I know my options and have to visualize them each in order to choose and establish my plan and move on. Because I tend to think out loud, my visualization process can be shared with anyone in earshot. Lucky them!
This winter will be the winter of chinking discussions. Soon, very soon, at the dinner table:
Me: "Sugar, I was thinking that instead of a sand and cement mix I could [interjection here by Sugar]..."
Me: "But honey, this is important! Don't you want to hear?"
Sloan: "Babe, Angus has more macaroni and so Abel wants some too."
Me: "But about this idea [forceful interjection by Sloan AND Abel]..."
Me: "OK, OK. Here Abel, stop crying please. We'll work chinking into the bedtime story instead of Donald the Dinosaur."
Nate: "I just really really want more macaroni like baby."
Sigh.
So I have choices, and, because I cut and crafted the cabin with green logs, they have to shrink and settle over the winter, which they'll do now that we have such a solid roof and deep overhangs keeping the walls dry. If I chinked it now, I'd just have to patch or redo things next summer. Needless to say, without windows, a door, or glass in the eaves the cabin will be a drafty place this winter, a dry but perpetually cold room bereft of sunlight and cooled by the uninterrupted breeze that drops down slope at night from the frozen North face behind us and gets driven up during the day by the valley thermals below.
For those interested (certainly not Sugar or the boys), I'll post my options and deliberations here in the future. I'd be happy to hear suggestions!
Your beautiful description here reminded me of last February during the major snowstorm when I lost power, was stranded, and had to hole up in my own (not yet repaired) cabin; there were giant holes between the logs that I had to stuff with towels in a feeble attempt to keep the heat inside. I'm so excited for you, Mike!
ReplyDelete