COLD HOLLER: a Postmodern (B)log Cabin in the Land of the Noonday Sun

132: January Challenge

2012-01-23T21:36:00.001+08:00

I'll update this post soon with more of an explanation, but this year I decided to jumpstart my overall fitness during the upcoming season by riding my bike every single day of the coldest, darkest month of the year. I walked away from bike racing in 2006, when fuel prices were high and my firstborn boy started walking. My last few years of racing, in my late 30s, were in some ways my best. I had discovered track racing, and the closed short circuit, strategy, structure and rules, not to mention it being a natural fit for my fast-twitch sprinter's body. Between 1990 and 2006, I've been dropped before the finish in more road races than I'd care to admit, and even getting to the sprint at the end of an hour-long criterium challenges me. But a 9-minute track race? No problem!

Anyhow, I'll post more about the January Challenge soon. In short, I ride every day this month, be it outside on a road bike, a fixed gear, a mountain bike, or my single-speed mountain bike, or inside on the rollers (here) or even the Schwinn spin bike at the gym, on which my old Shimano Carbon racing shoes fit the SPD pedals. It just has to be 30 minutes, minimum. My friend Shane, also a product of early 90's racing and especially the East Coast crit scene, is doing his variation of the same plan. So last night, he and his wife and three small boys came over, he and I spun for an hour while Sloan and A.J. made pizza, and the five small ones wreaked their usual havoc. A.J. was indulgent enough to step outside and take this video. Enjoy!

Video coming soon

131: Christmas Cards!

2011-12-27T06:59:00.002+08:00

2011

2010

2009

2008

Also, here's a distant shot of the Coldholler Log Cabin, finished, in the Fall of 2011:

130: Holiday Day BBQs, 2011!

2011-11-28T22:43:00.004+08:00

Christmas Eve BBQ:

50 pounds of Boston Butt (pork shoulder) at 5am

Mid-morning, smoking away at 250 degrees

Smoke on the driveway!

Old Pawpaw checking out the butts...

Done at 3pm, with a nice bark and 203 degree core temperature. The meat just fell off of the bone, and the smoke ring was almost an inch deep all around. Wrapped them in a towel and encased them in a cooler to sit until I pulled them at 4:30pm, with dishwashing gloves to protect my hands from the heat.

Some of the pulled pork -- that's just pan #1.

Boys making yeast rolls for pork sandwiches!

Thanksgiving BBQ:
We have much to be thankful for, most of all our family and friends. What better way to celebrate their love and camaraderie than breaking bread? Or smoking 56 pounds of pork and poultry. So, Thanksgiving morning, at 4:30am, I started a fire. Here is a pictorial chronology!

4:30am -- starting the Kingsford comp charcoal. Mainly to ignite oak chunks that I debarked and split.

Those butts went on at 5am. The turkeys went on at 7am. I foiled the butts when they stalled, around 8am.

Fatties went on with two hours left, around 11am. They only need to cook up to 165 degrees and absorb as much smoke as possible, so here I added lots of fresh oak to the firebox. The driveway smelled like smoky paradise. I mashed three pounds of locally-raised and produced breakfast sausage flat over three latticeworks of bacon, sprinkled dry rub and cheese on the inside surface, and rolled them into tight logs -- this is a fun little "extra" practiced by elite BBQ athletes in competition, toward the end of their longer cooks.

Angus came out to inspect at 7:15am and stayed for 2 hours in the 28 degree morning. Pawpaw expresses his admiration.

Michael Faughn, encouraging the meat to cook the best way he knows how! Dawn broke, but his voice never did.

The turkeys came out perfect -- after brining for 24 hours and smoking on oak for 6.5 at 250, they were juicy smoky goodness!

I took the butts off when they reached 203d, after about 8 hours, and wrapped them in a cooler for another hour before pulling them. Amazing. Great smoke ring, too!

The fatties were great -- I'm always doing that bacon thing, from now on.

Mike's wife Axelle, from France, brought some amazing foie gras, which was sublime on the fatty, washed down with a bit of pinot noir.

Smoke ring on the bird! The carrots it sat on to keep it off the cast iron were amazing, too. Smoky and full of turkey broth...

129: Windows and good luck

2011-10-10T21:58:00.003+08:00

This weekend, I spent some time cutting Lexan and installing it over the screens in our cabin. It's not super tight -- there'll be draftiness for sure. But not so much that we'll feel a breeze, and a bit of air flow and ventilation will be necessary anyway once there's any source of heat in such a small space.

I also hung a couple of old cow bells from the door and some chimes from the antlers overhead. For a final touch, I hung two large horseshoes over the door. In August, at Burning Pig Festival, my co-cook and old friend, Taylor Watts, brought one for each boy, for fun and good luck. Taylor raises and uses massive draft horses on his farm in Stateboro and in his carriage tour business in Savannah. So the shoes are real, and used! Sloan reminded me to hang them open-end-up, so the luck won't fall out onto the floor...

Helping a little brother along a leafy trail...

Angus like the door bells!

Cheese!

Wow -- horseshoes!

Dad, we can feel the good luck!

Windows!

Taking the high road home. Where'd all these leaves come from?

128: Water is life...

2011-10-06T02:02:00.000+08:00

Last year, I talked about the prevalence of water in Coldholler. The cabin sits on a uniquely dry spot though, the gently sloping crest of a ridge, relatively high above where all of our springs surface and flow. So naturally, I built a collection device and clamped it to the downstream end of a culvert upslope but just on my property -- it delivers a permanent spring from the other side of a logging road. I'm pretty sure that the spring would disappear but for the culvert, because its flow used to soak fully into the ground just downhill from where I plumbed it.

Now, it travels several hundred feet downhill to emerge from a well-pipe next to the cabin, dropping an additional 8 feet through the air to land in a 5 gallon galvanized washtub, splashing the surrounding leaves and trees, filling the site with sound. It's nice to have a place to wash up or just enjoy the zen of falling water.

127: Sharpening accouterments...

2011-10-06T01:49:00.000+08:00

I've written lots about tools and sharpening...
For example, Here, Here, Here, Here, Here, and Here.

And I mentioned my water stones here, a sequence of finer gritted wet stones used to hone chisels, drawknives, and other tools to a razor sharp but durable edge.

Here's a new toy:

See the grooved stone? That's my new toy. It's a flattening stone, used to restore the even faces of the finer stones sitting next to it. See the green stone? That's a 60-grit grind stone. I'm pretty sure my flattening stone shouldn't be used on that, not if the flattening stone itself can be doctored by 220-grit water paper on glass. Anybody know how I can flatten a green stone? I scooped it a tad while fixing a rounded bevel on an adze.

126: New trail!

2011-10-06T01:32:00.001+08:00

Last weekend, Abel helped me build a new trail. Cutting a trail in these woods isn't really hard, although I'm guilty of taking shortcuts. The science of installing water bars, deadmen, proper steps, and crowned pathways isn't beyond me, it just isn't necessary for low-traffic places like our holler, where our foot paths see easy use and little exposure. For real trail work, look no further than Tobias Miller and his crews in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Abel and I selected a nice connecting route connecting the cabin with the nice, wide trail that travels down from the treehouse to the depths of a shady, hidden mini gorge on the other side of our Coldholler ridge and the cabin and around to meet the cabin trail on a small saddle. We cut it diagonally with only a slight gradient, so that it could be walked with little effort. Abel impressed me with his tenacity and focus. Not many 6-year-olds will wield a yard tool and work for 90 minutes without complaining. He made it his job to follow my rougher work with a stiff rake, pulling the loosened dirt more evenly across our trail.

Abel, standing on new trail!

After we finished our trail (about 300 meters long), Sloan and Angus brought a snack. Actually, she brought beverages and a full spaghetti dinner! Life is good in Coldholler...

125: Log cabin furniture!

2011-09-20T03:45:00.003+08:00

Recently, readers of this blog may have noticed a trend toward BBQ and away from cabin-building. Actually, they don't have to be mutually exclusive subjects. During Burning Pig Festival, held at the Coldholler Log Cabin, roving bands of kids used the cabin as a fort and destination to play and escape adult supervision. While I smoked chicken for the NPS, I needed a tailgate project and made two heavy, simple, plank chairs that offer the angled comfort of adirondack sitting. And last week, while several racks of ribs took their time at low temperatures, I crafted two benches.

Both the chairs and the benches are constructed from rough-sawn, full-dimension, 2"x14" white pine boards cut special by Ralph Morgan. A 10' board like that weighs many pounds. A couple of them, joined to make a chair or a bench, are enough to hurt a man.

The benches fold out to double their width. Folded out, they're each 80" long by 29" wide, offering plenty of room for a single sleeper. Rolled on their 300 pound caster wheels and latched together, they form a platform designed to hold a conventional double-bed mattress. A rolled-up futon mattress could be stored in a plastic bin beneath the cabin.

Here are some pictures of Sloan, the boys, and their grandparents, checking out the new furniture. Enjoy!

Abel makes a mouse ladder

Abel: "Come on! See the benches!"

Abel hard at work

Abel gathering sticks

Momomma Mary Sue Despeaux and Dodaddy Mike, sitting

Dodaddy: "Whatcha thinkin, Momomma?"

Sloan: "Angus, we can see you!" Notice the bench is folded out.

"We like it, Michael"

Testing out the bed -- see how the benches come together?

The boys and their Dodaddy, on an unfolded bench. Amazing how two benches like that fold up into a solid platform, full-sized, double bed!

"It's sturdy, Dad!"

Mid-air Abel: "COWABUNGA!"

124: Fall photos at and nearby our cabin

2011-09-19T21:25:00.008+08:00

I'll begin this post with a picture from last year (more), taken from the Great Smokies Facebook page. Instead of more posts of fall foliage as the leaves change down at our 3000' elevation in a few weeks, I'll just update this post, so tune back in! It'll become a bit of a photo essay...

GSMNP foliage -- makes me want to go kayaking!

Black Balsam looks off the other side of the Great Pisgah ridgeline, toward Waynesville and the North. Totally have to take Sloan and the boys up there in the next few weeks! It's just a hop, skip, and a jump from here, but by way of a windy, indirect, remote route up Little Canada, or the Blue Ridge Parkway accessed well South of there, at our county line...

123: Cabin update

2011-09-17T12:04:00.000+08:00

For those folk who for a couple of years have been following the journey I undertook, building a log cabin, my recent foray into BBQ might seem like a derailment of sorts. BBQ type folk or recent readers, just see the archive to understand my point. Anyway, please stay tuned in for posts about bedmaking and other furniture, lexan for the windows, heat, and beautiful pictures of fall color. Soon, my little boy and I will spend a night out there in the cabin -- an adventure for sure! I'll write about it here.

122: Local epic views from a couple of iconoclastic spots

2011-09-11T19:59:00.001+08:00

I'll update this post later with more commentary, but here are a couple of stunning shots, one of the view from Mount LeConte and the other of our nearby city, Asheville...

From Wikipedia

121: Smoking a Fatty!

2011-09-11T10:26:00.005+08:00

I flattened out 5 pounds of ground pork and beef, covered it with Memphis-style rub, grated Campesino cheese in the middle, rolled it into a log, salted the whole thing with the rub, and stuck it in the fridge to congeal until I slow smoked it on Sunday. In BBQ culture, that and all of its variations is called a "Fatty." Well, I was right and wrong at the same time. It's true that there are variations of this thing, and some folk do what I did. But the real deal is smaller -- I practically made a meatloaf without the egg and breadcrumbs. Here's where I learned the difference.

