Quarter Sawn and Petrified wood for floors in this house!

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Part 1 of this story and phase;

Our neighbor, who grew up in this fishing village of Bay Center, stops by from time to time when we are working outside and shares some stories with us about the old days in this community. We know then, that he was a child growing up when the second P.O. (previous owner) of this house lived here and their son was growing up. So our neighbor knows the son who inherited this old place. Son wasn’t able to keep it and it was sold out from under him (sounds more like almost ‘stolen’). Son lived his entire life with his parents, and then his mother when the parents divorced late in life. Son was what would be called in this day and age perhaps somewhat developmentally challenged.

We invited neighbor in to take a look at the house and tell us what he remembers about it back in the day – in it’s more original condition. Neighbor, btw, is rather shy, and it has taken a few years to build up a neighborly over the fence relationship with him, so we are happy to learn the bits and pieces he is willing to share of the old history of this community. Remembering that he himself was a child when he visited P.O. son, and he tells us they were infrequent visits inside this house, he does remember some things about the layout. Neighbor has an interesting adult life history, and is a commercial oyster farmer, knows about boats, the Bay and the River and knows that P.O. was a barge/boat builder so knows a bit about construction back in that day.

All this is lead up to explain how we learned about the wood floors in our house. Well at least the stairs and upstairs flooring. Since I tore out the decades old 70s era brown shag carpet that covered the stairs and upstairs hall flooring, we are left with some major clean up and I still haven’t come up with a decision for how to go; try to restore via sand and stain; paint and forget it or some other variances on either of those plans. After giving our neighbor a tour, I have renewed respect for the wood flooring.

He explains that it is ‘quarter sawn’ wood. What’s that we ask. Wellllll, he says…. and explains that back in those days they cut the hardwood trees, sank them in the mud to let them cure (harden – petrify) and then took them to be sawed for use in building homes, boats, floors, etc.. This process of ‘quarter sawn’, he explains was considered wasteful since a quarter sawn strip of lumber has no knotholes and is cut in a particular way with the grain of the wood. The process then leaves behind waste pieces of wood. After the wood is given it’s mud bath, it has become so hardened that it broke too many saws and in time sawmills refused to cut this kind of wood.

Wow! So guess this wood ain’t going anywhere and will probably last another lifetime. Neighbor showed us how to look down the wood planks and notice the grain and no knotholes of any kind the entire length. We did and we noticed what he was pointing out, which we wouldn’t have noticed or appreciated if he hadn’t shared (with almost a reverence) the nature of the quarter sawn wood process.

He also explained how the nails had to be driven in a most certain way on an angle so as not to split the wood down it’s length. Well, guess if they could get nails hammered in, the wood can’t be too petrified, or perhaps so petrified, it splits? I don’t know, just trying to understand based on neighbor’s explanation. He said, btw, that to this day he knows where some of those trees are still sunk in mud, but he’s not telling where. Guess he’ll go to his grave knowing where they are and not telling.

Part 2 of this story and phase;

Recently, we were invited to give a presentation at a conference in the Eastern part of our state, so we made the 7 hour drive and met up with a colleague who had rented a B&B place to stay for couple of nights. Okay – sounds sweet, eh? The Eastern part of our state is primarily agriculture so it is miles and miles of scenery that can be plateaus of the Columbia Basin, rolling hills of the Palouse, the fruit orchards of the Yakima area, and flat scrub brush in areas located in the neighborhood of Hanford Nuclear Plant. Thus, there are a lot of generational family farmers (and I’d guess a fair amount of new ‘corporate’ farms).

