Saturday it rained on and off. Perfect weather to head to town for our usual resupply and laundry. Of course we made the obligatory stop at the mill. Wasn't sure how but Roy already knew what Emil'd come for, "'Spose you're about ready for the Franklin stove and piping? Picked it up last week down in Two Harbors and hauled it up with the shingles. Would've said something but I figured you didn't want it sitting around in the open so we kept it here. Still in the box. Let me know when you want it. I'll send my son along with Ted to help you cart it in place. Yeah, she's a bear. Must weigh close to four hundred pounds."
"Roy, could you also order me some rough-sawn cedar? One by twelves, eights and one by threes."
Roy pulled out a pencil, "How much, how long and when? The big ones have to be western red and we don't stock them."
Emil pulled his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, "Call it a hundred seventy of the big ones. Same number of one by threes. Four hundred and seventy, tongue and grooved, eight footers. The rough sawn one by eights, no, make 'em one by tens, let's say thirty-two. All of them eight footers. And however many galvanized six penny finish nails you think I'll need."
"Four-seventy tongue and grooved, you sure you need that many Emil? I figure it at fifteen hundred and fifty dollars for the lot of them, nails included and if you're sure, I'll have them on the truck with the stove. That okay with you?"
"Yes sir. We'll be ready for it by week's end."
Emil pulled out his note pad to see if he'd forgotten anything, "Oh yeah, could you throw in enough craft-backed insulation to do a hundred sixty-eight feet of stud wall and about eight hundred square feet of ceiling."
"That'll be another hundred-forty dollars. All told, sixteen-ninety."
A nod, handshake, a check and we were out the door.
After lunch at the Hub and my weekly update to Mom, we donned our rain gear and headed down lake to Thomsonite Bay in search of treasure. Or what passes for it in these parts. And did find a few small pieces of thomsonite. It'd take a polishing to bring out all the colors. 'Til then they don't look like much more than pretty rocks, doodads. Something to put in a drawer and forget about. To us the fun was in the search. Emil rented scoops at the lodge nearby. We spent the next couple of hours getting our jollies by dangling off rocks on our bellies looking for good stuff and trying to not fall in the lake. Guess we'd been in the woods too long. Lost our hold on reality. Those things happen.
Emil decided should he ever build a doll house he'd install a fireplace made of native stone. Our pea-sized, semi-precious stones would be the highlight. "Yup, some little girl, maybe yours Archie, will no doubt take one look at what I'd built and decide right then and there she'd rather have thomsonite on her engagement band than some old chunk of colorless diamond. And she'd be right. But first you'd better find yourself a woman so my imaginary work won't be in vain."
Back at the cabin the rain had slowed to fog and mist. Putting tar paper on the roof would have to wait, as would sheathing the lookout. Since we nearly had an indoors to work in Emil set us to hanging windows. What I'd figured a challenge turned out to be simplicity. Seeing as how the casement windows were already built all we had to do was lift them in place, pull out the hammer, level, tape measure and shims and go at it. This was another place where my uncle's attention to detail paid off. A window fills a hole in the wall. His challenge was to make that hole just a little bigger than the window. And Emil's openings were right on the money. Had they been a half inch smaller we couldn't have slid in either of the double mullions. Coupla shims width on each side did the job nicely. Once in place he double-checked for level and plumb, then we nailed the big finish nails carefully, using a nail set to sink the heads. Yup, they went in slick. By dinner we had a couple in place.
"I can smell it. By the time we head down to the cities for your orientation at the U in August, we'll be living inside just like real people. Of course we'll be sleeping on stacks of lumber but it'll sure beat the tent."
The rain stopped for good and a cold front blew in over night. Breezy and jacket weather once again. In the years since, I've come to associate those conditions with whitecaps on the lake sundays. Began the day on the roof by hammering down two by sixes to give us a grip while installing Lookout sheathing. Some was done with leftover plywood sections and most of the full-sized sheets had to be trimmed to size. The putz work made both of us happy it was a short day. Still, early afternoon found us nearly half done.
"We'll finish tomorrow then begin to button it up. Start at the top shingling and work our way down. As for the rest of today, your guess is as good as mine."
A brief discussion decided us on a trip to nearby Irish Creek. Emil said he'd heard it wasn't much of a flow and the trout were on the small side but it'd be fun to see new water and be eaten by new mosquitoes. The end of the driveway was about as far as we made it that day. A hundred yards in from the McFarland Road we nearly ran into a sky blue Buick Wildcat convertible mired to the hubs.
A quietly mumbled, "Idiots," escaped from Emil but he was all smiles as he approached them. Before the couple realized what was happening, my uncle was off and running. Lord have mercy.
