Again the lumber pile grew. Emil planted cash at the mill and harvested lumber at the building site. And a stove. And a box of metal parts to go with the eighteen feet of stove pipe. Seemed like an overkill of pipe to me. Emil said it had to do with code and code had to do with not burning his cabin down.
"Gotta be two feet higher than any point within ten feet. That much straight run of pipe and the stove'll draw like a jet plane taking off. Keep in mind Archie, the building codes were written from decades of experience. They're not so much the government buttin' into our business as they're a guideline on how to do things."
Turned out Roy wasn't exaggerating about the weight of the stove. Four hundred, twenty-five pounds. Getting a grip on it was the hard part. That and not making any unmanly noises when we moved it. We each grabbed a corner and shuffled along like penguins. Once inside we slid it near the spot Emil had marked out.
"One second Emil. Got something in the truck Roy said you might need. Thirty bucks should you want it and you can pay him when you're in town."
Ted and Arne trotted off and returned with an inch thick, four by four sheet of what looked like brick .
"Insulation board of some kind. Roy says it'll keep the floor from overhearing. You might not need it but for thirty bucks Roy figured you wouldn't want to take a chance."
"Should've also told me it might make sense to lay the floor before I put in the stove but that's my mistake and no big deal. Give me a minute and I'll write you a check. And tell Roy thanks. Never thought about burning a hole in the floor."
Seemed Roy had also thrown in four small steel plates to spread the weight of the stove's cast iron feet. The insulation board went down and the stove placed atop, four feet from the wall. Along with the pipe, Emil had ordered a sheet metal baffle for the back of the Franklin that'd keep the wall cool. We were set.
"Gotta get to gettin'. We've a big order on the truck for a place going up on McFarland. And have to be back to the mill by noon. Emil, I've given some thought to a canoe trip. Sounds good. Maybe fall, soon as work slows down a little. Okay with you?"
"Looking forward to it already. Take care and thanks for the help." Emil pulled a coupla of bills out of his wallet. After a moment of pooh-poohing Emil clinched it with, "buy yourself's lunch. Anything left over, bring us a half dozen donuts next time."
As the truck lumbered up the driveway we went back to putting camp in order. First things first. Having a new toy and not being able to play with it must have been hard on Emil. But, Emil being Emil, it was hard to tell. Laundry and food trumped installation. Like I said, first things first.
'Bout the only time we ever listened to news or music was on the drive to and from Grand Marais. Up on the land our sounds were limited to nature, tools, song and conversation.
"Quiet is one of the reasons I chose this site. I'd have a transistor radio but as you've no doubt noticed, there's no radio signal beneath the ridge. Lost a fair amount of hearing back in the war. Not as though I'm deaf but when there's a lot of background noise I can't carry on a conversation. Keep misunderstanding words and have to ask whoever I'm talking with to repeat what they've said. Lena said the inscription on my tombstone should be 'pardon?' Yah, I've had more than my share of noise. Probably hit enough for a lifetime twenty years ago. Up here I can still hear leaves rustling and the sound of Aspen Brook. For now that's plenty. Should they ever come up with a battery powered record player I'll be the first one in line. For entertainment I've got my books. Might take up writing or even drawing. Who knows?"
We ran through town like the Mongol Horde on a rampage. Hit the ground running and were back rolling up Highway 61 by twelve-thirty. Darlene at the Hub said we should slow down, enjoy our food. Also said the noise we made gobbling down the broasted chicken special was scaring the other customers. And should maybe take care to not choke on the bones. We didn't slow but did mind our manners a bit more. Fun's fun but Emil said we were on a mission to cut us a hole in the roof and fill it with stove pipe by supper time.