My bigger mistake was using lowfat ground pork and then mixing it with lots of ground beef. I basically made a hamburger that had to be cooked long enough to safely eat pork. I Cooked it around 250 for 3 hours and removed it at 165 degrees on the meat thermometer. Had it been just beef, the whole thing would have been much tastier served a smoky rare. The ribs were so excellent, nobody ate this -- it tasted like spicy, overcooked hamburger, although it wasn't dry at all. With the rub and the cheese, this is going to get mixed with beans and converted into an awesome chili, so nothing was wasted!

All patted together and ready to spend the night in the fridge.

Almost done! The ribs are at 175 and the fatty is stalled at 140 -- it went up to 165 quickly.

Pretty, isn't it?

Nathan Willard presents the fatty!

Got a bit of a smoke ring -- they were delectable.

YAY!!!! It's done, dad!

120: "Smoke" on the Mountain

2011-09-07T21:03:00.021+08:00

These mist covered mountains

Are a home now for me.

But my home is the lowlands

And always will be...

Mark Knopfler

Recently, I've digressed into discussions of smoking meat, and lots of it. We even cooked a pig in the clearing atop the finger ridge overlooking the log cabin, where children played as I tended the BBQ.

The word, "smoke," is evocative around here. We have Smoky Mountain High School, myriad businesses bearing that name, and even my wife Sloan's biannual conference that she conceived and organizes and tied to the local setting with this moniker. And then we have the National Park.

Ever wonder where the Great Smoky Mountains get their name?

The Coldholler Log Cabin sits well above the lowlands, in deep shade, facing North, on a small spur flanked by higher, laurel-choked shoulders, nestled against the steep headwall of a cove at the narrow tip-top of its longest hollow, or "holler," a ridgepocket really, one of countless hidey holes or wet dark cool hidden green notches in an seemingly exposed landscape where tall knobs promise full visibility but whose folded terrain and dense canopy and namesake shrouds of misty low clouds cloak a thousand secret places.

Here are several photos that illustrate my description, all just recently taken within a hawk's minute-long flight from the sky above our own ridge line, borrowed from Facebook (see attributions):

By Keith Miller, Blue Ridge Parkway September 2011

Nearby in the Smokies...

119: Adding a firebox!

2011-09-03T02:42:00.011+08:00

Cooking with gas, low and slow, in a large, indirectly heated smoker, can accomplish much. I've achieved a smoke ring too -- the small stacks and the heavy burner guard that makes the heat indirect while catching grease and burning it off fill the chamber with smoke. But I'd like to use wood and charcoal. Soon, I'll add this firebox, and then I can temporarily cap the near chimney, draw smoke across the cooking chamber, and try for some competition-quality BBQ!

October Update:

My auto mechanic, Tommy of Tommy's Auto Repair, is a genius -- he's a go-to guy for Subaru issues, and he's also an expert on Toyota, especially 4x4 trucks. For work on any kind of car, he's efficient, honest as the day is long, and not overpriced. We've been going to him for years.

Turns out he's also a BBQ fan and built his own cooker. And, he does fabrications and specialty work on ATV and other off-road vehicles used for racing. Aware of what I was doing because he's one of my sources for advice, he offered to do my welding here, and he did a great job. His son and protege in the shop, Chad, did much of it.

Instead of fabricating a box, I bought one at Lowes. Not happy with the "Char-Broil" brand name, I asked Tommy and Chad to create a name plate and weld it over the logo. I decided to call it "Big Jack," after my big father-in-law (Jack), who had the main cooker built for me, by an old, low-country SC farmer named, Hub," in the first place.

Last night, in the rain (had to move it under cover), I threw a chimney full of blazing hickory lumps and some hickory chunks into the firebox. I put on the only meat I had thawed -- some skinless chicken thighs. It maintained 150 for 90 minutes, and the smoke whistled out of the chimneys but also seeped from tiny places all around the cooking chamber, effectively flooding the grill area and strongly flavoring the chicken. While I had to finish it off for 10 minutes in a cast iron skillet, I think two chimneys would easily reach and maintain 225-250. For higher temperature cooks, I can always crank up the gas to supplement. We're cooking!

Tommy and Chad, genius runs in the family

Next cook -- October 15 -- steaks and ribs, over hickory, with a little temperature maintenance help from a propane tank:

Flashing keeps my open venturi from blowing out on a gusty day.

I drilled and slid an oak log over the 3/4" pipe that cotter pins onto the side to serve as a handle that prevents me from leaning over the cooker during a flare-up or when igniting gas.

I built a table/cutting board out of oak. It just slides into the open ends of the steel framework of the trailer, and it pulls out to travel in my truck.

The night before, we cold-smoked (150d) these steaks (generously supplied by Nathan Willard) on hickory and then seared them for 3 minutes on each side on the gas grill. Yum!

Looking through the grill into the firebox, through its flue... This is what the meat sees!

Done!

Smoke ring! and these were smmmmoooookkkky!

I tacked a knife magnet onto the cutting board shelf.

Better picture of the new handle...

Soaking some hickory...

Flue!

Named the cooker after my FIL, "Big Jack." He like to BBQ, and he had the cooker made for me by an old farmer named, "Hub." I guess it's a HUB smoker.

Big Jack, smoking away.

Out-of-focus shot of my new firebox, with soaked chinks of hickory sitting on Kingsford Competition Charcoal.

Looking over the venturi and down the 48"-long burner.

Looking down 15" to the 1/4" thick steel heat baffle over the burner. I cooked a 140lb pig for 17 hours at 225d using this, and it worked like a dream!

Ribs! About to start cooking. See the smoke exiting the flu? That parking lot smelled GREAT!

118: Timbersports!

2011-08-24T22:40:00.000+08:00

This article about Timbersports is inspiring. Bet I could learn to compete!

117: Some more pictures from Burning Pig, 2011!

2011-08-24T00:00:00.001+08:00

116: Burning Pig Festival

2011-08-22T23:59:00.006+08:00

Saturday, August 20, after some test runs, we hosted the first annual Burning Pig Festival at Coldholler. It was epic. Over 115 folk came, including a small army of kids under 8-years-old. Between the log cabin and the treehouse, and the rockclimbing wall, and the campfire, the kids were all occupied.

My oldest friend, Taylor Watts, left his horse farm and carriage tour company in and near Savannah, GA to help me do the cook. We were supposed to start around 2am or a bit later, after sleeping from 9pm. Pig Pickins don't always work out exactly as planned though -- his transmission died in Hendersonville, about 90 minutes away. So instead of resting, I drove to get him, and his 7 year old son, Connor. We got back around 11pm, only to learn that our pig weighed more than anticipated -- 140 pounds! We backed up our time and put him on at midnight. No rest for the wicked!

The cook was uneventful. I had a small flare-up about 4:30am and put it out with water. Kept the cooker between 225d and 240d until 2:30pm. As we sauced the pulled meat, we had a second, major flareup that burned underneath the pig, on the skin. It was serious, and hard to extinguish. We figured out how though -- using welding gloves, we lifted the grate and pig off the grill and set it on a wooden table, snuffing the flame. Now I know to have a wet towel to spread on the table, and an extra set of hands -- works perfectly and immediately.

The meat was absolutely sublime. The shoulders and butts pulled into soft, juicy chunks and strands. The cheeks were like cotton candy. Taylor's family recipe for vinegar and mustard-based sauce is the best anywhere and brought our Lowcountry South Carolina heaven up here to us in the mountains.

The pictures tell most of the rest of the story. Enjoy!

Daryll Talley, proud poppa (he and his wife Tamarra raised our pig!) checking to see if we did it justice!

Marshmallow madness. Angus: "another moshmow, mommy!"

Mo moshmows!

Want some tongue?

Perfection!

"Here's to us!" "who's like us?" "Damn few!" "and they're dead!"

We totally got a smoke ring. It was yummy. Got some pictures before we sauced it up...

Perfect meat. The butts were almost 200 degrees, soft, and juicy.

Yum!

Taylor Watts, of Savannah, GA. If you're ever there, take a tour with his Plantation Carriage Company and get a great BBQ recommendation from the driver.

Taylor's sauce beats all challengers, in my humble opinion. I do have a weak spot for mustard and vinegar...

Angus wants some too!

Flare up!

Nice ears!

Our staff (Abel and Connor) already in their uniform shirts...

MORE PICTURES HERE

115: A Tale of two saws, part 4!

2011-08-18T01:37:00.008+08:00

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon and evening at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, smoking chicken for NPS trail crews at the end of their summer. There I reconnected with Josh Burt, who brought a plywood box full of huge, sharp, two-man crosscut saws, some dating to the 30's and 40's and bearing stamps showing they were part of the New Deal labor effort. After watching Josh destroy a competitor twice his size in a race (see the video), I chose to let go my 2-year-old Angus's hand and challenge him myself. Here's the first contest, complete with an unexpected twist of fate and the resulting drama:

Josh not only knows saws, but he's fit from using them in the field all summer. He beat me handily even though I was fresher, but I was very close and pretty happy with my first-time performance and would say I'd get considerably faster with practice, except my aging knees and back threatened revolt last night and this morning. Still, I love short, anaerobic efforts and had a great time. Here are some pictures of my attempt!:

On the mark!

Go!

Angus watches Daddy under duress...

Josh is working like a machine!

I'm starting to burn.

Almost through, sinking to one knee...

Josh finishes now, and I'm spent. Angus said, "Daddy, you're not supposed to do that!" Don't know whether he meant lose, or tackle something so physically intense in the first place. I said, "Angus, you're probably right!" and limped away...

114: An heirloom hog!!!

2011-08-15T23:57:00.001+08:00

We're VERY excited about the pig that'll grace our smoker on Saturday. Look for pictures soon. I'll be smelling this for 12 hours from my hammock in the log cabin.

Tammara Talley of Trillium Farms writes:

Hi Michael,

I wanted to tell you a little about the pig that you will be cooking this weekend. It is a very rare cross between two great pig breeds. This pig is a Mulefoot/Berkshire cross. The Mulefoot is a very rare breed of heritage hog which is listed on the American Livestock Breed Conservancy as critically endangered. They are most likely descendant from Spanish hogs brought to America in the 1500's. In the early 1900's they were prized for their hams but unfortunately lost favor to more efficient, faster growing hog breeds. There are currently only around 600 in the United States. There are a handful of dedicated breeders that are working hard to save this breed. If they do not have a job - great, tasty pork - they will probably disappear from the gene pool in the next 100 years. We cross our Mulefoots with Berkshire for great marbling. Berkshire is in high demand by chefs because the meat is juicy, tender and flavorful. It is called Kurobuto pork by the Japanese and is akin to Kobe beef in Japan. They are originally from England and claim to be Britain's oldest breed of hog. Our pigs are pasture raised and have access to grass, roots, mountain water and occasional dropped fruit from their shade trees. They are hormone and antibiotic free. We are excited that you are putting this hog on your cooker and are anxious to know how it turns out.

Thanks so much,
Tammara

For fun, I posted an inquiry on The Smoke Ring bulletin board and got steered to a Canadian farm raising Mulefoots: here!

It's pretty cool that Trillium Farms right here in Jackson County is raising these pigs. Maybe we'll do a suckling Mulefoot for Thanksgiving!

113: Sign!

2011-08-15T22:56:00.005+08:00

I think I'll hang this from a couple of trees over the trail, as you enter Coldholler and approach the cabin. I made it from Rhododendron and laurel. This was the second of many "tailgate projects." Smoking meat, I find that I require (a) good friends and cold beer to pass the time, (b) a good book, or (c) something meaningful to do with my hands. In the absence of company, option C is fun -- I made the sign while cooking butts at TBC...

112: Learning to cook, gearing up to pick a pig

2011-08-15T22:53:00.003+08:00

Next week at the Coldholler log cabin, we'll slow-cook a 120 pound Mule Foot pig from Trillium Farms Natural Pork. More on that "heirloom" breed in Chapter 114, but here are some pictures taken over the last month, while I've been earning how to use my new cooker, made for me by an old South Carolina farmer...

