shed’s floor laid. On top of the base we placed a layer of “driveway fabric” which functions to keep the final layer (crushed stone and stone dust) from being pushed down into the fill below. We’ll likely haul in another 7 yards of the material in 2011, but for now we have a useable (and level) floor.

In the photo above, the fabric can be seen extending down the bank behind the building where it will help prevent erosion under the stone retaining wall that we’ll put in next year.

Nothing left but the final touches, but ready for moving in.

In the spring we’ll trim the siding along the base of the walls and around the bays. We also plan to install trim under the eaves and along the gables. Those details can wait for warmer days.

After roughing out the loft door there was no time to spare. We were off to the U-Haul rental in Burlington where we hooked up a trailer and made two trips across the state with stored belongings. We moved in, despite a hard November rain and yet another skidding, sliding U-Haul adventure. Then, it was off to Boston Harbor for two days with my high school rowing crew for the Northeast Championships and, finally, a well deserved Thanksgiving break (during which my body announced, “I’ve had enough” and succumbed to a week-long head cold).

Winter weather has since settled in. We’re ready.

Compared with the standing seam roof on Gypsy Rose, the metal roof on the equipment shed was quick and easy.

We had purchased the roofing material from Michiana Building Supplies months earlier. (That was back in the day of wishful thinking that we’d have the building up by early summer.) Michiana cut the panels to length (19-foot 10-inches and 8-foot 6-inches) and delivered them from their Rome, NY facility. The truck they were shipped on, however, was 75 feet long. There was no way to bring such a rig within miles of this job site. Instead, I’d arranged to take delivery at a truck stop near a main highway, 16 miles away. I strapped 15-foot-long timbers to the racks of my kayak trailer, forming a platform to carry the roofing. The trucker was very accommodating and the transfer was straight forward.

The roofing we used is ABC Roofing’s Imperial Rib model – a 26 gauge unpainted galvalume material. It is installed using external fasteners - self-drilling screws with neoprene washers. Care must be taken to get the first panels perfectly aligned so that subsequent panels run square with the building. Beyond that, it’s just a matter of driving hundreds of screws at regular intervals. I’d designed the roof width to use eleven full-width panels so there was no panel cutting required.

In order to reach the peak to install the ridge cap I used the same technique that I use for cleaning the chimney on Gypsy Rose. A ladder, padded with closed cell foam to prevent damage to the roof, is supported by the front end loader on the tractor. A step ladder gets me from ground level to the ladder base.

The total time required to install the roof was 21 hours. Once completed, we enjoyed the simple pleasure of listening to rain plinking down on a “tin” roof.

It’s been a month since this series of photos was taken. Marion and I are enjoying our first days off since September 17th. Finally, I've found some time to begin catching up with the blog.

Purlin: In a roof frame, lengthwise member, regularly spaced in sets, connecting principal rafters and carrying the roof sheathing.

After topping out on October 23rd, the next step was to get a roof on the building. Along with the roof purlins came the first nails that were used in the structure.

Above, Marion hammers home the 4-inch spikes we used to attach the purlins to the rafters.

On a simple, uninsulated, metal roofed structure like our equipment shed, no sheathing is necessary. The galvanized roofing panels will be attached directly to the purlins. To achieve a regular spacing, our purlins are spaced at 22 inches on center.

In a barn space used for storage, keeping out the birds and rodents requires sealing up any openings. To prevent entry in the spaces between the purlins and the rest of the frame, we cut and installed hardware cloth between each rafter.

In the photo above, the hardware cloth is stapled to the frame members.

Next, I installed the siding on the inside wall of the loft, giving us a hint of what the building will look like once enclosed. By the end of the day on October 28th we were ready for a roof.

We had been looking forward to “topping out” the frame for a long time, but when the day finally came – October 23rd – we hardly had the time (or energy) to pause for celebration. At 3:30 pm, a small hemlock graced the rafter peak in full sunshine, in thanks to the forest for providing the material for this shelter.

