I grew up in a classic 1960s ranch house—in the 1960s. So of course I wanted to live in an old house when I grew up.
I don’t regret my decision. But at times like these, when all the clapboards on the front of our Victorian cottage have had to be stripped off and replaced—well, I do wonder what it would be like to be living in a brand new home.
My husband, Paul, and I both like vintage. But when we went house hunting more than 25 years ago, we quickly realized we didn’t want a fixer-upper. Oh, we would change paint and carpeting. Any old house was going to need some renovation. But we didn’t want, say, a manse that had sloping floors.
Our house was built in the 1870s by a well-known local fellow, the founder of the public library. He never lived in it; instead, he rented it out. It’s a gable front and ell, meaning that one section of the house is aligned along the north-south axis, while the ell stretches out on the perpendicular east-west axis. There’s a front door in the gable front and another in the ell, which is a neat detail.
We felt at the outset that the house had good bones. The foundation was sturdy, nothing tilted, and the chimney was sound. It was painted a pea green, but we decided we could live with that for awhile.
The attached mudroom and shed and detached garage weren’t in the greatest condition, Eventually we had them demolished and replaced with new family room and garage.That was four years ago. Since then, we’ve replaced the woodstove chimney, rebuilt the furnace chimney, and had the front porch practically reconstructed.
We like to kid our builder, Jason, that by the time we’re finished, he will have rebuilt the whole house!
Our current adventure began with a late winter rainstorm. The wind was howling as Paul and I sat in the living room watching a movie. “What’s that sound?” he said, as he paused the DVD player.
It turned out the two front windows, in the gable front, were filling with water that was dripping in between the storm window and the interior window. There are two identical windows upstairs in the master bedroom. One of those was affected as well. Paul filled the wet spaces with rags until he could tinker with the windows the next day. He thought he had solved the problem. Then another blustery storm came along. This time it left water damage on the interior wall in the living room.
We called Jason. The verdict was that the clapboards had to be replaced. Of course, this also included adding new insulation, and painting. Let’s just say this was not going to be an inexpensive project.
Renovations are no fun. Back in 2012, Jason and company built our family room over the course of a summer, so we were unable to sit on our deck or in the backyard for weeks. First of all, there was no deck, as that had to be demolished and replaced as well. Secondly, there was equipment everywhere, and the carpenters were running drills, staplers, nail guns and saws. There wasn’t even a back door that was usable.
The project presently underway is nowhere near as invasive. But when I came home from a day out celebrating my birthday and heard banging on the front of the house, I wanted to go right back out again.
That said, renovations are interesting. It turns out that, beneath the clapboards, our house is constructed of dark brown “barn boards.” The builders had the house stripped in one morning, and I made it a point to drive by as I went from one of the school libraries I supervise to another. I could not believe my eyes when I saw it. The old wood was so ancient, I felt like I had been transported to the 19th century.
Since our street is a busy one that leads to the high school and middle school, I fielded many questions from colleagues, who were as amazed as I was by the appearance of the house.
Next, Jason and his helper, Chad, put up silvery insulation. This was crisscrossed with red tape, giving the house a half-timbered appearance.
Then they had to go up north for two weeks, to build a garage for Jason’s uncle.
Now they are back, and the new clapboards are going up. I am going to get some new front stairs on the gable front as well, because the old ones are looking embarrassingly shabby. That will add to the cost, but, knock on wood, we haven’t had any major over-budget surprises so far.
If you love a house, you want to take care of it. Paul and I also respect the value of preserving a historical building in our community. There’s nothing architecturally spectacular about our place, but it’s part of our city’s heritage.
I knew our renovations were worth it when Paul and I saw an old picture of our house and the former fire barn next door. Men who had fought in a 19th-century blaze that had torn through the downtown are posed in front of their firehouse, and on our front lawn. The gents are in suits and hats, and one sits holding the reins of a horse-drawn engine. A petite gas light stands on the street nearby.
Yes, keeping up an old house is expensive—but it’s also priceless.
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