As it turns out, we got a bit lost trying to locate the B & B. Not lost as in lost in the city, but lost on an old country lane that went from pavement to gravel to no outlet, with only a few fairly run down and delapidated houses along the way. I was feeling fairly insecure that if one of these houses was to be the B & B, I was going to have a shaky night and we might need to look for a hotel in town. Husband made a call to the owners, got directions and then got us on the right road to the B & B. It was still a country road, that went from pavement to gravel, and there were few and far between old farmhouses. But we found ‘our’ farmhouse, rented out at B & B by the owners, who were Professors at the University and also ‘worked’ the land, so it was called a working farmhouse B & B. The owners, btw, don’t live at the farmhouse, and have a place in town, or maybe they stay in town when the house is rented out, I’m not sure how that works.
But, here is what does work. It is an old farmhouse – and I like what the owners have done with it, partly restored, partly rehabbed and the decor is pretty much strictly antiques and collectibles so it retains a feel of a farmhouse in the late 1800s, early 1900s. Except for the kitchen which retains it’s 1970s upgrade….too bad, but it was a big kitchen and with a few restorations or reworking it, could quickly lose it’s 1970s identity.
One of the magazines on the coffee table was a big hardback book with lots of great photos about Architecture of Old Farmhouses. I was fascinated and gobbling up the information. It seems that back in the day, what could have started as a humble one or two room dwelling would be added onto as family demands (and family prosperity) grew. So architecturally the style of the day might be added to the style of yesteryear, thereby compromising the definitiveness of architectural style. And ‘saltbox’ style became quite popular but is not in itself a ‘style’ as much as it points to an add on to the existing structure thereby altering the roof line.
Well, there you go – our house then, doesn’t really don’t have any kind of singular architectural style, could be in the classification of a farmhouse, but not exactly, and I tend to call it more the style of the homes of the martimers who lived and fished here. Mr. Bachau, who added elegance to the straightforward style, sheaved the sharp ends at each corner of the roof, added a turret/cupola to the upstairs level, and added bump out bay windows to the street side of the house and the back kitchen. It appears the kitchen is a bump out from the house (an added bump out kitchen was not uncommon, per our neighbor, to the houses built here way back when).
Sheaving the ends of the roof line, our neighbor explained was done to reduce the rotting of the corner ends from the moisture, rains and sea storms that roll in off the Bay, off the Pacific Ocean. I had shown him the photos I have of the original house and the roof line is pitched at both ends. Which is why he explained what he explained about shearing the roofline corners.

After the Bachau’s lived their lives in this house, and she died, and Son inherited the house and wound up ‘selling’ it to the next owner. The house was what is called pier and block, and had no basement. Next P.O. dug out a basement under the house, bricked up the basement and poured a concrete floor, and added a carport where once were the two beautiful bay windows Mr. Bachau added to the house. We learned that owner lived about 20 years in the house (or less but much longer than we had been given to understand).

He sold it and now the next P.O. added a bump out to the bumped out kitchen, and a bump out on pier and block (no basement) to create a main floor bathroom. Incidentally, the original house had no bathroom, had an outhouse, and the main floor bathroom had to be plumbed, there was no upstairs bathroom and the last P.O. created a room and had plumbing done for upstairs bathroom.

Definitely then, this house fits the definitions of what constitutes an old farmhouse to the degree that the book I was reading defined architecture styles passing along through the generations. But our great old house no longer has it’s front porch. A situation I hope to remedy and have a front porch built and added, because I want the old rocking chairs and to be able to sit out on the porch.

What else I learned from reading the book (and looking at the photos) was that some homeowners prefer to restore elements of their house to it’s original architecture, ie, primitive stairways with high risers, architectural columns, beadboarded walls, heavy wood paneling (no, not the 70s stuff), panel doors, ah, memory fails me here, but the list is lengthy. And glory be, I found a photo of an exact staircase bannister as is in our house. It seems that is a deliberate design, how it curves at the top of the stairs. Also that the newel post at the bottom of the stairs is by design Greek Gothic and all I’ve ever thought was that is was primitive in look.

Enough of a post, and some of our next projects I’m considering are to remove the plasterboard that was put up on the walls as part of second owners ‘rehab’ to get back to original plank walls — maybe, as I need to do a bit more research before we start tearing out plasterboard. I can see from some of the original closets that were not rehabbed or upgraded the wallpaper (which is linen btw) and a tear shows the plank walls behind the wallpaper.

Our trip to the Eastern part of the state then brought me home with fresh ideas, renewed love for our old house, and while we went to give a presentation on an entirely different matter, I came home with renewed mental energy to look at this house with fresh eyes or new perspective of it’s valued old history.


New Day’s Thoughts

New Day’s Thoughts

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Well it is a new day, and while yesterday’s problems have Not disappeared, changed, improved or gotten worse, it is a new day to look at it all again in a new way.