Before achieving that moment, we’d put in long, exhausting sessions cutting and installing the final frame members that form the building’s rafters. The rafters are made up of twelve sets of three pieces each – a pair that join at the peak and the long section that slopes down to the back of the building. The rafters were cut from 4x6 timber with a pegged half-lap joint at the peak, a stepped section to fit the rafter seat at the top plate, and a two-foot tail to extend the roof past the edge of the building.

We spent a total of 26 hours to cut the rafters in a very efficient process that took full advantage of the many years that Marion and I have worked together. If I had taken to shaping those 36 timbers on my own I’d have been knee deep in snow before they were complete.

When it was time to install the rafters we had to clear snow from the loft floor. In the photo above, Marion works to clear the ice from the rafter seats in the top plates.

The rafters spanning the loft were assembled in place. On a larger building, however, these would have been assembled on the ground, then hoisted into position.

Once the half-lapped joints at the peak had been clamped, drilled, and pegged, I marked the rafters above the seats for the pegs that would hold them in place.

Holes were drilled ten inches deep, through each rafter and into the top plate.

Each connection received one oak peg, driven snuggly into the joint.

The photo above shows the pegged joints at the peak.

With the rafters in place over the loft, the building begins to show its final form.

Another lap joint forms the intersection of the gable rafter and the 14-foot timber that slopes to the rear of the building. Above, a gable rafter can be seen housed in its seat before the final rafter section is laid in place.

With the last rafter pegged, our frame is complete. We topped out on a glorious late October afternoon with blue skies and temperatures in the 50’s. When the moment finally arrived, I rushed to find a small hemlock and affix it to the peak before the sun dipped below the ridge.

We took several shots of our completed frame. To get the images, I positioned the camera atop a step-ladder, pressed the self-timer button, then raced for the building. After each sprint I wished for an option to set the timer interval at something longer than the 10 seconds I was allowed to get myself in position, gasp, compose, then smile. (Marion’s smile came easily as she enjoyed the many outtakes that were spared from this publication.)   

TRUNNEL: (from “treenail”) A wooden peg typically ¾-in. dia. or larger, usually of oak or other tough hardwood, formerly riven and shaved, now usually turned, and used to fasten timber joints, particularly the mortise and tenon joint.

The advent of the inexpensive wire nail in the latter-1800’s, coupled with the desire to reduce building costs by employing relatively unskilled labor, led to the development of stud (“balloon frame”) construction in the decades following the Civil War. “Two by” studded frames have proliferated since the latter-1800’s and the building technique continues to be the dominant framing method used today. (Prior to the development of cheap, soft steel and the advent of the wire nail in the 1880’s, nails had been cut (square nails) - beginning around circa 1790 - or hand wrought - previous to 1800.)

Traditional timber framing relies on mortise and tenon joinery fixed together by wooden pegs. (Although much of today’s so-called post and beam construction uses steel plates and bolts to attach the framing members.) For our equipment shed we used 1-inch diameter oak pegs throughout. Rather than cut our own pegs with a drawknife, we relied on the quality work of Scott Northcutt in Walpole, New Hampshire.

In the photo above, the drilled tenon is visible with pegs inserted in the mortise cheek. The photo opportunity came out of a mistake that required us to drive the top plate up off the posts in order to reverse a brace that had been installed backward. (With many hands on the barn during the raising, I hadn’t noticed that a brace, which had dropped out of its mortises at one point, had been turned around when it was reinserted.)

During the next work session following the raising, we pulled the top plates tight to the post tops (again using come-alongs and a commander), then drilled and pegged the joints.

Looking up at the frame members (here, the post, braces, bent girt, and top plate), it’s easy to understand the aesthetic appeal of a timber frame.

In the photo above, a post, floor joists and post braces are fitted and pegged in their final form.

We installed a series of housed half-lapped wall girts on the back and sides of the frame near the base of the posts.

Two more wall girts were installed on the sides, midway between the post bottom and the loft floor.

It took a full day to install the loft sub-flooring due to the many cuts that had to be made around the posts and braces. We finished in near total darkness, thankful for the LED light on my skillsaw that illuminated the cutting line as I trimmed the ends of the installed flooring to the final dimension.

BENT: An assemblage of timbers perpendicular to the ridge, usually the crossframe of a building, assembled on the ground and then reared up into position.