Good thing the pipes came with instructions. Even had a template to mark the roof hole. As usual, getting started was the hard part. A plumb bob told us where to cut the hole. Marked the spot from the underside of the roof by drilling upwards. Put us in the ball park. Once above Emil used his best guess to position the template, figuring we could always slide the stove an inch or so either way to center it beneath. Took three drill holes and the saber saw to open up a big enough slot. We were in business. Single wall pipe from the stove to the triple wall transition piece in the rafters and triple wall pipe above the roof. Finally, a screened bonnet topped the run. Down at roof level Emil carefully worked in the tar paper and black-jacked the bejeezus out of the metal roof plate. "Doubt it'll ever leak but you never know."
"Tomorrow we finish the shingling and maybe start boxing in the eaves. Then, by hook, crook, or Wildcat, we head down to Irish Creek. Maybe catch us some ten inch brookies, fry 'em crisp and eat 'em like corn on the cob with taters and asparagus. Should you be up for it there's always that six pack of Lowenbrau I bought a month ago."
Never had German beer before. Maybe it'd taste better than American? Had my hopes as beer was well down my list of things to drink should the world be ending in an hour. Somewhere between turpentine and pond water in the pecking order.
With trout fishing in the offing we spent our evening reading and snacking. I have no idea how many calories we burned in a day but it seemed if we didn't eat every chance we got, our pants would fall down. Can't say I'd lost any weight but I'd sure hardened up. And my hands had leathered. Emil said hands are the true windows of the soul. They'll trump eyes any day. One glance at a person's palms'll immediately tell you if they earn an honest living. Yeah, he says a lot of stuff like that. Sometimes I think he just likes to play with words.
Finished the shingling around the chimney in an hour. Closing the eaves seemed like it'd be a walk in the park. It wasn't. Turned out to be a lot like the days of the dying cockroach. All the work was above our heads and gravity was our enemy. Took both of us to nail in a single, eight foot cedar board. Four hands to join the groove to the tongue, then we'd toe-nail it in place. Switched off every so often to let the blood return to our arms. Almost forgot, the icing on the cake was having to rip saw the length of every fifth tongue and grooved board so it'd fit flush with the face board. Early afternoon closing in on half done.
Irish Creek crossed under the McFarland Road a few minutes south of Aspen Brook. I'd have thought a creek would've been bigger than a brook but it wasn't. What it lacked in size, the stream more than made up for in beauty. We hiked down stream in heavy shade. The beaten paths paralleling either side told us we weren't the first to enter. We kept moving 'til the bower of maple, alder brush and dogwood thinned out. There we'd reached the last little plunge pool and stood facing the trout stream's death. What had been a run of rushing water and cascades in a hurry to see what was around the next bend, took a break and settled into a meandering ribbon through a swamp. We gave it a moment's glance and hiked back, our lines bone dry.
The far side of the road told another story. For whatever reason, the paths were less beaten and soon ended in a thicket of dogwood. Emil smiled,
"Now this is more like it. A few hundred less mosquitoes would be nice but they're the price you pay these days for what passes as paradise. You know it wasn't so much that Adam and Eve were kicked out of Eden, more that on the eighth day God created flies, skeeters and ticks. On the ninth day Eve invented the needle and made some clothes to keep the bugs off. Helped a little but not a lot. On the tenth Adam said 'to hell with this noise, let's you and me head out on the desert and eat some honey and locusts and procreate us up a storm. Maybe raise some Cain if we're Abel."
We bushwhacked our way upstream for a half mile and fished our way back. Yeah, we caught enough tiny brook trout to make a meal. But carefully returned each to the water. We'd not had a lot of rain that year and the flow of Irish Creek was down. Wasn't much to begin with and now the trout were hunkered down wherever they could find more than a foot's depth of sheltering pool. Seemed a travesty to kill anything living under those conditions when we had fresh food back in the coolers. But that didn't stop us from fishing.