"My name's Emil Yuntowun and this is my associate Archie Pelago. We're the rescue crew anticipated and sent here by the DNR to extricate you from your predicament. Yeah, the DNR is a fine establishment. Has crews like us wandering the woods at all hours of the night and day just to be of service to the citizens of the State of Minnesota and its cherished visitors. Now, what exactly seems to be the problem?"
The pair paused, glassy-eyed, as though awakened in the middle of a dream only to find themselves in what turn out to be a nightmare, "Yes, yes, I see. Name's John and this is my wife Alma. We're up here on vacation from Des Moines and were looking for a picnic spot. Thought the Aspen Brook sounded like a picturesque place and, well, here we are. It's sure a lot more primitive than we thought it would be. Any ideas?"
"Well John, the way I see it we can do one of two things. You could climb back in your car and set to gunning your engine and spinning your tires some more. That most always works under these circumstances. Eventually the Buick would burrow its way deep enough to be of no problem for anyone passing along this trail. But the way I see it you'd be stuck having to hike back to Grand Marais and buy a new car. Seems a waste of a new Wildcat."
"Or Mr. Pelago could go in the back of our service truck and retrieve the length of stout rope and two ton come-along the state has provided us for situations just like this. We'll winch you out in a jiffy."
In keeping with the moment I gave Emil a "yes master" and slumped my way to the rear of the truck in my best 'Igor in the woods' manner. Could be dragging my leg was a bit over the top.
Wasn't a jiffy. A mud encrusted hour later the Buick was back on the road, this time pointed back toward the big lake. Emil was offered twenty bucks for our effort but turned it down, "Mr. Pelago and I are being paid handsomely to be of service to fine folks like you. Keep your money and take the Missus out to dinner down at the Naniboujou Lodge instead. Tell 'em Emil sent you."
As they rolled away Emil just quietly shook his head, "We all mistakes Archie, sometimes it's just a matter of mud, sometimes you end up in the trunk of a Lincoln with a sock in your mouth and your feet in a washtub of concrete. I'd take the mud any day. Honestly, when we first saw them I was royally pissed. Both trespassing and messing up my driveway. When I saw the Iowa plates I knew them as nothing more than lost bumblers in the woods. The routine I struck was nothing more than steam at first. Then it was fun. Let's you and me get a couple of wheelbarrows of rock and sand to fill these holes. Then maybe some dinner and an hour of spookin' trout on the picturesque Aspen Brook."
So that's what we did. Guess we were adventured out for the day. No doubt the couple from Iowa would have a story to tell their friends about the oddballs up in the backwoods of Minnesota. Made me feel honored to be an oddball. And maybe remembered as one for years to come. All thanks to my uncle.
Over the next week construction sped up a lot. At least it looked like it did. Digging holes doesn't look like much is going on. One hole, ten holes, all pretty much the same. But sheathing, shingles and windows are another story. Looks like something's actually happening even though the level of effort hasn't changed. By week's end the Lookout roof and most of the main roof was shingled. Emil had left a section of the front untouched for the exit hole of the wood stove's chimney.
Emil did the nailing, I did the grunt work, "Archie me lad, I'm looking for a volunteer. Need someone to carry ten rolls of roofing felt and ninety bundles of shingles up on the roof. 'Tain't but a ton or two. Whoever it is must be under the age of fifty. Do it myself but don't meet the qualifications. Don't look at me that way, I don't make the rules."
Started by laying out and tacking down the felt. Double course to begin, the remaining courses heavily overlapped. When we finished, I began carting up bundles of cedar as we needed them and spread them out and popped the metal bands so Emil wouldn't have to move any more than necessary. Worked in the shade as much as possible. If you've ever shingled a roof you know why. The sun's not always our friend. We'd start each course by snapping a chalk line. The beginning, double layed course was done from a jury-rigged scaffolding. The remaining single rows were done from above with a five and a half inch exposure. Two nails per each new shingle, each nail a thumb's width in from the side and an inch above the exposure line.
"By using those measurements there'll be three layers of shingles at any given point, at least four nails in each, over three layers of felt. Not sure but I think the cedar's there to look pretty while keeping the felt in place. Fine with me. Pretty is good."
Over the week we got into saying things were good. Food, water, beer, nails, peeing. Kept at it 'til it died of overuse. Things were still good. Except saying they were.
Had a hard time keeping up with Emil. Sliding a shingle in place and giving each nail three pops didn't take but fifteen seconds. Me above, sliding them one at a time, Emil below tacking them down. Pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop. Quarter inch space between each. Careful on the last pop to not dent or crack the shingle. Inching our way across the roof. Took nearly as much time for Emil to pull nails from his pouch as it did to drive them in. Pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop. Next. A break every now and then for my uncle to stretch out and me to work the bundles around. So it went. Friday found us staring and admiring.