With the four bents of the equipment shed standing as a result of the previous weekend’s effort, we set aside the weekend of October 2nd for installing the floor joists and top plates.

JOIST: Relatively small timber, usually spaced regularly in sets to support a floor or ceiling.

GIRT: Horizontal timber joining wall posts at a level somewhere between sill and plate. A wall girt runs parallel to the ridge, a bent girt perpendicular; either can support the edge of a floor frame.

COMMANDER: A large wooden mallet typically weighing 15 to 30 lbs.

The joinery I chose for the floor joists in the loft required that the joists be installed before locking the frame together with the top plates. In order to put the joists in place, we had to lean each bent slightly, insert the joist tenons into the bent girts, then bring the assembly back together with the use of come-alongs (hand-levered winches) and a commander (which, in our case, consisted of a chunk of wood driven by a maul).

To provide support for the ends of the joists before they were inserted into the bent girt mortises, I installed 2x4’s spanning the posts below the girts.

With one bent leaned and braced, we inserted an end of the joists into the opposite bent girt and rested the other end on the 2x4 support.

Once all the joist tenon ends were aligned and inserted into the corresponding mortises in the bent girts, it was time to draw the assembly together. I wanted to be sure and get some good photos of this joint since the very important subtleties of its diminished haunch become hidden in the completed frame.

By the end of the day Saturday (October 2nd), we had all 15 loft floor joists installed and the bent posts standing true, awaiting the final step that would lock together the frame – installation of the top plates and braces that run perpendicular to the bents.

TOP PLATE: The most important longitudinal timber in a frame. It ties the bents together at their tops and simultaneously stiffens and connects the wall and roof planes while providing a base for the rafters.

John (Deere) is a big help when it comes to transporting timbers – especially the 20-footers that make up the top plates.

Before our work crew arrived at noon on Sunday (October 3rd), I test fitted the braces and made the final adjustments with chisel and plane.

Once the braces were tested and adjusted for fit, I labeled them all and laid them along the floor joists adjacent to the locations where they’d be installed in the frame.

At noon, the barn raising crew began arriving. First, my mom and dad showed up with some home cooking to feed us all. Next, Ed and his friend Kim pulled in with bread and cookies to share.

My nephews, Nathan and Evan, arrived soon after. Their youthful muscles would be key to getting the top plates in place.

The top plates were lifted to the loft for assembly on the long flat surface provided by the frame.

The top plates consist of two timbers connected with a scarf joint to make up the required 30-foot length. Many variations of scarf joints have been used in timber frames over the centuries. I chose to use what is known as a bladed scarf for this project.

Once the blades on the scarf joint were engaged, we drove the pieces home and checked the assembled dimensions.

With the plate driven together and pegged, we did a final check on the distance between posts, using come-alongs to bring them into precise alignment at 10-foot centers.

As I’ve noted before, timber framing does not allow the same tolerance for error as contemporary stud frame construction. All mortises must align perfectly with corresponding tenons in order for the frame to fit together. In the case of our equipment shed top plates, four post tenons and six brace tenons would be simultaneously fitted in a single operation.

In the photo above, Ed checks the measurement while the come-along draws the frame together.

Mom and Molly (Ed’s faithful golden retriever) looked on to see how it all would work.

Evan does some final tweaking with the commander and we’re ready to lift the plate to the top of the posts.

Four of us were positioned along the top plate, ready to lift, while Marion and Kim waited below to insert the braces into their mortises.

One, two, three, and UP . . .

With four post tenons and six braces all inserted, we drove the top plate home.

After three hours we had three top plates and eighteen braces fitted atop the posts, locking the frame together. With great appreciation for the help of family and friends, we gathered for a meal and celebrated a major milestone in the project.

After our guests had departed I found myself transfixed by the simple beauty of the frame. Once again, I stayed in the orchard past sunset, savoring the satisfaction of a moment when hard work pays out its reward.

I was unable to contain my anxiety on the morning (September 26) that we prepared to finally raise the bents for the equipment shed. I’d slept poorly the night before. There were too many unknowns leading into this event – all new territory in my building experience.