Never fished on my hands and knees before. Never played hide and seek with trout either. Even then we spooked half the crystal clear pools. No way could Emil use his long fly rod. Or me cast a spinner. Any movement of a rod and the brookies would instantly fade away like sparks in the night. Went back to day one and rigged a tiny, orange and black, beetle bug with a strip of pork rind. Would've used worms we had any. Emil led the way. Eased the spinning rod through a stand of cone tipped alder in hopes the trout would think the blue shaft was just a rapidly growing branch. Then released the bail, let the lure tumble free down a rock strewn chute and into the pool. Brook trout can be nosy and be willing to swim over to check out anything that just might be food. 'Specially when it came to the possibility of an easy meal in the form of what looks like a grub. The fight wasn't long. But we weren't there for the fight. Just the foolin'. We'd have been nearly as happy had the beetle bug been hookless. Nearly, but not quite. Don't ask me why. That's just the way it is with fishermen.
Yes we caught our share of trout that afternoon. Not a lot but enough to say we'd figured it out and could have had a meal if we wanted. Days like that make life worth living. Quiet happiness. I could easily see why Emil was building along the banks of Aspen Brook. Would have been happy to do the same but I still had a lot of bends in the road to check out before I was ready. Us northlanders need to earn our pleasures.
Finished the eaves on Monday. It'd been on the cool side since we started clearing the driveway but summer finally arrived with a vengeance around 11:29 in the morning. Wasn't what you'd call deep south summer but to us it was a killer. Doubt it made eighty-five. Doesn't sound hot unless you're used to wearing a sweatshirt after supper and in the mornings before the sun topped the trees. Keep in mind where we were. Up in the north of the northland where the birds fall out of the trees whenever the thermometer reached ninety. Hell, down in Grand Marais they sold thermometers that maxed out at eighty to make room down below for a minus seventy mark. Hasn't hit bottom yet but they're hoping.
On the upside our sweat seemed to enjoy the heat a lot. Squeezed through our pores by the bucketful, ran down our arms and into our eyes as we again spent the day working above our heads. Cedar sawdust clung to every exposed body surface then washed earthward in sweat rivulets like detritus in a flooded stream. Not fun but we kept at it.
Started lunch by pouring buckets of icy well water over our heads. Good pain that left me gasping but wanting more. Worked thirsty, went to bed thirsty, woke up thirsty, then ate and went back to work. Early Tuesday we started on the siding, board and batten. Boy did it go fast. I'd hoist a one by twelve into place, we'd check the vertical, Emil'd hammer in enough galvanized finish nails to secure it and we'd move on to the next. Quarter inch gap between each. Two hours and we had a long side covered but still short fourteen nails per. Emil took one end of the wall, I grabbed a hammer and started nailing from the other. Met in the middle about an hour later. Still had the battens left but figured we'd do them in one long run. Two-thirds done by dinner.
I'd sure like to tell you about every nail we drove over the rest of the week but figure it'd take way too long and be way too interesting for ordinary folk. Maybe even dangerously interesting. So for your own self-interest, I won't. Let's just say the weather did eventually cool off. In fact we had frost on Thursday. And by Friday we were done with the siding and mostly done hanging the windows. Come Sunday night it looked like we just might be sleeping indoors. It'd still be sleeping bags and cots but a door beat a zipper by a long shot. Next week if we put our minds and backs to it, we might even have an outhouse.
As the truck lumbered up the driveway we went back to putting camp in order. First things first. Having a new toy and not being able to play with it must have been hard on Emil. But, Emil being Emil, it was hard to tell. Laundry and food trumped installation. Like I said, first things first.
'Bout the only time we ever listened to news or music was on the drive to and from Grand Marais. Up on the land our sounds were limited to nature, tools, song and conversation.
"Quiet is one of the reasons I chose this site. I'd have a transistor radio but as you've no doubt noticed, there's no radio signal beneath the ridge. Lost a fair amount of hearing back in the war. Not as though I'm deaf but when there's a lot of background noise I can't carry on a conversation. Keep misunderstanding words and have to ask whoever I'm talking with to repeat what they've said. Lena said the inscription on my tombstone should be 'pardon?' Yah, I've had more than my share of noise. Probably hit enough for a lifetime twenty years ago. Up here I can still hear leaves rustling and the sound of Aspen Brook. For now that's plenty. Should they ever come up with a battery powered record player I'll be the first one in line. For entertainment I've got my books. Might take up writing or even drawing. Who knows?"