These pictures start with the most recent, and you can scroll down to see the first cooks.

BBQ trial run at Tuckaseegee Brewing Cooperative

Succulent, roast pork. It'd be indistinguishable from great chopped BBQ if we hacked it up, but that's just not acceptable. It should have been pullable... Now I know to cook the pig longer than 8 hours. Maybe 10 or 12?

Man, this was good. Dad (Mike) and Nathan Willard help cut up (and eat) our first BBQ.

After 6 hours at 250 degrees, these Boston Butts were still only 180 degrees at the core. Delicious for sure, but I'm guessing they needed another 80 minutes to render the fat, melt the gristle, and become pullable.

Almost ready to turn these into BBQ. The sauce is a homemade old family recipe belonging to Taylor Watts, and it's lowcountry SC all the way. We cooked off some of the apple cider vinegar and melted the sugars into the mustard by setting the dutch oven in the cooker for three hours...

I strongly recommend a wireless thermometer that keeps tabs on both the meat and the cooker. The hood-mounted thermometer runs about 50 degrees cooler, so relying on that would overcook the meat.

I geeked out, carrying the thermometer receiver around in my pocket all day...

9AM, and the butts are on. Will they be ready by 3pm? That's mustard holding the rub on -- it'll cook off...

Cooking ribs and chicken at Lake Lure

Taylor Watts saucing up 35 pounds of ribs and chicken!

Whoa Nellie -- that's a lot of meat. We were feeding eight adults and an army of younguns.

Corn does nicely as well!

Camping with friends at Jackrabbit on Lake Chatuge

Taking off the ribs, right before I sliced my finger to the bone with that knife. The dry rub Vous ribs were awesome!

Instead of our usual SC mustard and vinegar sauce, I tried a Memphis-style dry rub, from a guy's labor-of-love website, here. He reverse-engineered the Vous rub, that even I've heard of...

All packed up to go camp.

Other cooks...

Brother David Despeaux, "supervising."

Ribs and chicken, anybody?

Before I got my good thermometer...

Beef ribs took 6 hours, and I cooked them too hot.

Smokin!

Getting ready to cook for the very first time!

111: Burning Pig Festival t-shirt!

2011-08-03T01:03:00.001+08:00

I'll be sporting this later in the month. Look for pictures!

110: Featured in "A Pocket Guide to Sheds" by Gordon Thorburn

2011-07-19T22:11:00.005+08:00

Last November, I was contacted by a British author, Gordon Thorburn, about his interest in featuring our Coldholler Log Cabin at its then-current state of construction in his beautiful coffee table book, "A Pocket Guide to Sheds." After some correspondence and my blessing, he extracted points of interest and some pictures from this blog and wrote about it in his book. I love the slightly different, very expressive, English terminology and perspective in his prose. He's a great writer, and I'm flattered. The book won't be available on Amazon here in the US until later this summer, but you can bet I'll pick up a copy (or two)!

We'll all soon be able to purchase the book here, or you can go to Amazon in the UK now, if the shipping isn't too much...

Here are the excerpts (click on each to enlarge and read), just as a taste...

109: Trail enhancement

2011-06-14T03:42:00.000+08:00

This weekend, the boys and I laid some locust posts on the ground, dug around them a bit, and threw down some mulch over the mud. It's nicer than climbing a bank to access the trail to the cabin...

There's definitely a right way, maybe more than one, to build steps. And there are many wrong ways, one of which I chose -- the steps should rest on a flat surface, and they should be tied down with stakes or pins. But I just wanted an easy way up the bank, and rustic is OK.

108: Tour!

2011-06-08T21:46:00.000+08:00

107: Burning Pig Festival at Coldholler

2011-06-07T11:41:00.002+08:00

sqWHEEal! The "WHEE" is for Cullowhee, of course. Coming in August, prepping now. Burning Pig will be held in the Coldholler. Somebody will sleep at the cabin, I'm sure...

We'll be cooking a 120 pound oinker from Trillium Farms, right down the road in Whittier.

106: cleanup!

2011-06-02T05:19:00.000+08:00

Today, I moved the woodpile from the cabin to the truck, and Abel and I picked up a ton of free sawdust at Ralph's. It'll compost into nice trail dirt all around the cabin. It was impressive seeing Abel pick up the large shovel and fill all of our containers. I should have taken video -- he was proud. Here are some pictures:

105: Screens and a door latch!

2011-06-01T05:03:00.002+08:00

I tacked in some screen in the four windows -- two obvious big ones and two triangular vents up high... And, I fashioned a sliding peg-latch that can be opened from inside or outside. It's not complete; I'll carve some pretty knobs and smooth everything some more. Here:

Screens!

Big screen!

I'll carve a knob for this...

and another knob for the inside handle...

I wanted a latch that little boys could handle, and one that wouldn't work from just one side of the door (the bad implications are obvious). The handle travels through and works from either side. This was difficult using hand tools, so I bent my own rules, but just a bit.

I'll replace the jamb receiver with a hand carved something or other... Look for updates. No rush.

Can't see the screen from inside. I was going for that!

104: Poll!

2011-05-23T22:40:00.001+08:00

Although analytics show that we're closing in on 12,000 page hits soon, with a large recent increase, I'm unsure what I'm going to do about this blog when the cabin is finished. I've enjoyed using it as a platform for other ruminations and topics, evident in these posts (there are more, these are samples):
about NOC
about Scotch-Irish (see comments)
about naming stuff
about Edward Abbey
about Eustace Conway
about boats
about logging roads
about Fall color
about existentialism
about loss, and blessings
about hiking with the family
about being a dad
about my Dad's AT hike
about Trillium and more Trillium
about water
about bad luck

So, obviously, I enjoy digressing from cabin-building. However, the cabin, its construction, and its use has and will continue to serve as a thread to provide continuity and direction for this blog.

103: Checking out the new floor!

2011-05-23T20:18:00.000+08:00

Added a wood bolt to secure the door and drilled the jamb to receive it

Got a hammer?

Yup. Gotta hammer!

102: Progress report and remaining steps

2011-05-20T21:37:00.002+08:00

Late last night, again using a headlamp, I almost finished the outside staining. I ran out of stain with just a small amount of exterior ceiling left, on the back side. Hopefully, I can buy just a quart to finish the job.

Early this morning, I finished the floor.

I decided what to do about the too-shiny interior walls. I'll simply brush over them with steel wool and then add a coat of satin poly over the gloss. I understand that some cabinet makers do exactly that -- they'll use undercoats of clear gloss to avoid over-darkening the wood, and then finish with satin. I think it'll work well.

This is too shiny. It's nice during the day, but any kind of flashlight reflects blindingly... Fortunately, there's an easy solution!

Next, I'll frame screens for the four windows (two large lower ones and two small loft openings). I'll use an old brace drill that belonged to my grandad to create a T-dowel door latch. I'll build two benches that can be pushed together to create a full-size bed, using a leaf board that'll run the length and sit between them.

Look for pictures soon!

101: Thoughts on Polyurethane

2011-05-20T01:21:00.002+08:00

I was a bit unhappy the other night, at midnight, the next evening after I took the pictures in chapter 100. I had worked late into the night on the inside walls. A fresh coat of high-gloss polyurethane looks wet, and cold -- under the glare of a white, LED headlamp, all the warmth seemed to have deserted the interior -- the walls looked shiny and reflected light into my eyes. What had I done! Although I still regret not using a flat, clear stain on the interior walls, the poly did soak in and dull as it dried, and I like it well enough, now. My original intent had been to brighten up the space, and I guess it does that. I may well stick to the single coat on the walls though, or even apply a semi-gloss over it.

The floor now has two coats of semi-gloss, high traffic floor poly. I'll try to apply a third coat, although this would probably do. You be the judge! Here are some pictures:

100: Staining at night by headlamp

2011-05-17T12:07:00.001+08:00

Whenever I'm in a particularly onerous or arduous phase of this project, I seem to go into hyperdrive to get it over with. Plus, I can smell the barn. So this evening, after putting the boys to bed, I loaded up and headed to the cabin sporting a headlamp. I actually like staining fresh, dry wood, but I despise doing it overhead, up on a ladder. The paint suit I wear will never be the same, and I'll smell like oil-based stain for days. But, the circumstances give me an excuse for runs and lots of splashes on the chinking. It's an imperfect structure anyhow, to say the least. Here are some pictures taken with flash:

Natural semi-transparent Cabot stain looks sort of golden under a flash, or in a sun beam...

On the left, see the unstained back wall. Unfortunately, it's the high-up wall...

The right side wall was easiest -- no windows!

99: Photos of dinner guests, inspecting the cabin...

2011-05-16T10:56:00.003+08:00

I finished staining the front today. Here's the big question -- should I take the stain inside as well, or go with a clear polyurethane in there? If I go clear, then we'll keep the nice striped contrast between the logs and wood strips. If I stain it, then everything will match. If I use clear poly inside, everything will be lighter and feel bigger. If I stain it, it'll be very warm. What to do?

Here, our friends the Buddens and Risto Atanasov came to dinner last evening. Risto is an extraordinary chef -- he brought a large crock pot full of spicy, homemade tomato-basil soup and a massive amount of sublimely-wonderful moussaka, prepared the way his mother cooks it back home in Macedonia. Mark Budden brought a huge plate of sushi rolls hat he spent most of the morning preparing. We ate well.

Here they are, inspecting the cabin...

Look up!

Aspen peers out the screen vent window...

Emma peers out the window I'm about to screen.

Abel and Aspen and Emma and Mark

Aspen and Emma check out the loft.

Angus brought a crust of bread from dinner...

I handed Risto the big hammer, and Abel joined him for a picture. Look carefully at the background to see Mark peering out the door.

98: More Trillium

2011-05-15T23:34:00.002+08:00

The boys are learning to spot Trillium. So far, the only thing I've pointed out to the boys has been poison ivy. But, following last weekend's "Trillium walk," they're zealous about finding more of it and showing us. Early this morning, around 8:00am, we hiked one of the trails on our property.

Angus: "Me Tillum! Look Daddy!"

Abel, authoritatively: "You've got a good eye, Baby."

Angus: "Me find Tillum!"

It was a large Wake Robin specimen, on the trail that leads to their treehouse and rock climbing wall. One thinks of small boys as being destructive, in a careless if not intentional way. Not my boys. Those sticks were used as careful pointers. Abel, copied by Angus, would use his stick to gently lift leaves to discover the fragile blossoms, hanging beneath their shelter.

97: Second floor!

2011-05-14T03:13:00.002+08:00

Ralph sold me enough rough-sawn 1x12 to build a second floor, so I nailed it down perpendicular to the existing one, after first laying felt paper to eliminate drafts and serve as a vapor barrier. Then, I tried a first coat of semi-transparent, oil-based stain on the exterior.

Notice the difference between the right side and the left side on this first picture:

I'll stain the rest of it, and stain the floor next!

Very soon, I'll build screen windows and finish caulking and staining the cabin. Add a wooden loft ladder, battery lanterns, a door latch, a storage box/seat/bed, and some simple landscaping, and it'll be ready to go!

I'm thinking about camping with the boys in the cabin before the summer gets hot (of course, we only get about 4 or 5 weeks of over-80 degree weather up at our shady holler elevation).

96: Pain in the neck!

2011-05-12T04:14:00.006+08:00

On February 24th, I landed a perfect boof off the launching pad in Soc Em Dog, a rapid on the Chattooga. But I landed on my upstream edge (the Burn is an edgy boat), resulting in an almost inevitable flip but a roll I expected to control effortlessly. Except. If you watch carefully, you'll actually see my roll interrupted by the tucked side of my head smacking a rock -- the stern visually rises out of the water while I'm upside down:

Nailing your head on a rock can result in trauma. Almost a month later, when I still could not rotate my head, I had to don this neck brace for several weeks.