On the previous afternoon, Marion and I had been playing horseshoes above the barn site. Looking down at the bents lying on the ground, Marion had commented about it being the last day for perhaps hundreds of years that the spot would be without a building. It struck me that we were about to alter the landscape for generations to come. Given that responsibility, I want to make certain that we get it right.

We’d invited Marion’s brother and his wife to help us lift. I’d been hesitant to invite more friends and family because of my reluctance to ask them to drive 80 miles just to help stand 4 timber bents up. More than likely, I was also struggling with my nagging fear of failure. I didn’t want a large audience witnessing some previously hidden fatal flaw in my work. The demons inside hadn’t slept the night before, either.

Prior to Toad and Cat’s noontime arrival I enlisted the help of my buddy John (Deere) to do the initial lift. Machines, however, are not always the best tool for such delicate work. While they may have the muscle, there is no substitute for the subtle touch of human hands. For the final heave ho, the four of us provided the effort.

One . . . Two . . . Three . . . PUSH!

The heavy bents went up with relatively little strain.

We had blocked the tops of the foundation piers in a way that allowed the posts to stand above the steel anchor pins. The posts had been drilled to accept the pins. The most challenging part of the procedure was the removal of the blocks and lowering the posts to their final elevation. I found that the steel cage on the tractor’s fork lift fit perfectly between the braces and I was able to lift with the machine while Marion, Toad, and Cat positioned the posts above the pins. Once in place, I braced each bent with 2x4’s and we moved on to the next.

Three hours later we broke out the food and cold beer to celebrate a successful part one of raising the equipment shed. Finally (and suddenly), the building began to take form.

We lingered past sunset on that late September day, admiring how precisely everything had come into alignment. I moved from vantage point to vantage point, eying down the posts and beams. All were level and true. The care we’d taken in the work of the previous year had begun showing its reward. I allowed my demons some time off. I slept well that night.

 The 139th annual Tunbridge Fair was held on September 16th through 19th. One of the few remaining "country" fairs in Vermont, it draws folks from all over the state and beyond. Marion's mom comes to visit each year during fair time and my folks drive across the state to take in the sights and sounds. My favorite events are the horse pulling and antique tractor pulling which each have a uniquely rural flavor.

The power of the team is truly magnificent.

 Equally colorful are the characters waiting their turn behind the scenes.

Each team is driven by three men - one that does the driving and two that carry the hitch to be dropped on the hook on the weighted sled.

Horses eventually were displaced by machines and the competition to pull changes shape.

Given that 8 of every 10 Vermont farms that I knew as a kid have vanished from the landscape, I find myself caught up in the nostalgia as the fair rolls into town each year.

We were treated to perfect weather for fair weekend with family members enjoying blue skies and good food in the meadow. In the picture below, my mom and dad, sister Cheryl, Marion, Marion's mom, and Meghann enjoy BLT's before heading off to take in the fair.

All other activities get put on hold for the Tunbridge World's Fair. The barn raising will just have to wait til next week.

With the passing of Labor Day the pace of summer finally slows down. Time is once again available for projects that had been put on hold since May. I uncovered the stack of timbers that I’d spent much of last winter cutting, moved them to the equipment shed foundation, and the process of assembling the timber frame bents began.

I was nervous – really nervous – as Marion and I laid out the timbers that I’d cut months earlier, completely trusting that they’d fit as intended come raising day.

With a block plane and chisels at the ready, we assembled the pieces. I knew that there’d be shrinkage between the time I cut the joints and the day they were fit for the first time but the question of how much had been a guess. When I shaped the mortises and tenons in January and February I’d left the tenons a little thick to allow for contraction as the wood dried. My guess as to how much to leave was close. A few swipes of the block plane or a bit of shaving here and there with a framing chisel were all it took for the pieces to fit tightly together.

After starting the tenons into the mortise pockets, webbing straps and come-alongs are called into action as the timber framer’s clamps. The mechanical winches are capable of applying thousands of pounds of pressure.