We ran through town like the Mongol Horde on a rampage. Hit the ground running and were back rolling up Highway 61 by twelve-thirty. Darlene at the Hub said we should slow down, enjoy our food. Also said the noise we made gobbling down the broasted chicken special was scaring the other customers. And should maybe take care to not choke on the bones. We didn't slow but did mind our manners a bit more. Fun's fun but Emil said we were on a mission to cut us a hole in the roof and fill it with stove pipe by supper time.
Good thing the pipes came with instructions. Even had a template to mark the roof hole. As usual, getting started was the hard part. A plumb bob told us where to cut the hole. Marked the spot from the underside of the roof by drilling upwards. Put us in the ball park. Once above Emil used his best guess to position the template, figuring we could always slide the stove an inch or so either way to center it beneath. Took three drill holes and the saber saw to open up a big enough slot. We were in business. Single wall pipe from the stove to the triple wall transition piece in the rafters and triple wall pipe above the roof. Finally, a screened bonnet topped the run. Down at roof level Emil carefully worked in the tar paper and black-jacked the bejeezus out of the metal roof plate. "Doubt it'll ever leak but you never know."
"Tomorrow we finish the shingling and maybe start boxing in the eaves. Then, by hook, crook, or Wildcat, we head down to Irish Creek. Maybe catch us some ten inch brookies, fry 'em crisp and eat 'em like corn on the cob with taters and asparagus. Should you be up for it there's always that six pack of Lowenbrau I bought a month ago."
Never had German beer before. Maybe it'd taste better than American? Had my hopes as beer was well down my list of things to drink should the world be ending in an hour. Somewhere between turpentine and pond water in the pecking order.
With trout fishing in the offing we spent our evening reading and snacking. I have no idea how many calories we burned in a day but it seemed if we didn't eat every chance we got, our pants would fall down. Can't say I'd lost any weight but I'd sure hardened up. And my hands had leathered. Emil said hands are the true windows of the soul. They'll trump eyes any day. One glance at a person's palms'll immediately tell you if they earn an honest living. Yeah, he says a lot of stuff like that. Sometimes I think he just likes to play with words.
Finished the shingling around the chimney in an hour. Closing the eaves seemed like it'd be a walk in the park. It wasn't. Turned out to be a lot like the days of the dying cockroach. All the work was above our heads and gravity was our enemy. Took both of us to nail in a single, eight foot cedar board. Four hands to join the groove to the tongue, then we'd toe-nail it in place. Switched off every so often to let the blood return to our arms. Almost forgot, the icing on the cake was having to rip saw the length of every fifth tongue and grooved board so it'd fit flush with the face board. Early afternoon closing in on half done.
Irish Creek crossed under the McFarland Road a few minutes south of Aspen Brook. I'd have thought a creek would've been bigger than a brook but it wasn't. What it lacked in size, the stream more than made up for in beauty. We hiked down stream in heavy shade. The beaten paths paralleling either side told us we weren't the first to enter. We kept moving 'til the bower of maple, alder brush and dogwood thinned out. There we'd reached the last little plunge pool and stood facing the trout stream's death. What had been a run of rushing water and cascades in a hurry to see what was around the next bend, took a break and settled into a meandering ribbon through a swamp. We gave it a moment's glance and hiked back, our lines bone dry.
The far side of the road told another story. For whatever reason, the paths were less beaten and soon ended in a thicket of dogwood. Emil smiled,
"Now this is more like it. A few hundred less mosquitoes would be nice but they're the price you pay these days for what passes as paradise. You know it wasn't so much that Adam and Eve were kicked out of Eden, more that on the eighth day God created flies, skeeters and ticks. On the ninth day Eve invented the needle and made some clothes to keep the bugs off. Helped a little but not a lot. On the tenth Adam said 'to hell with this noise, let's you and me head out on the desert and eat some honey and locusts and procreate us up a storm. Maybe raise some Cain if we're Abel."