Low down in Chapter 16, I mention the cabin serves as a distraction from whitewater, that it may help prevent injury. Maybe it has, if this happened during a one of the few paddling trips I take nowadays...

For those of you following the blog, I was deep into chinking during the weeks I was incapacitated and then in the brace. I almost fell off the ladder only once!

95: Water, everywhere

2011-05-10T12:12:00.011+08:00

Our cove in the holler is wet. Water springs forth everywhere. Right above and next to the house, the very headwaters of Little Savannah Creek bubble up in a concave place and descend at several gallons per minute even during a drought just ten feet beneath my deck. With many lower tributaries, that creek feeds a whole farm valley before it joins East Fork and main Savannah Creek and then the Tuckaseegee River. I've seen it 3 feet deep next to the house, during a hurricane. Kill ya.

In 2005, I situated the end of a 1-inch black plastic spring tube near the spring, above the house. I buried the length and threaded it onto a 10-foot length of galvanized pipe. For several years, it shot straight up several feet and landed in a small pond before draining back into its natural bed. When Abel was a baby, I left him tied into a bouncy seat in my earshot and rigged all this up in the dark using a headlamp, while Sloan taught a night class in Asheville during the fall of 2005.

Every few days it slows, and I decouple a hose to release an unlucky crawdad. More recently, I attached a hose and send the water all the way around the house and tied it up to a post, from where it splashes into steel buckets in our garden and makes steady wet noise beneath our bedroom window. Pee before you go to sleep -- the sound is suggestive. It's useful for watering and for washing the crap off of chicken eggs, but mostly we like the pleasantly relentless ambience of falling water.

The other creek is larger, running over a 2-foot falls created by a tree root and passing under our road through a culvert just as you turn up to the house. When it rains hard, this creek sounds like a river for days. The boys like to play in the small wetland it feeds next to the lower driveway.

Their confluence is on our property, down low below the house, and I've never scrambled down there. It's down a steep, rhododendron and laurel-choked ravine below the house. If I plumbed both creeks and fed them together into a Y valve at the bottom, I'm sure I'd have enough head to drive a micro-hydro station. It's tempting. Doubt I'd generate enough to sell back to Duke's grid, though, and it'd be an expensive set-up.

We have other seeps. One runs alongside our road during all but the driest months. In 2004, I widened the driveway and buried french drains 6-feet down under number 57 rock -- same-size washed stone devoid of fine sediment that drains very well. The main artery drops 2 or 3 gallons each minute into the creek where it daylights. This used to surface in the driveway.

Over at our nearby other property, where the cabin sits, we have no water because it's on a ridge. But I ran another black spring line up a steep acre of our property and surreptitiously across several feet of unbuildable private property to the downhill fill side of a gravel road up above. There, I attached it to a cobbled-together funnel C-clamped to the downhill end of an 18-inch culvert through which water always runs. This water crosses about 8 feet of my absentee neighbor's property and then goes underground, and through my property. This water splashes from the end of its transport device into a 20-gallon metal washbasin, or into a 55-gallon drum when I want to top it off. Its nice to have water there -- I used it to mix concrete to chink the cabin, to wash tools, and for safety when we light the fire pit.

Windows open, water flows; inside the house the outside splashes against our walls. The noise is constant, a companion, a backdrop to all conversations, music, thoughts, and sleep. It's pretty up here, and because of our water, you can close your eyes and still see the beauty.

94: Mother's Day Hammer Session

2011-05-08T22:40:00.003+08:00

This Mother's Day morning, after the boys made a perfect cappuccino for Sloan, and after the presentation of their splendid water-painting card and painted plaster flowers, I gave mommy a real gift -- I took both boys to the cabin to hammer in the heads of the sharp, slightly protruding finish nails along the lengths of trim that yesterday I tacked over the ugly spray foam that insulates the back side of the exterior chinking. She stayed on the couch and read a book.

Unhappy with the look of Great Stuff spray foam, but pleased with its ability to seal any small holes and gaps in the concrete chinking while insulating gaps, I've been perplexed about what to do. Finally, I settled on wood. Ralph Morgan sold me some .5 inch thick 1x4 planks. Some, I ripped with a table saw. A finish carpenter I'm not, but it lends a bright, pleasing, smooth look to the the interior, and it covers up all the foam. After treating it with Penetreat, I'll coat it with a golden "Natural" semi-transparent, oil-based stain, along with the logs and the second floor.

93: Moving onward! Wood chinking for the inside!

2011-05-07T07:38:00.001+08:00

Today, I went to Ralph's sawmill and picked up a bunch of thin pine slats. Tomorrow, I'm going to start nailing them over the gaps full of foam insulation on the inside. It'll look nice when done. Also, I'll finish framing windows, and I might get up some screen. Next week, I'll pick up some pretty pine floor boards for the second floor. Look for pictures tomorrow evening!

92: Trillium trail, below the cabin

2011-05-05T09:16:00.008+08:00

The cabin sits on a spur ridge, down a foot trail from our cleared picnic plateau with a 100-degree wintertime view of the surrounding flanks of Savannah Ridge, the overhead heights of Wolf, Beck, and Panther Knobs, and the distant Plott Balsams. Just a hundred or so feet higher up the headwall ridge behind us, as you climb onto the upper reaches of our cold holler, you can see Clingman's Dome and Newfound Gap, in the Smokies. I built four intersecting foot trails -- one down the ridge to and below the cabin, two flanking it on the contour of the ridge, and one diagonal shortcut.

The deepest darkest trail, the one that comes up a deeply-wooded, protected hollow in the holler, is chock full of Trillium. A type of Lilly, it grows about a foot high. Its three wide leaves protect a pretty, single flower. Most of ours are white and stand up straight in the middle. But a good many are purple and delicately hang, protected, beneath the leaves on the underside. Sloan hears these are called "Wake Robins." There's a Wake Robin Road on the other side of our side-ridge. Obviously, our North-facing slopes and those nearby make a good home for these particular native wildflowers.

This evening, we all took a walk and examined more than a few Flame Azaleas and Wake Robin Trillium while enjoying a 45 degree temperature in late May (notice the jackets).

91: Questions

2011-05-02T23:34:00.002+08:00

I've received almost no comments lately. I'd love to hear some questions or get some advice from readers. Here -- should I put the second floor down diagonally? I think so but haven't decided.

How should I furnish the cabin? The plastic adirondack chairs need to go. Any other ideas?

Expect posts soon on exciting subjects, like stain.

And I'll post pictures again very soon!

90: Trucks and tools

2011-05-02T20:21:00.001+08:00

Building a cabin on a remote site on property we own that's not close to a house or workshop has been challenging. There's no electricity, but my mission to use hand tools mitigates that disadvantage. Constantly transporting tools, hardware, bags of mortar mix, rough-sawn lumber, and logs has been a big, "hidden" component of the project. A time and energy suck. During certain phases, especially after we raised the roof, I'd leave certain tools and materials on-site. Never good steel. A four-wheel-drive truck made this possible, although I still had to drag or carry stuff down a steep trail to the actual site. Now, there's nothing there -- everything goes back and forth in the truck. Here in the picture, in January, Abel wishfully thinks that's how he'll ride home.

89: Milestone -- Chinking complete!!!

2011-05-01T23:46:00.001+08:00

Finished the exterior chinking this morning! Hopefully, I'll finish boxing in the triangular windows today. Then, I'll caulk the checks, scrub chinking residue off of the log walls with a wire brush, stain the whole thing inside and out, screen in the main windows, throw down a second floor, build a wooden ladder, create a door latch system, rip slivers of wood to cover the inside chinking, and landscape. Guess I'll be tinkering all summer...

88: My Dad's hike

2011-04-27T02:56:00.020+08:00

Here's my dad, and his two boys (my brother David and I) at the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine in 2001. That's the cold, isolated, Northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, which begins not too far from our home on the shadier top of Springer Mountain, Georgia. At 5267 feet above sea level, the summit is lower than most of the 6000 foot ridges surrounding our valley and holler here in North Carolina. We can see the second-highest point West of the Mississipi, Clingman's Dome, a 6,600 peak, from a three-minute walk above the house. But Katahdin's high latitude places its upper reaches way above the timber line. It feels like Colorado up there on the scree-littered plateau. Despite plenty of oxygen, the wind-swept, wide summit with its knife-edged ridge and steep, white-blaze-on-rock approach evokes a "Rocky Mountain High" even though it's "Down East," in Maine.

Dad completed the Appalachian Trail that day, after two decades of hiking it, section-by-section. It was a huge personal achievement, and a special moment for all of us. The previous summer, instead of summiting with him then as planned, we had almost lost Dad when a previously undiagnosed condition resulted in immediate open heart surgery. Enough to send waves of shock and emotion through a family under more ordinary circumstances, it had been even more of a surprise, not least of all to him, given his lifelong, competitive, and almost pathological passion for daily, intense exercise. "I run," he'd simply say when asked about his health. Despite years of road and then track racing (bicycle) and other outdoor activity, I've now long known things about my own health that parallel my Dad's, stuff I've had to address since I want a long life of climbing my own Katahdins, with grown boys at my side to celebrate.

Here, the boys visit a newly-roofed cabin with Dad and Mom, last fall (2010).

87: Building a cabin, and bringing up boys

2011-04-26T10:24:00.023+08:00

We're getting close to being done, but finishing a cabin isn't really the goal.

In Chapter 16, a year ago today on April 25, I wrote about my motivation to build a cabin. I described lots of reasons, but the important paragraph was about boys. I became a father to Abel and Angus later-than-average; at age 42, past the vigor of my own youth, having a sensitive and eager-to-please 6yo and a plucky, larger-than-his-britches 2.5yo brings unexpected freshness and brightness to every day. They are our life, and feeding the joy of any child is a fleeting but consummately worthy way to mark time. If I could bottle and sell it, I’d be rich. Building a cabin has been just one way to spend time with our boys and nurture their childhood. Blogging about it here has been an attempt to “bottle” that time. The pictures and short stories depict a wealth of blessings.

Here are just a couple of my favorite posts, because they deal with deeper stuff than carpentry – but many others show pictures that may speak for themselves and are worth more than my words…

Chapter 28
Chapter 36

More recently, I wrote briefly about perspective, about a book I'm reading that steers me toward this subject. I'm not good at writing about my faith, but it's there, and so is my determination, with God's help, to be the father they deserve. I have excellent role models, beginning with my Dad and Grandad, and including a number of friends I'm lucky to know. After thrusting them into the world, we owe our children everything. If anyone is keeping score, it's the boys who matter.

Here's a thoughtful article written by a friend of mine, Bill, about his daughters. He's a terrific dad. He closes with, "And how do I help my other daughter, who is so much like me? Because one day she might open her eyes to the world and discover she’s forty-five." Yes. I relate to and admire Bill's sentimentality and concern. His little girl, she'll be fine. Belated enlightenment of any type is nothing to fear, in a life lived in good faith. She already knows her father's love, even as we all stumble along, sometimes in the dark.

Here's another one of Bill's reflections. Obviously, Bill's a fine writer. But what I especially appreciate about Bill is his way of letting the world slow down a little, during moments that matter. His girls will remember that when they're old.

Building the cabin, spending time, creating memories, and writing about it -- that's how I'm stumbling through life at the moment, within the parameters of this project and blog.

86: Stones and old tools, and ladders

2011-04-25T21:49:00.004+08:00

I built two windows this weekend, and I'll post pictures soon. I chose Lexan, because it's stronger than plexiglass but stays clear, like glass. Here are some random pictures from the weekend...

I spent some time moving from a 60 grit water stone to a 4000, trying to get this plane iron sharp enough to shave...