People in the family are reaching out in what ways they can to help ameoliorate the situation with granddaughter, and each effort that is offered puts me in tears all over again. I am deeply greatful to the supportive, caring manner that family has involved itself in this tragic drama.

There is no way to know what the end result will be and not even a way to know if it won’t, in fact, turn out for the best for everyone. Much of the plan is tied together by contingencies on other factors of the plan being put into place before a next step can ensue. Much can go awry with The Plan in which case alternative plans will have to be built.

I’m still holding my breath, keeping my silent vigil, but actively participating where I can to either influence the outcome or process my own feelings of loss and impotence, as the clock ticks away the hours till the August 15th deadline. That is when son-in-law is to board a plane and return to his base in Germany.

What becomes of the family after that date, while a plan has been made, decisions made, is still subject to all the factors and objectives being met.

Watched Dances with Wolves on tv station this week, again, for the umpteenth time. I never tire of that movie, and it continues to inspire me to try again, to try harder, to accept what appears to be inevitable and to act in grace in the midst of turmoil and disruption.

I also watched shows on PBS called “Back to the Sea” in which two families return to the outports of Newfoundland to live as their ancestors did in 1937, fishing for cod, having their survival supplies come in by boat only twice a year and having to stretch those meager supplies in all circumstances.

The men fish by handline with up to 400 hooks on a line to catch cod. They have to repay the Merchant who brings the supplies in their cod catch which can amount to tons of cod that has to go to the Merchant. If they fall short of the required due, they are then in debt to the Merchant against their next order of supplies. The men have to learn the nature of the Sea in all weather conditions and work from dawn till dusk.

Once the catch is in, all the families then come to clean and process the fish, using primitive tools and preserving in salt…exactly to specifications or the cod will be subject to rot, sunheat, overexposure, over-salted. The families work until the catch for the day is processed, late into the night and then when it is all done, they can all go and eat supper.

The women work primarily all day in the house, cooking (no refridgerators mind you and wood cookstoves), preserving, cleaning, gardening the vegetables that will sustain them through the seasons. It is demanding and draining work given there are few modern conveniences to ease the labor, so it literally beomes a woman’s work is never done.

And if the family gets “relocated” to the mainland, they have to haul their wood structure saltbox houses down to the shore for loading on the raft that will float them to the mainland. They have to build the wood slat rollers that will the house will roll on to the shore and then with sheer brute strength, they all get together and pull the house on ropes over the slats down to the shoreline to then load it onto the raft.

It seems it is too expensive to try to build a new house on the mainland and so hauling and floating their own house becomes the option. That is how the houses that were there in 1937 have, over the years, gradually, all been hauled off the outports to the mainland. It seems that often families could not “make it” on the outports and the government offered to pay them $200 per adult and $100 per child to relocate. I’m not sure I understood the why of that, but that is what the show presented. It seems as people came to the mainland they became more citified. Many yearn to go back to the outports where communities once stood, and this show had two families give it a try to see if they could be all that their ancestors were.

I like to watch these kind of shows, I’ve seen the Pioneer House (Canada), the Frontier (Montana homesteading) , the Victorian House replicating the Victorian era, this one Back to the Sea (Newfoundland) and there is one more recently that I missed seeing. Now I have forgotten what it was about, I had made a mental note to tune in but was not able to do so that week.

There was also a 1960’s filmography of a man in his 50’s who wanted to see if he could go it alone and live in Alaska wilderness for a year. He did, quite successfully, and stayed on in Alaska till he was 80 something years old when his health wore out and his brother insisted he come live with him in the United States.

We don’t get to test ourselves these days in quite the same way, we seem to have more emotional types of stressors and circumstances to navigate, it seems to me anyway. I don’t think we get to see, feel, experience as much satisfaction in ourselves in jobs well done as our ancestors who had harder daily lives to forge out. In each of these shows that I have watched, there is a kind of personal transformation for the volunteers that gives them a renewed sense of connection to who they are to themselves, to their families and their sense of place in the world. And it also seems to me that in these shows, the volunteers who bring their families and children along for the experience find a deeper meaning to how to be family without the distractions we have so much of in our own modern lives.

I am intrigued always by these shows while at the same time knowing I lack the stamina to do half as much as what these folks do, but I always wonder to myself, if pushed to the challenge, could I?