"When the rough sawn arrives we'll install the stove and pipe. Box in the eaves. Then the windows and doors. Sometime mid-week next, we'll move in. Uf-dah, it's close."
"Roy, could you also order me some rough-sawn cedar? One by twelves, eights and one by threes."
Roy pulled out a pencil, "How much, how long and when? The big ones have to be western red and we don't stock them."
Emil pulled his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, "Call it a hundred seventy of the big ones. Same number of one by threes. Four hundred and seventy, tongue and grooved, eight footers. The rough sawn one by eights, no, make 'em one by tens, let's say thirty-two. All of them eight footers. And however many galvanized six penny finish nails you think I'll need."
"Four-seventy tongue and grooved, you sure you need that many Emil? I figure it at fifteen hundred and fifty dollars for the lot of them, nails included and if you're sure, I'll have them on the truck with the stove. That okay with you?"
"Yes sir. We'll be ready for it by week's end."
Emil pulled out his note pad to see if he'd forgotten anything, "Oh yeah, could you throw in enough craft-backed insulation to do a hundred sixty-eight feet of stud wall and about eight hundred square feet of ceiling."
"That'll be another hundred-forty dollars. All told, sixteen-ninety."
A nod, handshake, a check and we were out the door.
After lunch at the Hub and my weekly update to Mom, we donned our rain gear and headed down lake to Thomsonite Bay in search of treasure. Or what passes for it in these parts. And did find a few small pieces of thomsonite. It'd take a polishing to bring out all the colors. 'Til then they don't look like much more than pretty rocks, doodads. Something to put in a drawer and forget about. To us the fun was in the search. Emil rented scoops at the lodge nearby. We spent the next couple of hours getting our jollies by dangling off rocks on our bellies looking for good stuff and trying to not fall in the lake. Guess we'd been in the woods too long. Lost our hold on reality. Those things happen.
Emil decided should he ever build a doll house he'd install a fireplace made of native stone. Our pea-sized, semi-precious stones would be the highlight. "Yup, some little girl, maybe yours Archie, will no doubt take one look at what I'd built and decide right then and there she'd rather have thomsonite on her engagement band than some old chunk of colorless diamond. And she'd be right. But first you'd better find yourself a woman so my imaginary work won't be in vain."
Back at the cabin the rain had slowed to fog and mist. Putting tar paper on the roof would have to wait, as would sheathing the lookout. Since we nearly had an indoors to work in Emil set us to hanging windows. What I'd figured a challenge turned out to be simplicity. Seeing as how the casement windows were already built all we had to do was lift them in place, pull out the hammer, level, tape measure and shims and go at it. This was another place where my uncle's attention to detail paid off. A window fills a hole in the wall. His challenge was to make that hole just a little bigger than the window. And Emil's openings were right on the money. Had they been a half inch smaller we couldn't have slid in either of the double mullions. Coupla shims width on each side did the job nicely. Once in place he double-checked for level and plumb, then we nailed the big finish nails carefully, using a nail set to sink the heads. Yup, they went in slick. By dinner we had a couple in place.
"I can smell it. By the time we head down to the cities for your orientation at the U in August, we'll be living inside just like real people. Of course we'll be sleeping on stacks of lumber but it'll sure beat the tent."
The rain stopped for good and a cold front blew in over night. Breezy and jacket weather once again. In the years since, I've come to associate those conditions with whitecaps on the lake sundays. Began the day on the roof by hammering down two by sixes to give us a grip while installing Lookout sheathing. Some was done with leftover plywood sections and most of the full-sized sheets had to be trimmed to size. The putz work made both of us happy it was a short day. Still, early afternoon found us nearly half done.
"We'll finish tomorrow then begin to button it up. Start at the top shingling and work our way down. As for the rest of today, your guess is as good as mine."
A brief discussion decided us on a trip to nearby Irish Creek. Emil said he'd heard it wasn't much of a flow and the trout were on the small side but it'd be fun to see new water and be eaten by new mosquitoes. The end of the driveway was about as far as we made it that day. A hundred yards in from the McFarland Road we nearly ran into a sky blue Buick Wildcat convertible mired to the hubs.
A quietly mumbled, "Idiots," escaped from Emil but he was all smiles as he approached them. Before the couple realized what was happening, my uncle was off and running. Lord have mercy.
"My name's Emil Yuntowun and this is my associate Archie Pelago. We're the rescue crew anticipated and sent here by the DNR to extricate you from your predicament. Yeah, the DNR is a fine establishment. Has crews like us wandering the woods at all hours of the night and day just to be of service to the citizens of the State of Minnesota and its cherished visitors. Now, what exactly seems to be the problem?"