My Granddad was a civil engineer of some prominence in upstate SC. He had a reputation for being totally committed to only the highest quality work, and most of all for his integrity. I only have a few of his tools, including a plumb bob, which he must have used to inspect work sites (he was the principal engineer for lots of our paper and textile mills, including Champion in Canton). This weekend, up on a ladder in the cabin, I discovered his initials (JHB for "John Henry Bringhurst")

stamped into its stem.

It'll be a while before I build a wooden ship ladder, so the boys will have to make do with this stepladder...

85: Chinking, soccer, hiking, windows

2011-04-20T23:44:00.001+08:00

Night before last, using a headlamp, I almost finished chinking the last wall. It's much more complete (less ventilated) now. This weekend, between Easter services, Abel's second soccer match (he's so excited!), a family hike, and some other things, we'll add railings and I'll rip some trim to frame the upstairs windows.

84: Almost finished play loft!

2011-04-17T03:26:00.001+08:00

All I need to do is put in lexan on the ends and a railing across the middle, and build a wooden ladder...

83: Cutting a board

2011-04-14T09:00:00.005+08:00

Here I am, cutting a decking board for Abel's and Angus's sleeping loft, with Mark Budden's sharp Stanley ripping saw...it's not a 19th Century tool, but it operates on the same principles. Sharp, quality steel I appreciate.

The loft will be a close quarters experience, perhaps and hopefully less so for small-to-medium size boys. For now, you can glimpse the end of Ralph Morgan's rough-sawn locally-milled lumber under the gabled eave. Later, I'm going to attach a row of log rounds across the board, laterally -- it'll look cool, like a cordwood-style row of log under the glass above.

82: Where we live

2011-04-13T00:28:00.004+08:00

I came across a picture of me with Sloan and Abel and Angus, taken just before Christmas, a few miles away, near the top of Waterrock Knob on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We can see the shoulder of Waterrock from the cabin in the winter. When I was racing and training lots, I used to climb on my bicycle the several-thousand foot ascent from our nearest town of Sylva. I might have to relive that experience, and soon. It's special to live in such a beautiful place. My boys are lucky to enjoy such an amazing backyard.

81: Beams are up

2011-04-10T20:27:00.001+08:00

Yesterday, I installed two top plate boards on top of the windowless side of the cabin. These provide a solid, flat surface on which to rest the three beams that will span the interior and support the floor boards of our loft, The perimeter beams are single, rough-sawn 2x6s and will be supported from the rafters above at intermediary points. The center beam, covered by flooring, will have to work with no support between its ends, so I doubled it. For now, you can look up from the outside and see their ends; later, I'll rip a log in half and cover them, so it'll blend right in...

I'm using hand tools again -- this saw belonged to my grandad!

80: Raisin' it (not just the Loft)

2011-04-08T21:39:00.006+08:00

I bought a passel of locally-cut and milled boards from Ralph today, to build a sleeping loft in the cabin. Pictures and descriptions will be posted soon!

Here's the dialogue with lots of gaps between my fedora-wearing 14 year-old nephew Jackie and father-in-law "Pahpah" Jack, at my table this evening. Maybe Pahpah will teach the boys how to play Texas Hold'em, and the loft will be a great place for the boy posse to congregate over some cards:

Check.

Call.

600.

Get a white one.

I got two pair, I got queens and dueces and a king kickin.

Ahight it's on you Jackie boy.

Check.

On you again.

Check.

500.

Hah. That deuce pays off for me.

I'll be the small and you'll be the big because you'l be the dealer.

Mmm. I call. You can check or raise.

You got to raise at least 200.

Ahhhight. Burn one and flop three.

200. Call. Oh oh, I done that wrong. Call. Burn one and turn one.

Let's play for 1000 straight up."

Big time eh...

Burn one and river one.

Check. Check.

I've got you skint. I got a pair of aces. You've got a pair of jacks and you didn't make the straight. mmmm getting back some of my money.

200

Fold

You can do betternthat. You folded a winner. Cause all I had was three sixes.

Ima fold my pair of Kings I think you've got a heart.

Yep.

Give me back my money.

Yeay you've gotcher money back.

What you want to do the way a person bets it can tell you a lot about their hand.

Sorry.

I'm gone call.

Check.

Eheh. You've got a queen or ace.

Ace.

A lot of gamesmanship. When you set down at a strange table you pay cautious till you learn how people bet.

Oh. You had me beat. I had a pair of deuces...

100 on me. I call that hundred.

Check.

Ahight. 200.

Call.

Ahight.

200.

I'm gonna fold...

I was going by the seat of my pants there... needed a seat belt.

Your time to dance. On you again.

Check.

On you one last time.

I see a check.

500.

That dudn't work.

I was hoping I could bluff you out there.

I had a pocket pair.

and so on.......................

79: Canyons and cabins

2011-04-08T03:19:00.017+08:00

I picked up a book, Out of the Canyon, and it's a tough read, for a father of two boys. Here's an amazing blog about it, and here's the cover:

I've often driven the stretch of road the authors, Art and Allison Daily, describe in the first chapter, back in 95' when, as newlyweds, Sloan and I spent a summer with my brother and sister-in-law where they lived in Vail, just a few miles East on I-70 from where Art Daily's accident had just happened that very February; thankfully, I've not driven the metaphorical road that the book chronicles. But make no mistake -- we are all on that same journey. It makes me grateful for every blessing, in this life and the next. Especially my family, my wife, Sloan, and my two small boys, all of them so overflowing with joy and life and promise.

Personalizing Art Daily's tragedy isn't enough, though. It's true that being a loving father of two wonderful little boys makes it easy to visualize while reading (in a brave, first-person voice) about, with dread and sadness, his loss. It's true that this vicarious experience stimulates real emotion, and a sincere empathy. It's untrue that I can really grasp his own feelings, or the depth of his sorrow. I'm just so sorry that such a thing happened, and all that I can really do is live life as he would have if given the opportunity to trade places, and love my boys.

Almost a year ago, as I was first felling trees, I wrote about the many reasons a busy professional man with lots of chores, priorities, hobbies, and other demands on his time might build a cabin with hand tools and sweat. I came up with many rationalizations, but one sentence always feels legitimate: "Now, with 2 small boys, it's easy to find the motivation to create a playground out of our mountain property. They'll love having a cabin. Wouldn't anyone?"

I hope so. I hope the cabin's a metaphor too: more than a place my boys will play, something their daddy built, a memory, a childhood. The cabin's just a structure, but these moments are precious.

78: Daubing, and more daubing...

2011-04-05T04:41:00.001+08:00

The third wall has been chinked and daubed, and I can smell the barn. This is very hard work. The last remaining wall has no windows or door -- that'll be easier in a way but overall more difficult -- more to do. I've decided that wool insulation will invite pests and dust. I'd use fiberglass bats if I were going to chink and daub the inside walls, but I have no more energy for such and also want to avoid any crumbling concrete dust on the interior. Spray foam insulation is the way I'll go. It's not cheap, but it does seem to go a long way. It's insulating and it's hypoallergenic. It'll cover the back of the lathe nicely. "Good Stuff," to be exact -- whether that's a description or not it's soon-to-say. If it looks ugly, I'll cover it with ripped strips of wood, which could be stained like the walls.

77: Daubing that chinking, and a list of remaining tasks

2011-03-25T21:11:00.004+08:00

I'll post more pictures soon, but here I'll describe some things.

First, daubing is hard work. It's exhausting. It's technically-challenging to achieve just the right mortar consistency. It's frustrating, trying to get it to stick and stay in place. Watching it flow like lava from the mesh chinking onto the log will test your patience. If you're prone to cursing at inanimate objects, this activity will inspire degenerate ravings.

I'm pretty happy with my decision, though. Instead of a homemade mix of cement, lime, clay, and sand, I chose to use a stucco-like sand mortar mix infused with inch-long fiberglass threads. When it dries, my hope is that the threads will hold it all together and there'll be less material loss when it inevitably cracks. The dried surface also looks a little hairy -- it's kind of authentic-looking, as if I'd mixed straw and other things with a home-dug clay. On the inside, I can't see using such abrasive and potentially messy substance. The mesh lathe is fairly invisible, because the mortar pushes through, creating a dimpled surface. I'm thinking I'll use a combination of spray foam insulation and treated wool bats to both insulate and hide the interior surface of the outside chinking.

I've completed two walls and the door, and I'll hopefully finish the rest over the next couple of weeks. Then, I'll take the following sequential steps to complete the cabin:

brush off the mortar residue with a wire brush
caulk all of the checks with paintable latex caulking
stain the whole cabin, inside and out, with oil-based natural-color stain
insulate the inside walls with foam and wool
cut and frame Lexan for the triangular windows created by the eaves
build screen windows for the two windows
trim the doorway with rope
lay wide pine planks across felt paper and other floor
stain floor
consider coating interior walls with high gloss polyurethane
coat floor with marine-grade high gloss polyurethane

76: First day of daubing!

2011-03-14T20:49:00.002+08:00

Here are some pictures of our first day of daubing ("the chinking" would be the metal lathe). Mark Budden came to help. It was hard work and moved slowly. Thanks Mark!

75: Chinking, underway!

2011-03-11T03:10:00.004+08:00

It's been a long winter up the holler. Gravel never broke through the snow on the drive during the month of January. It fell on Christmas Day and then fell again on January 9. We got 35 inches during the season, including December. Remarkable, since February felt tropical. The cabin roof, with its stout rafters, fortified top plates, pole-supported ridge beam, inch-thick planks, and galvanized metal sheathing held up fine under the dull weight of 14 inches of wet snow. The deep eaves ably protected the walls from moisture -- they dried and checked and settled. It's time to chink!

I decided to cut strips of galvanized diamond lathe and nail it into the gaps using 16 penny galvanized 3.5 inch nails.

Although lots of good folk provided excellent recipes for chinking, some rustic and some more mainstream, I found a sand-based mortar solution with fiberglass reinforcement and only about 10% portland cement. I had considered making my own with cement, lime, and sand with small polypropylene rope fibers to hold it together and combat cracking. This stuff is bright white, but I can dye it mud-colored to avoid a candy stripe look. This may seem to fly in the face of the spirit of the project, but I'm sold on the ease and consistency it'll bring to this phase. Remember, for us, "Postmodern" means combining the traditional and the contemporary wherever it makes sense, visually or structurally. And the expensive high tech chinking products really do violate the Thoreauvian ideal thus far realized through making stuff myself or using inexpensive local products.

Soon, maybe this weekend, I'll be able to test this concept. Look for some pictures and posts next week!

74: White Cabin Christmas

2011-01-05T03:08:00.001+08:00

It snowed Christmas Day, and the cabin was a cold and drafty place. But it was bone dry and held 12 inches of snow with no complaint. Here's to deep overhangs, stout roofs, and happy kids!

Obviously, I'm on a bit of a blog hiatus until the spring, when we chink it, add windows, and decorate!

73: Snow!

2010-12-14T06:48:00.001+08:00

72: Checks!

2010-12-01T01:01:00.001+08:00

To the uninformed, the long, twisting cracks appearing in many of the logs might be alarming. Some are deep, some run the length of the log, through the corner joint and onward to the butt end. Fortunately, my log cabin research tells me that they're not a structural issue. I'll even be able to spray more Penetreat into the upward-facing checks before caulking them all up, chinking the walls, and staining the logs.

Checks occur when wood dries unevenly, as is inevitable when there's a sunny side, or some walls are more exposed to wind. Poplar is particularly prone to checking. As long as they're under our deep eave, prevented from collecting water, it's all good.

71: Door!

2010-11-29T22:51:00.003+08:00

Over the holiday weekend, I used some leftover logs, mostly created from having cut out the windows and the door, to craft a door. Ripping them was fun. My friend, Justin, saw it and called it a "stealth door!" After staining and chinking, it'll blend in for sure.