I have yet to build myself a timber framer’s “commander” (a large wooden hammer used for driving timber joinery home), so I substituted a chunk of apple wood and a small sledge hammer. In the process of driving the joints together I must have struck that piece of apple wood hundreds of times, yet it hardly showed a mark at the end of the day. (Earlier this summer I'd tried to split pieces of an old, downed apple for firewood but, try as I might, I could not get a wedge into it. With that in mind, apple will be my wood of choice when the time comes to make my commander.) With the pressure applied from the winches and the sharp blows from the hammer the bents came together snugly.

My anxiety was steadily relieved over the course of the day as Marion continuously checked the corners for square and no surprises or mistakes emerged.

With the joints tight and square, peg holes were then drilled through the thickness of the timber and the inserted tenon.

Tightly fitting oak pegs are driven home and the joint is secure.

The beauty of a timber frame is undeniable. Over the course of building this relatively small barn I’ve developed an incredible respect for the framers whose craft had been nearly lost over the past hundred years or so – the result of our modern-day quest for rapidly built structures that can be constructed using low-skilled labor. I’m much indebted to those who’ve done so much in recent decades to revive the truly craftsman-built timber frame.

Assembling the first bent required six hours, but the learning was applied to the next bent and our time was reduced to four hours for number two.

By the end of yesterday, two of the four bents had been pulled together and pegged. Today the forecast called for rain by mid-afternoon. Before it arrived, another successful four-hour session produced a completed bent number three. What had begun the weekend as a neat stack of timber has now started to take its final shape. The pieces are fitting as planned – so far.

Sugaring season began and ended two weeks earlier than last year. By Easter Sunday (April 4th), we’d already hit 80 degrees and sap was spoiling in the buckets hanging on the trees. Buds fattened. Leaves emerged. Then, temperatures fell along with more snow. Despite the swings of weather, our per-tap production was up 5% over the previous banner year. In the photo above, Jackson and I enjoy the early April sunshine at the Rose family Easter gathering.



Through the fits and starts of weather I worked to finish up the remaining timbers for the equipment shed. Although the greenhouse served me well as a winter workshop, it’s been a joy to set up outside since the arrival of spring.



When it came time to cut the 20-foot sections of the top plates, my daily dosage of “vitamin I” (Ibuprofen) went up. Marion and I wrestled the timbers from the stacks to where I cut the scarf joints, mortises, and rafter seats. Then, it was back to the pile with much back strain and requisite grunts and groans. The lifting took its toll, prompting me to search for a pallet fork attachment and slings that will allow the tractor to bear the load. Come raising time those pallet forks will have become indispensable.



To cut the rafter seats, I made a jig for the chain mortiser, allowing me to make the cuts at the required 26.6 degree angle (for a 6:12 pitch roof). Originally I’d thought I’d be making the cuts entirely by chisel. With jig and mortiser, however, I’m guessing that I saved days of effort.



On April 25th I drove to Beverly, Massachusetts for a memorial service in honor of a woman whose influence during my teen years remains indelibly etched on my being today. Bernice Kyte, mother of my childhood best friend Ralph and his loveable younger sister Kathy, was eulogized with fondness after a remarkable life that touched so many. Prior to reuniting at his mom’s service, Ralph and I had not crossed paths for 29 years and it’s been 24 years since I’ve seen Kathy. While we only had a few short hours together before I drove back north, it only took a few minutes of time together for me to realize why Ralph and I had been so close years ago.



A Mother’s Day snow storm weighed heavily on the trillium and other spring growth in the meadows. We received six inches of snow on the meadows, but parts of the state saw up to two feet of the white stuff. Over the past month and a half, spring has come and gone multiple times. The early season warming had a profound impact on many maple sugaring operations. Then, during early to mid-May, late season snows and continued frost began killing off growth that had emerged in the earlier record warmth. We’ve heard reports that the state’s apple crop may be seriously affected as a result. It remains to be seen how our orchard will fare.



In preparation for summer crops we’ve expanded the size of the garden three-fold, including a large section on the slope that will be devoted to corn. The image above does nothing to illustrate how difficult it is to break sod with a tiller. By the time I’d finished fighting the machine for hours I came to appreciate (and yearn for) an age old implement, one which we do not own – a plow.



After much cursing of the rented tiller, followed by hours with a steel rake, I was ready to put in the first of the corn. I’ll plant the remainder come Memorial Day. Meanwhile, my aching back needs a bit of a rest.