The pair paused, glassy-eyed, as though awakened in the middle of a dream only to find themselves in what turn out to be a nightmare, "Yes, yes, I see. Name's John and this is my wife Alma. We're up here on vacation from Des Moines and were looking for a picnic spot. Thought the Aspen Brook sounded like a picturesque place and, well, here we are. It's sure a lot more primitive than we thought it would be. Any ideas?"
"Well John, the way I see it we can do one of two things. You could climb back in your car and set to gunning your engine and spinning your tires some more. That most always works under these circumstances. Eventually the Buick would burrow its way deep enough to be of no problem for anyone passing along this trail. But the way I see it you'd be stuck having to hike back to Grand Marais and buy a new car. Seems a waste of a new Wildcat."
"Or Mr. Pelago could go in the back of our service truck and retrieve the length of stout rope and two ton come-along the state has provided us for situations just like this. We'll winch you out in a jiffy."
In keeping with the moment I gave Emil a "yes master" and slumped my way to the rear of the truck in my best 'Igor in the woods' manner. Could be dragging my leg was a bit over the top.
Wasn't a jiffy. A mud encrusted hour later the Buick was back on the road, this time pointed back toward the big lake. Emil was offered twenty bucks for our effort but turned it down, "Mr. Pelago and I are being paid handsomely to be of service to fine folks like you. Keep your money and take the Missus out to dinner down at the Naniboujou Lodge instead. Tell 'em Emil sent you."
As they rolled away Emil just quietly shook his head, "We all mistakes Archie, sometimes it's just a matter of mud, sometimes you end up in the trunk of a Lincoln with a sock in your mouth and your feet in a washtub of concrete. I'd take the mud any day. Honestly, when we first saw them I was royally pissed. Both trespassing and messing up my driveway. When I saw the Iowa plates I knew them as nothing more than lost bumblers in the woods. The routine I struck was nothing more than steam at first. Then it was fun. Let's you and me get a couple of wheelbarrows of rock and sand to fill these holes. Then maybe some dinner and an hour of spookin' trout on the picturesque Aspen Brook."
So that's what we did. Guess we were adventured out for the day. No doubt the couple from Iowa would have a story to tell their friends about the oddballs up in the backwoods of Minnesota. Made me feel honored to be an oddball. And maybe remembered as one for years to come. All thanks to my uncle.
Over the next week construction sped up a lot. At least it looked like it did. Digging holes doesn't look like much is going on. One hole, ten holes, all pretty much the same. But sheathing, shingles and windows are another story. Looks like something's actually happening even though the level of effort hasn't changed. By week's end the Lookout roof and most of the main roof was shingled. Emil had left a section of the front untouched for the exit hole of the wood stove's chimney.
Emil did the nailing, I did the grunt work, "Archie me lad, I'm looking for a volunteer. Need someone to carry ten rolls of roofing felt and ninety bundles of shingles up on the roof. 'Tain't but a ton or two. Whoever it is must be under the age of fifty. Do it myself but don't meet the qualifications. Don't look at me that way, I don't make the rules."
Started by laying out and tacking down the felt. Double course to begin, the remaining courses heavily overlapped. When we finished, I began carting up bundles of cedar as we needed them and spread them out and popped the metal bands so Emil wouldn't have to move any more than necessary. Worked in the shade as much as possible. If you've ever shingled a roof you know why. The sun's not always our friend. We'd start each course by snapping a chalk line. The beginning, double layed course was done from a jury-rigged scaffolding. The remaining single rows were done from above with a five and a half inch exposure. Two nails per each new shingle, each nail a thumb's width in from the side and an inch above the exposure line.
"By using those measurements there'll be three layers of shingles at any given point, at least four nails in each, over three layers of felt. Not sure but I think the cedar's there to look pretty while keeping the felt in place. Fine with me. Pretty is good."
Over the week we got into saying things were good. Food, water, beer, nails, peeing. Kept at it 'til it died of overuse. Things were still good. Except saying they were.
Had a hard time keeping up with Emil. Sliding a shingle in place and giving each nail three pops didn't take but fifteen seconds. Me above, sliding them one at a time, Emil below tacking them down. Pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop. Quarter inch space between each. Careful on the last pop to not dent or crack the shingle. Inching our way across the roof. Took nearly as much time for Emil to pull nails from his pouch as it did to drive them in. Pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop. Next. A break every now and then for my uncle to stretch out and me to work the bundles around. So it went. Friday found us staring and admiring.
"When the rough sawn arrives we'll install the stove and pipe. Box in the eaves. Then the windows and doors. Sometime mid-week next, we'll move in. Uf-dah, it's close."
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