I learned to draw the saw in one direction, taking my time, to rip the logs. Cutting shallow and then retracing the same move, from one end to the other, over and over. Moving it back and forth or haphazardly stabbing at the log results in an uneven slab.

It's as solid as it looks -- the hinges have springs, and the thing is like a rock but closes flush enough to trim nicely.

70: Dirt waves

2010-11-02T08:57:00.009+08:00

I'm intrigued with regional dialect, mountain sayings, Southernisms from anywhere I've been, and anything that feels genuine. Earlier this summer, during a lull in the construction of our cold holler log cabin, while waiting to cut some logs, I wrote about the names of places.

A dear friend of mine, Pablo, who visited our steep dark homestead and appreciates the power and allure of language, sent me a great book, thinking I might enjoy it, calling it "one of the best novels ever (some say the best) about Appalachia." Here's an excerpt that sinks in pretty deep, somehow applying to our cabin, its site, the family around it, life in the holler, or anywhere else. Of course, the metaphors apply more here than yonder. Of course, taking an after-work walk to the cabin and watching the leaves fall, the canopy opening its blinds to reveal space and ridge after ridge, sitting beneath its sheltering roof, hearing the wind whistle through the un-chinked walls -- this leads to the kind of contemplation that strays toward existential. This is my favorite passage so far:

from "River of Earth" by James Still

With his reference to the God, his concentration on man's destiny, his description of a grand landscape, all illusion, Still is optimistic in his agnosticism.

In the eyes of a dogmatic person, Edward Abbey might seem more cynical in one of my favorite essays, quoted below. Not to me. Abbey seems anything but atheist -- he's a mystic, and his words describe a sort of heaven on earth, the kind that only some kind of God might create, whether we deserve it or not:

from "Appalachian Wilderness" (Eliot Porter), specifically the essay therein, "A walk in the woods to Alum Cave," written by Edward Abbey

Some evening soon, I'll have to pour myself and a friend a Tuckasegee Brewing Company Bonas Defeat IPA, climb the new trail up to the cabin (look for a post about that), watch the sun set and listen to the owls, and talk these things over.

69: More Fall Color at the cabin

2010-10-26T20:51:00.014+08:00

Now, leaves lay ankle-deep all the way down the trail, and there's still more red and brilliant gold than bare grey branch and the deep resilient green of that little hemlock and the surrounding laurel. Soon, we'll trade a familiar forest, once lush but now in a mode that invokes fantasies of a bright Rembrandt painting; we'll trade it for less organic but clean winter shades of black, white, blue, brown, grey and green, and clear air, more sky, and long views.

This picture doesn't begin to do justice to our brilliant fall,

but here's Nate on October 13, well before peak color,

captured by a cheap cell phone camera.

Here, today, were some trees outside my windows (email me for source information):

Look up!

68: Small progress on chinking!

2010-10-25T01:14:00.004+08:00

I won't be able to fully chink the cabin until it finishes settling and drying under its deep eaves and good roof. Spring is for chinking.

In conversation, the word, "chinking," usually refers to the whole enterprise. But it used to describe only half of the process.

I'm still unsure what formula I'll use for the stuff that fills the cracks. But I am using an old-style method called chinking and daubing. Originally, chinking meant filling the void with sticks, rock, straw, horse manure, you name it. Here's an example. Then, clay would be daubed over it all, filling in the smaller voids and gluing everything together. I may use clay, more likely mortar, or possibly a synthetic mix. But for now, I'm nailing in strips of wood to fill some of the empty space. Before actually daubing it, I'll cover the floors and see if the boys would have fun pushing loose straw anywhere they can get it to stay.

Here's a picture of my progress, so far:

67: Fall in the mountains

2010-10-23T03:07:00.008+08:00

I'll add some more pictures in this post later, taken from the cabin, which perches on a ridge jutting out into a bowl created by the higher Savannah Ridge, our holler like a crevasse in its side. From the cabin, these ridges look like enveloping walls of flame.

I've never seen a more stunning fall leaf season.

Kathy's prognostication in the Tuck Reader was dead-on.

Here's a picture by Michael Hudson.

Our friend Beth snapped this picture nearby, in the same county -- this looks much like the landscape out of our cabin windows!

Here's a picture taken by local environmentalist, gardening expert, musician, and community activist Adam Bigelow:

66: "Improving" roads, and opening a holler for the greater good (or not)

2010-10-22T04:02:00.016+08:00

I bought the land where the cabin sits in 2007. We had bought our house and moved into the holler back in 2002, when Sloan found a great job here in the mountains where we wanted to be. It was maybe brave, although some would say that as a euphemism for something else. The holler was deeper and darker and more remote then. The roads were different, soon to be widened and expanded by a far-off developer. Below, they were maybe 7 or 8 feet wide, hardly accommodating for a delivery truck, and flanked by tall, thick, second-growth white pines and dense rhododendron. Bouncing over gullies and ruts where no culverts existed, the bottom of our drive turned steeply up into a half-mile of essentially wagon track, even narrower and canted away from a mature oak forest above, toward an abyss full of creek and laurel. Above the house the roads became moss-covered, full-canopy laurel tunnels that emerged at around 4000 feet of elevation and delivered a walker to a comfortably-situated ridge-top trail connecting two high-up aircraft-beacon-festooned knobs, rising like sentinels over the house, the holler, the valley, and everything else in our world.

Once, before the last phase of the road "improvements," the ones that opened those high-up routes to still sparse but previously impossible vehicular traffic, Sloan and I post-holed up through the woods toward our customary loop, climbing to the ridge and traversing before taking a twisty descent, on a 20 degree afternoon in 12 inches of powdery snow. Abel, maybe 10 months old, in a backpack, Sloan, skipping as best she could, me toting both him and a thermos of single malt Islay scotch, him, covered head forward, tucked under the back brim of my hat, warm on my neck, breathing, asleep.

Now, I often drive guests up there on wide gravel lanes under open sky. That's what they call "progress." Now, instead of suffering from the rigors of ambulatory ascension, we can avoid any exposure to damp leaves or impertinent green briar, eliminate the sensation of hard granite underfoot and keep the thin soil from roughing our boots, and eschew unconditioned mountain air, by sitting encased in plastic and steel and dusty glass, through which we may still see beyond the Plotts to Clingman's Dome. Before, we just walked.

Over the next few years, in addition to the road improvements (both real and questionable), I built stuff, learning the art of making things square and plumb and level on a ridiculously overbuilt hot tub deck, independently applying new skills on a western lodge-inspired side porch (after a rim-to-rim hike in the Grand Canyon), expanding the house for an expanding family with a bedroom addition, improving our living space with hardwood floors and a renovated garage, and reclaiming some room for myself with a two-story workshop. All those years, I'd sit in our hot tub and contemplate things, including the low ridge directly opposite from the house. I thought of another person, sitting on a deck or gazing out a window, putting wear and tear on our road, absorbing some of our peace and serenity in some kind of zero sum equation.

After buying that acreage, and not for investment, I looked for ways to benefit from its intrinsic value, ways to use it. I built three mountain bike trails on which my boys love to hike. I built a three-sided rock climbing wall with a "treehouse" perched above. I cleared a 1/4 acre on top and positioned a fire pit. Hung chairs from trees. And I built a cabin.

For my next project, I'll build a brick BBQ pit up there, and cook a pig. I'll start next summer, when the cabin's done. And blog about it...

65: Framing the windows

2010-10-21T04:25:00.005+08:00

I'm almost finished framing the windows. Here are some October 15 pictures of the outside notches, the tools I'm using, and the beautiful new plane crafted by Mark out of maple. He even made and tempered the iron!

64: New boat!

2010-10-11T10:43:00.028+08:00

I started the cabin for many reasons, one being to give my shoulder time to finish healing this summer. Now, I feel like I'm taking a break from the cabin to play with boats, instead of the reverse. Times change and perspectives shift!

About a month ago, at a canoe slalom race in which I piloted a heavy tandem whitewater canoe upstream and downstream through gates with Abel, hands militantly in his lap and away from the gunwales after I pleaded with him not to grab them, hollering "up up UP" for red gates (upstream passage only) and "down down DOWN"!" for green ones, I bought a wildwater racing kayak from a friend, Mary Ellen.

She had purchased it for flatwater paddling and exercise and quickly discovered how unfriendly the racing hulls can be -- although a wildwater boat offers much more secondary stability than an incredibly tippy flatwater sprint boat, they still aren't everyone's cup of tea.

My background is in whitewater, and the cabin has served well to distract me from a full return to steep creek boating, but my track racing background, love for speed, proclivity for competition, fondness for sleek light gear, and knack for niche sports drew her to me.

Flimsy by any standards, long and thin-walled, narrow in the beam except for the winged stern with its pointy tips on each side designed only to achieve the Olympic committee's proscribed minimum width, tippy beyond reasonableness, fast, hawk-like, this boat would be mine to paddle, race, or just look at. It looks like a long-nosed wasp, with a fat stinger of a thorax-shaped stern. The bow resemble some type of missile, its long skinny round bottom and pointed deck like an arrow, built to travel fast in a straight line on the long axis -- no turning in mid-stream -- destination-fixed.

The hull is thin, its walls crafted from epoxy-impregnated kevlar. Light. I need to hang it outside, in partial shade and protected from rain and all-day direct sunlight but still vulnerable to some UV. The boat was naked when I bought it and tested it. Built to racing spec, she had clear coating but no frivolous extra weight in cosmetic paint. I could see through her -- see this picture of my legs during some experimental rolls on Bear Lake the day I tried her out with Mark, him in his beautiful hand-built kayak and me in a craft through which you could see my legs, us gliding 2.3 miles in just 20 minutes to Sols Creek Falls.

Gliding around in Mark's "Night Heron" that he built with his own hands:

So I spent this weekend up to my elbows in expensive, toxic, highly-glossy two-part green epoxy. With TBC stickers, it looks sponsored and ready to race down river in support of my favorite brewer, through class 2-3 which may feel ever so much more challenging in a vintage racer built for only one thing, with none of the ultra stability offered by a modern whitewater boat. But fast as ever. If I flip and roll, or swim, well maybe instead of doubting my skill they'll all reckon we drink too much of the stuff we're marketing, and talk about how good it must be.

New paint and decals!

Living here, I actually have several opportunities each year to race it. NOC, right down the road, hosts races every spring, even Olympic qualifiers. See schedule and lots of resource information here!

Abel has been incredibly interested, and beyond charming this week -- with no direction or help of any sort from me, he built his own boat, in the foreground, while I prepped and painted mine. Fast as mine might be, his is the best:

63: Chinking experiment

2010-10-09T02:25:00.004+08:00

I tried Good Stuff foam -- I like the ease of application, but not how it bulges out on the sides.

I suppose I'll pull this stuff out and stick with my plan to research ways in which I might chink the cabin over the winter.

62: Hammocks!

2010-10-09T02:17:00.006+08:00

Lacking room for large furniture, I've wondered what kind of sleeping option would work best out in the cabin. Here's the solution: hammocks!

Come nap time, I'll be strolling up to the cabin. Until I build a door and windows, I'm not so sure about spending the night out there. Several weeks ago, over the sound of our two springs, our resident owls, and the wind in treetops, I woke to the sound of coyotes yipping. We've had more than one bear come through, although they wouldn't bother us unless we were had food. Lots of skunks, raccoons, and possums share our holler, and thousands of bats that probably thrive because of the abandoned mica mines, one right down slope, found by two college students who were building a mountain bike trail, who went into the earth more than 200 feet, by their estimate. Not recommended.

61: Featured in "Tiny House!"