I awoke this morning to the hush that comes with a few inches of new snow. I slept well. I can’t say the same for the night before. What a difference a day can make.

Last weekend’s mild temperatures encouraged me to hang the sap buckets for an early start on the season. Bare ground showed through on south-facing sections of the meadows. No snowshoes necessary this year. We had a good run and were boiling by Monday, putting up the first batch of 2010’s maple crop.

Tuesday’s forecast called for snow. When low pressure sits in the Gulf of Maine we never know how much to expect. The flakes fell steadily through Tuesday evening. More than a foot covered the ground by first light the next day. There was no sign of things letting up. I decided to fire up the tractor to begin clearing snow off the road before the temperature rose, bringing with it the potential for impossible plowing. Heavy, wet snow does not move easily.

I spent the better part of the day grading the snow aside. With each pass along the half-mile stretch that connects us with the plowed town road, an inch or more of new snow covered my previous tracks. By mid afternoon the snows were very wet and I’d run out of room to put it. Any more plowing would have simply constrained the roadway to a width through which the truck would not fit. All I could do was hope that the storm was winding down. As a precaution, I moved the truck down to the flats below. At day’s end on Wednesday more than two feet of new snow stood on the meadows and atop the sap buckets. It wouldn’t last for long.

Thursday dawned with light snow falling but it soon turned to rain – lots of it, but the worst part of the storm was yet to come.

The forecast for Thursday night came with a wind advisory. As with the snow from a Nor’easter, it is not always easy to predict how much. I went to bed without giving it much thought. Earlier breezes had shaken the heavy, wet snow from the trees, erasing my concerns about the weight bringing down limbs. (Gypsy sits on the edge of a meadow alongside a row of very tall, old maples.)

I was awakened by the wind at midnight. Wind, and the sound of tree limbs crashing to the ground. I tried just lying there, thinking, “What can I do about it, anyway?”

That didn’t work. After an hour I went downstairs to get a better look around. Bands of clouds raced at high speed from east to west across the face of a nearly full moon. Treetops were in full motion. The roar of the wind coming over the hilltops to the east gave warning to each coming blast. Hold on. The house shook with the force of the wind hitting its side. My gaze remained fixed on the greenhouse, a seemingly fragile structure in the face of such a powerful force. I fully expected to be watching as a gust tore it from its moorings and kited it across the orchard meadow below.

More trees were crashing to the ground. I couldn’t see where they fell from the vantage inside the house. I made a brief dash out to grab two buckets that were tumbling along the path after being blown from the porch. Back inside, I began worrying about Marion, still sleeping in the loft. (I envy her ability to do that.) What if one of those maples came down on the roof. Wouldn’t the first floor offer more protection?

I woke Marion at 1:15. I turned on the computer and began poring over National Weather Service charts. The pressure gradient was deep and we were in the quadrant with the strongest winds. How long can this low sit here?

The storm was tracking slowly to the west. Talking with Marion helped take my mind off the roar of the wind and the crashing of tree limbs outside. The nearest airport, 35 miles away, was recording winds near 40 mph, but they are more sheltered down in the Connecticut River valley than we are on this mountainside. I turned next to Mt. Washington – the other extreme. The White Mountains to our east would be bearing the full force of the storm. Hurricane force winds buffeted their peaks. Winds atop Mt Washington were in excess of 120 mph. While not hurricane force here at the house an occasional strong blast blowing through had enough force to ring the heavy bronze ship’s bell that hangs from the porch. That’s not going to help me sleep.

I kept refreshing the National Weather Service web page as real-time data points collected in the wind speed column. When’s it going to peak?

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to attempt sleep again until I saw a reversal in the trend. Finally, at 3 a.m. the velocities began to dip and at 3:30 we crawled back to bed.

By morning nearly half of the previous day’s snow had been erased by the rain and the wind. I went out to survey the damage. The greenhouse was standing and no limbs had fallen through its roof. Good. Next, I looked to the lean-to shed that we use to shelter various things adjacent to where the new equipment shed will go. Still there. Good. Its tarp roof had not held up to the gusts, but the structure was intact. The outhouse remained standing strong. Really good.