We bushwhacked our way upstream for a half mile and fished our way back. Yeah, we caught enough tiny brook trout to make a meal. But carefully returned each to the water. We'd not had a lot of rain that year and the flow of Irish Creek was down. Wasn't much to begin with and now the trout were hunkered down wherever they could find more than a foot's depth of sheltering pool. Seemed a travesty to kill anything living under those conditions when we had fresh food back in the coolers. But that didn't stop us from fishing.
Never fished on my hands and knees before. Never played hide and seek with trout either. Even then we spooked half the crystal clear pools. No way could Emil use his long fly rod. Or me cast a spinner. Any movement of a rod and the brookies would instantly fade away like sparks in the night. Went back to day one and rigged a tiny, orange and black, beetle bug with a strip of pork rind. Would've used worms we had any. Emil led the way. Eased the spinning rod through a stand of cone tipped alder in hopes the trout would think the blue shaft was just a rapidly growing branch. Then released the bail, let the lure tumble free down a rock strewn chute and into the pool. Brook trout can be nosy and be willing to swim over to check out anything that just might be food. 'Specially when it came to the possibility of an easy meal in the form of what looks like a grub. The fight wasn't long. But we weren't there for the fight. Just the foolin'. We'd have been nearly as happy had the beetle bug been hookless. Nearly, but not quite. Don't ask me why. That's just the way it is with fishermen.
Yes we caught our share of trout that afternoon. Not a lot but enough to say we'd figured it out and could have had a meal if we wanted. Days like that make life worth living. Quiet happiness. I could easily see why Emil was building along the banks of Aspen Brook. Would have been happy to do the same but I still had a lot of bends in the road to check out before I was ready. Us northlanders need to earn our pleasures.
Finished the eaves on Monday. It'd been on the cool side since we started clearing the driveway but summer finally arrived with a vengeance around 11:29 in the morning. Wasn't what you'd call deep south summer but to us it was a killer. Doubt it made eighty-five. Doesn't sound hot unless you're used to wearing a sweatshirt after supper and in the mornings before the sun topped the trees. Keep in mind where we were. Up in the north of the northland where the birds fall out of the trees whenever the thermometer reached ninety. Hell, down in Grand Marais they sold thermometers that maxed out at eighty to make room down below for a minus seventy mark. Hasn't hit bottom yet but they're hoping.
On the upside our sweat seemed to enjoy the heat a lot. Squeezed through our pores by the bucketful, ran down our arms and into our eyes as we again spent the day working above our heads. Cedar sawdust clung to every exposed body surface then washed earthward in sweat rivulets like detritus in a flooded stream. Not fun but we kept at it.
Started lunch by pouring buckets of icy well water over our heads. Good pain that left me gasping but wanting more. Worked thirsty, went to bed thirsty, woke up thirsty, then ate and went back to work. Early Tuesday we started on the siding, board and batten. Boy did it go fast. I'd hoist a one by twelve into place, we'd check the vertical, Emil'd hammer in enough galvanized finish nails to secure it and we'd move on to the next. Quarter inch gap between each. Two hours and we had a long side covered but still short fourteen nails per. Emil took one end of the wall, I grabbed a hammer and started nailing from the other. Met in the middle about an hour later. Still had the battens left but figured we'd do them in one long run. Two-thirds done by dinner.
I'd sure like to tell you about every nail we drove over the rest of the week but figure it'd take way too long and be way too interesting for ordinary folk. Maybe even dangerously interesting. So for your own self-interest, I won't. Let's just say the weather did eventually cool off. In fact we had frost on Thursday. And by Friday we were done with the siding and mostly done hanging the windows. Come Sunday night it looked like we just might be sleeping indoors. It'd still be sleeping bags and cots but a door beat a zipper by a long shot. Next week if we put our minds and backs to it, we might even have an outhouse.
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