2010-10-08T20:54:00.004+08:00

Apparently, there's a national trend or at least an evolving subculture dedicated to building and then actually living in tiny houses. Some seem to do it because it's cute; others are living frugally, saving on the structure so they can live on an otherwise unaffordable piece of land. Still others do it to downsize their lives and simplify living in what seems to be an increasingly materialistic and unsustainable society of ownership and ubiquitous stuff, with expanding dwellings to hold it all in, until they burst...

I won't actually live in our cabin, but I did get some great camping hammocks the other day! And this site offers a connection point, even a forum to reach other like-minded folk, a resource that'll help me lots as I decide how to furnish, heat, and finish the cabin.

Here! http://tinyhouseblog.com

60: More on Chinking, some on horses, and advice from the Last American Man

2010-10-06T01:43:00.034+08:00

There's a place nearby (Boone) where they do this kind of thing all the time. It's called Turtle Island Preserve. I would have gone over there to learn some things if being self-taught hadn't been part of the game.
I wrote this letter some time ago:

Hello Mr. Conway,

I'm writing with a couple of questions. I understand that you may not check email regularly, and I'd be grateful for any small amount of time you take to respond.

I live in the mountains and have heard some good things about what you are doing from folk who have visited there. Then, I read The Last American Man, and I visited your website.

I'm a rank amateur, but I've been building a small cabin on my property, for the experience and for my boys to use and play in as they grow up on the mountain. I've made many mistakes and will do some things differently the next time, and I'm doing all the work during some of the scarce moments that I'm free from my day job.

I'm specifically interested in how you'd chink the thing given that I have some very big gaps, due to differing sized logs (a mistake, for sure). I was thinking about nailing down some scrap planking split to size, waiting till the spring while the poplar dries and shrinks, and using a homemade mortar mix with lime, concrete, and sand. But how would you do it?

After it settles and dries, I'm going to build windows and then have glass cut for them at a local glass shop here. Any suggestions regarding very simple joinery for these? I can get rough sawn wood at a local saw mill a couple miles away.

Thanks for any thoughts or advice. I hope to visit over there so

me time. Turtle Island seems like my kind of place.

Here are pics of the cabin (in progress) on a blog I'm keeping:
http://coldholler.blogspot.com/

Best,
Michael

I received this reply:

[Dear Michael]

...use a mix of 1/3 red clay and 2/3 sand, with some straw squashed up and worked in - or shredded up horse manure works well. This is much better than cement products, is authentic and doesn't cost much if any...

Yes, do let the logs dry a year or more before finishing out and chinking windows, etc.

You can use 1/2 used motor oil with 1/2 diesel fuel to oil-sludge against rot and insects.

Best Wishes.

[Eustace]

What do you think? I think I'll pass on the petroleum-based insect repellent, but I'm realizing that Portland Cement isn't the best bet. I'm not going to use manure either, but I'm beginning to think of going back to nature more than I'd planned. Maybe sawdust, maybe horse hair if I can get it? Wonder where I can get red clay in large quantities?

Maybe I should have used a horse to haul logs out of the woods. This almost happened, actually. My oldest friend owns a large horse and carriage company in Savannah, and he breeds draft horses on his Statesville, Georgia farm. He has the experience, skills, and tack, and on multiple occasions, he has offered to bring up a team and put them to work on the site. Wouldn't Abel and Angus and all their small friends be into that? This sounds like a digression, but here's Conway doing just that at Turtle Island:

Anybody who buys and reads the book will intuit that I'd be pleased to receive any kind of response from Eustace Conway. If I'm a passage in some text about trying to do something special using the old ways, well, then he's the book itself. Read about him, or beat me to the punch and visit over there.

Conway's compulsions and philosophy around the acquisition of land, his aggressive, even fanatical focus on both method and results, the balance he seems to need and imbalance he creates between fellowship and solitude or some kind of peace, these things I feel. At least according to somebody's gift for description -- I've never met the fellow, and I'm not usually one for pedestals. But he sounds interesting to know. Certainly a great resource, given my interests. Maybe a good friend to the select.

The next time I participate in some inane (they all are) group icebreaker that requires me to identify the "ideal dinner companion," I might share a vision of a small party comfortable in the blaze of a large campfire in some transcendental spot, maybe in a national park, or better yet around my own fire pit above the cabin surrounded by all the colorfully decorated trees that escaped my saw and bark spud and adze, during one of the full-on winter evenings masquerading as fall in our frozen, high-elevation North-facing holler, enjoying the added warmth of smoky scotch, and conversation with the likes of Ed Abbey and Mr. Conway.

59: Ruminations on chinking

2010-10-04T21:42:00.009+08:00

Doesn't everybody think about chinking? Doesn't popular sociological research suggest that the average male thinks about it for X number of minutes for each wakeful hour of every day? I know I do!

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!

58: Kids, showing off the dried-in cabin

2010-10-04T20:14:00.005+08:00

Here, Abel and Angus sit with their grandparents, DoDaddy and MoMomma. Hand'em a pitchfork, and it'd look like an American classic!

Showing DoDaddy the log cabin!

Look! Everybody's wearing shoes! Too bad we don't have a door...

57: Wow! Somebody else thinks like me...

2010-09-30T22:11:00.005+08:00

This author/builder operated with a slightly different philosophy than did I, but we both built tiny cabins (he used only salvage material, and I used only local stuff) of a Thoreauvian nature and blogged about it. I relied on loads of friends for their healthy backs, expertise, and good company. He worked alone most of the time. His hit-count (on the blog) is even similar to ours!

Here!

http://houseoffallentimbers.blogspot.com/

I found out about it here, on this amazing capture point and resource devoted to projects like mine!

http://tinyhouseblog.com/

56: More pictures of the celebration!

2010-09-28T00:01:00.009+08:00

55: Celebrating with a Kayakerator!

2010-09-27T23:29:00.014+08:00

Saturday, lots of the folk who helped me along the way or even followed this blog came up the holler to raise a glass to a dried-in cabin! For the occasion, Sean, maker of phenomenal craft beers, brought the Kayakerator (TM) to celebrate -- our organization,Tuckaseegee Brewing Co-op, for which he is the brewmaster, uses this craft, donated by Dinver at Pyranha in Asheville, to dispense its peerless product, in this case one keg of Panthertown Pale Ale and one of Bonas Defeat IPA, both owing their beery goodness to Sean's craftmanship as well as the hops he grows right here in Jackson County.

I'll post a description of my building and completion process in a few days; meanwhile, here are some pictures from Saturday -- more of the party to follow in another post.

Sean with the guts of the Kakakerator

Mark approves!

Josh says, "Hey! this looks like MY BURN! OK, it's not. whew."

Sean with future brewer in arms, and colleague, Tuval.

Mike, loaner of drawknives and other sharp things!

Justin, floor joist helper, and Bill of wall-building exploits.

Lance and Lisa and Andrew, all NOC types.

The Master sampling his own cooking!

54: Finishing the roof!

2010-09-24T22:18:00.006+08:00

I'm happy with the roof after deliberating what to do all summer. No time to use a froe and make my own shingles. It would be out-of-character and against the principles I've applied here to buy them at Cashiers prices. Cedar shakes are very expensive. Asphalt shingles would look just, well, wrong. That leaves tin as an appropriate, fitting building material that has adorned the scalp of many a cabin since the late 19th Century.

Thursday, Jon Ogburn came up the holler to help me with the roof. Although I've mostly done everything with the help of others and many things by myself, I'm (a) sprinting to a stopping point and wanted to get this done, (b) not hugely fond of being on roofs, and (c) aware that the charming lack of angular perfection has implications when placing perfectly square panels of tin. Plus, Jon's fun to have around, and he brings an appreciation of all the hand-tool work I've done to bring the cabin this far -- he worked with an Amish roofer for years. Like me, he makes concessions (used a battery drill). I just wish he'd worn his black wide-brimmed hat yesterday!

Tobias came by while Jon roofed and I was building log furniture. These guys represent two ends of the project. Tobias felled the trees, and Jon finished the roof.

Here's Jon, with his splendid, gleaming tin roof in the background. Until it fades a bit, you'll be able to see it from space.

53: Cutting a board for my roof!

2010-09-23T02:35:00.006+08:00

Other boardcutting posts:
Handsaw (small)
Ralph Morgan interview
Handsaw (big, on the roof!)
Sawyer (ripping a log with a chainsaw)
Big saw!
Tale of two saws, part 1, part 2, and part 3

52: Interview with our very own local sawmill man

2010-09-23T00:41:00.006+08:00

This interview speaks for itself. Thanks Ralph!

Click Here to see Ralph in action!

51: Rafters and roof planks!

2010-09-21T00:07:00.007+08:00

Last weekend, I hung all of the rafters, working alone.

As discussed in Chapter 38, I made some mistakes, but I corrected them. This weekend, Mark showed up at 7am on Saturday, and we got one side of the roof decked with rough-sawn 1x8 pine planking. I couldn't have done it without his help. Later in the morning, I managed to get the other side up by myself, but it was closer to the ground. Sunday, John helped keep me safe working on the steep pitch, moving the rope around and holding the ladder -- it was essential, if not to my actual safety then to my level of confidence.

Both of these guys were generous with their time, and it was more fun because they were there.

Here are some photos!

During the evenings this week, I'll get drip edge nailed down, douse the roof with Penetreat, tack down 30-weight felt paper, and box in the door and windows. Thursday, I'll stay home and help nail down tin on the roof! Oh, to use cedar shakes -- but using a froe to make those would take me a month.

50: Rafters!

2010-09-13T22:27:00.010+08:00

I'm holding the camera crooked -- the cabin is level!

I managed to put up all but the most outlying rafters all by myself! I notched the last two logs, the top plate logs, on the ground, cutting them on 24" centers all the way along. I did that by snapping two chalk lines an equal hight from the bottom of the log, not the top, helping to insure a similar hight for the top of the rafters over which the roof planking will cross.

Then, I sat the two rafters on top of the other, bigger 15' top plate rafters and along the crest of the load-bearing walls. I tried my best to rotate the logs so that the notches would angle up, toward the ridge beam in the center, toward which the rafters would travel.

Using a bevel, I figured the angle to cut the high end and tail of each rafter, the angle being slightly different for each side. I used a chain saw on the ground as a chop saw. The left-side rafters are 110 inches, and the ones on the right are a full ten feet. This differential was necessary to reduce the overhang above the left-side window. Who wants to look out at an eave? There'll still be about two feet of overhang on that side. On the long side, the front rafter had to be shorter to accommodate a birch tree. I'm hoping we can angle the tin around that tree.

One mistake -- I somehow reversed the direction of one of those pre-notched top plate logs. That might have happened in the pre-dawn hours when I was working in the beam of a headlamp.

So, only after hanging several rafters on one side did I discover that they don't line up with their partners rising to meet them from the other pre-notched, pinned-down wall. Doh!

I fixed this next to the verticals by creating new notches with the crosscut saw and big framing slick. That razor sharp 7 pound chisel made it so easy I wish I'd just notched them all up on the wall.

This would be a deal-breaking design flaw on a residence being permitted according to code. Fortunately, this is an outbuilding that doesn't have to meet a living-space criteria. Also, the full-dimension 3x8 ridge beam is both sturdy enough and supported from below, and the roof is small, and log walls are extremely unlikely to spread, so collar ties won't be necessary and I think it'll be fine. I may strap them from below and up/over the other side of the beam, though.

I could simply add a couple of rafters on the opposing side near the middle of the span. This would look like overkill but might do the trick.

49: Ridge Beam!

2010-09-11T03:47:00.007+08:00

Yesterday, I drove to Ralph Morgan's sawmill, four miles down the road in Webster, to pick up the huge timbers that will somehow be cut and hoisted and shaped and seated into notches to frame the roof. Overloaded, my truck crept home and up the steep road into the holler. Unloading it all took time. Even though the beams, although not cultivated on my own land, were legitimately cut and sawn locally, I felt a need to pull a draw knife down the sharp edges, softening the look and feel and roughing up the overall impression to better match the un-hewn log walls.