The orchard was littered with small branches that had blown from the tops of the tall maples. Several dead limbs had been shaken loose, too, and lay on the ground. The scene very much told the story of the night preceding, but no major damage had come to the home or outbuildings nearby.

I spent the day on Friday in a bleary-eyed state, picking up limbs off the road, recovering and reaffixing nearly half of the sap bucket lids that had been shaken loose and blown off by the storm. The sun shone. Temperatures warmed. Sap flowed. What a difference a day can make.

Punxsutawney Phil never seems to get it right. Nor can I. I can never remember if that old groundhog’s shadow means more winter or less. A more reliable indicator of the season’s transition is the plink, plink, plink sound of sap droplets falling to the bottom of a bucket on warming winter days. Yesterday, the afternoon temps reached the upper 30’s. We spent the morning picking up our new evaporator and setting it up near the woodpile (hmmm, is a sugarhouse somewhere in future plans?). The snow was soft and spring-like under foot. We decided it was time to set the first spout. Late in the afternoon we drilled one of last year’s best producing maples. Sap began flowing down the trunk of the tree before I even hammered in the spile. Plink, plink, plink. With the first bucket hung, the sap was flowing at more than 150 drips per minute. Time to put other projects on the back burner, it’s sugarin’ time!

Yesterday, I finished the braces for the equipment shed frame. Thirty-four of them are now stacked neatly alongside the finished posts and tie beams. In the coming week I’ll start on the floor joists and finally the rafters. The top plates will be the last pieces cut as they will not fit inside the greenhouse and I’ll wait for warmer outdoor temperatures before cutting their joints. (The top plates consist of an 18-foot beam and a 12-foot beam connected by a scarf joint for a resultant 30-foot length. Three of them run the length of the building, holding the bents together at 10-foot spacing.)

As I see the stack of what was once rough cut timber being transformed into a life-sized collection of Lincoln Logs I’ve been experiencing mixed emotions. There is the satisfaction of seeing the posts and beams displaying freshly cut mortises and tenons – the shop drawings come to life. There is also the anxiety that creeps in whenever I think about the fact that I’m placing complete faith in my human capacity to implement mathematical calculations that have no tolerance for error. There is the potential (the doubting side of me frets) for bringing all the pieces together on raising day and discovering that a mistake or a series of mistakes have been made that can potentially render the entire stack of posts, beams, and braces unusable – a nightmare, indeed.

The advent of computer aided design software in recent decades has made the mathematical calculations far easier than the longhand methods employed by timber framers in years gone by. Pythagoras is a name that I associate with high school geometry, but his theorem, along with many others, now hide within the code of the Google SketchUp program I used to lay out the building plans. Pointing and clicking on the contemporary drawing board, I convert the overall plan into individual shop drawings – one for each component of the frame.

Once in the shop, the process of laying out the joints in the timber begins with an inspection of the beam. Considerations include the run of the grain, the location of knots, and crown. Once I’ve determined the orientation I’ll use, the sides are labeled and the joints laid out by either scribe or pencil.

“Measure twice, cut once.” The old adage rings truer than ever when mistakes may not rear their head until much later in the process. I check and double check each mortise and tenon layout. Quite often I’ll have the saw in hand, ready to begin the cut and I’ll stop, grab the tape and measure again.

When I first began working on this project I knew very little about the craft of timber framing. “How hard can it be?” I thought. “It’s a barn, right? Little need for precision, right?”

I’ve learned a lot in recent months! Timber framing is, in many ways, like large-scale furniture building and, yes, precision matters.

Brace mortises (above) present the least tolerance for error. A sixteenth of an inch difference in their positions can have an impact on the ultimate trueness of the frame. No pressure, Kevin. You won’t know for sure until spring.

Day by day, wood is removed. Corners are squared. Shoulders are planed. Final measurements are checked. Another piece takes shape and is returned to the stack.

At first I worried whether the software was generating correct numbers. I double-checked using longhand until I was satisfied. The math is correct. I won’t know about the human translation until fitting the pieces in the spring. I wish I weren’t so prone to worry.