Unsure where to stack and store a 3x8 (full dimension, more like a 4x10) 15' beam, I decided to drop it into the bed I made -- I had pre-cut notches in the top of the vertical poles, made from the log that Tobias milled so expertly with his saw, travelling up to support the beam but also securing each wall log on their journey toward the roof's peak.

The beam is green. This green beam is not lean. It weighs enough to be mean. I watched Ralph cut it from a massive chunk of white pine. It probably weighs 120-150 pounds. Fine for carrying around but not so ideal for lifting overhead on a ladder. I called my neighbor (up another branch of the holler), Eric, for help with the mean green beam: "Hi Kathleen, how are y'all this evening?"

Kathleen: "We're fine." Matter of fact. Cheerful. Good.

Me: "I hope I didn't hold you up on the way in!" She had driven in behind me and all the lumber, catching up to me on the gravel road before our drives separated. "So, what are y'all up to?" Fishing.

Kathleen: "Oh nothing, what's up?" Good -- not bathing Molly or still eating. I explain that I only need him for a second, but... "Eric! Will's on the phone!"

I ask Eric if he has 5 minutes to help me lift the beam into place, that he'd be home 15 minutes after leaving his front porch. You see, he's helped me out so much, and he worked till after dark recently, helping me string the 20x40 foot tarp way up in the air, above the cabin, to protect the Penetreat from leaching out in the rain. I say, "this'll be a real 5 minutes, not a Will-Gatlin-Five-Minutes, which translates into something not always popular among our overly-tolerant-already wives. Actually, Kathleen's really cool, and Eric's really generous, but I didn't want to take advantage of my great neighbors, and this was the epitome of short notice.

We got it up, and he got home. One underlying theme of this whole project remains the generosity and camaraderie of my friends.

48: Progress under a tarp

2010-09-09T21:40:00.004+08:00

I took this snapshot at 6:45am with a cell phone. I'll post better images soon. As a quick update with no particular emphasis on finer descriptions, here's a list of stuff I've done this week, largely in the pre-dawn hours with a headlamp:

Cut two windows
Hewn window sills
Chiseled walls and erected split/milled vertical center support poles to hold the ridge beam
Cut 3" notch in the top of said support pole
Drilled all 4 walls and pegged top three logs with rebar
Framed interior sides of door and windows
Milled door step
Cut 2" notches on 24" centers along second top plate logs to hold rafters

In the next two weeks, I'll:

Box frame the exterior sides of door and windows
Notch and pin down the 2 top plate logs on the load-bearing sides
Set the ridge beam, a full-dimension 3x8 milled by Ralph Morgan down the road
Install 18 10'-long full-dimension 2x6 rafters by pinning them to the ridge beam and dropping them into the notched top plate, creating an approximately 3-12 pitched roof
Plane the window sills
Install 16'-long rough-sawn 1x8 planking across the rafters creating a full underlay
Tack down 30 weight felt, drying it in
Remove the tarp protecting my borate-solution treatment from rain
Cut the tails even
Install tin roofing

47: Walls

2010-09-07T22:02:00.022+08:00

The last few weeks have been swift, productive, and mostly fun, but there's been little time to write about any of it. College started, and I both teach and counsel students, not to mention all the committee work, training retreats, launching a new program with nine new staff, and all the administrivia. Kindergarten also started, and Big Abel has shown daily enthusiasm and courage, carrying a backpack bigger than his back, rocketing into the world from my truck in the mornings, across the sidewalk, away, far away. I usually drop him off on the way to work, because Sloan doesn't teach then, and baby Angus has a different schedule.

Two weeks ago Sunday, Mark and Bill came to help lift the huge big top plate logs, the ones that bridge the windows and door and support the doubled top-top-plate that I'll deeply cut on 24-inch centers to hold 18 rough-sawn rafter tails, milled locally by Ralph Morgan down the road, more snugly than would notches and even joist hangers.

Mark got to use hand tools this time, instead of his big 4x4 Tacoma. The right tool being selected for the right job, that truck was more useful than ever the day we brought these monster logs up to the clearing above the site. I scooted them down the MTB trail to the cabin alone, but without the muscle of an internal combustion engine, I needed help to hoist them up above six feet.

Bill is an interesting guy. A literary man, he's been a journalist, a graphic designer, and a generally thoughtful and creative guy. Not particularly outspoken, at least in a loud or dominant way, when he contributes to a conversation it's usually reflective, keenly observant, mildly ironic, and pretty funny. I always listen up. Almost seven feet tall, Bill's handy for the work we're doing today, and he tolerates all the same-old-chatter about his height.

I collect colloquialisms, and Bill has some good ones. He's not afraid to use them, either. Around here, like anywhere in any culture in any language, you greet somebody with some version of "Hello, how are you doing?"

Bill rumbles up the gravel road into the holler and slouches up to the treehouse and climbing wall, past the fire pit, then down the trail to Mark and I, and before meeting Mark for the first time, asks me, "How's-yer-ma-an-them?"

The phrase flows like one, uninterrupted, five-syllable word, the inflection on "ma" and "them." I say I'm fine, and so are Sloan and the boys, because that's what he means. Bill doesn't always talk like that, but like me he enjoys language and has fun with it, and his roots are from the Tennessee mountain lumber country and from right here in these hills and hollers. Bill can pull it off like a local. Not like Mr. Wilson or other older ones, but good enough.

I try to infuse my South Carolina foothills twang with such localisms, its usually nasal, flat "i" already smoothed with the longer vowels of Charleston and even the comforting, soft sounds of the Shenandoah where "house" is pronounced "hoess," and my own kindness to consonants, with less success. I've just lived too many places where I like the speech. I can't seem to emulate the local accent, even though it's closer to my original foothills way of speaking than not. Trying, I'm always respectful but not very successful.

This is heavy, maybe 300 pounds. It's going across the top of the door.

Real men = no need for mechanical assistance!

Lovin' this saw.

Bill is so tall, he can use the saw without climbing!

Sugar, Big Abel, and Baby Angus cooked a great lunch, and my friends earned it for sure.

46: Debarking is seasonal

2010-08-21T12:00:00.004+08:00

Poplar trees and probably any other kind of trees -- they are much easier to de-bark in April and May than in August.

There's a metaphor, relevant to my cyclical University life, in there somewhere.

45: an end to logging

2010-08-16T22:37:00.019+08:00

Tonight, Tobias and new friend, Mark, spent the late afternoon helping me drop three trees, yielding five 15 foot logs, six 14 foot logs, and one 12 footer.

As always, Tobias, my friend, the master sawyer, is more of a performer or artist than a laborer when working with a chainsaw. The feller can fell some trees, for sure, not only dropping them safely and landing them on target with the precision of a fighter pilot (this is a nice metaphor since he was USAF kid and his dad flew), but stopping to describe to Mark and I how he was using wedges, and a bore cut, to counteract some back-lean and influence the hinge just-so.

Mark just moved to Cullowhee with his family, and his two girls will go to school with Nate. A mathematician, he's naturally bright and analytical. He's also observant -- I measured one log too short, which he noticed, although it was his first time on the site. My rough-around-the-edges cabin building exploit falls on one end of a wood-working continuum on which Mark is waaaaay further along in yonder direction. The man builds racing kayaks out of wood, even building his own forms, dealing with light stuff and sharp tools, applying a level of precise attention to detail necessary to create something light and functional but also that results in art.

Once again, I'm humbled by and grateful for the generosity of my busy and talented friends. That's a theme that runs through this blog like a thread, or holds it and the continuity of the whole project together more so even than the timber anchors I'm drilling into every corner notch.

This time, it was Mark's truck that brought brute force to a task that could have been brutally physical. Recalling the adventures I had with Jeremy and John, and then again with Greg who suggested hauling the logs with a truck and had even brungalong a chain to do it, I couldn't help agreeing to pull the stuff we cut with Mark's 4x4 four-door Tacoma. Greg would have been thrilled if I'd taken his advice that day instead of after-the-fact, for sure.

We thought about using my 2wd version, but Tobias said, "You could try it, and the locking differential might help, but then it wouldn't work, and you'd be sad." Sigh. I have truck envy.

We also took the 12 footer I accidentally measured, and Tobias milled or ripped it end-to-end with my sharp new chain. That one's going vertical, flat side against the wall, to support the ridge beam.

I'm pleased to have all the logs I need now. Soon, I'll have them de-barked and on the wall -- then, all we'll need are rafter poles!

44: Update

2010-08-14T04:23:00.005+08:00

This picture, borrowed from the Great Smoky Mountain National Park Facebook page, illustrates the beauty of our home -- it was taken pretty close as-the-hawk-flies from our log cabin site.

This Sunday, I'll cut the rest of the logs I need. In the meanwhile, Sugar, Nate, Baby Sophus Bocephus, and I will be home but also out and about on the Highland Plateau, looking across two or three smaller but striking ridges, across our own Savannah Ridge, toward the nearby backbone of the Smokies, enjoying the natural Eden in which we live.

43: My favorite author

2010-08-10T20:33:00.030+08:00

I found this quote long ago, within a long-time favorite essay called "A walk in the woods to Alum Cave" which I discovered in an out-of-print coffee table book that I own, produced by photographer Eliot Porter, who collaborated with Edward Abbey, who wrote all of the text, who transformed it from a picture book to something much more profound. Antithetical to the saying, Abbey's words have the potential to say even more than pictures. 1000 of his words may beat a lifetime of clicking and take us to a deeper place than can our sense of sight. Genius writing supported by nice pictures is even better; however, my point is that these essays, with their thread of continuity provided by Porter's theme, stand alone. Appalachian Wilderness was written during or right after the time that Abbey taught at the small university where both Sloan and I teach and work with college students today.

Here, I copied it from a review of this intriguing book, which is now on my list:

But here's the original book, which I highly recommend:

I inherited my copy from my grandparents, Jack and Peggy, who had received it as a gift from her brother, my Great Uncle Leroy, then dean of the medical school in Wisconsin. They were socially conservative people, self-made for sure but also from a socioeconomically fortunate family, members of the greatest generation. Unlike Abbey, they were not so influenced by Kerouac, or even Steinbeck. There is a note written in Uncle Leroy's doctor's script that says, "the pictures are wonderful but the text is somewhat controversial." You got that right, Uncle Leroy.

Gulayihi writes about Abbey's time at Western here. A friend and colleague, a retired English prof who goes to our church, Newt Smith, is actually mentioned in the last pages of Appalachian Wilderness. Sugar noticed the reference first, about when we moved here from Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2002: "Hey, I think I met him at new faculty orientation!"

In the book, Abbey describes his return home from some hike, or from a writing binge (I don't recall), to "drink beer" with "old Newt Smith" in his "corn crib" -- what better tribute could one want? Abbey captured their association for posterity, better than Newt's masterful storytelling ever could. We should all be so worthy, or lucky.

Newt can tell a story or two. When asked about the probability that with them being young, like-minded men there could have been some monkey wrenching during his time spent with Abbey, he's a wee bit evasive. And his eyes twinkle too much much for innocence, although he could be guilty only of feeding your imagination. I did hear third-hand from a forgotten source that there was some story involving one of those ugly billboards that Abbey hated and lambasted in several of his books. Newt does tell a great story about his wife and Abbey's, and of course the two of them, pioneering the Lamaze method of childbirth, together with their first children, when such things were way ahead of their time in Jackson County. So much for my perception that Abbey would be cigar-in-the-waiting-room kind of guy.

If I could entertain any guest, living or dead, in my log cabin, it might be Abbey. Maybe, in his place, Newt would come sometime to drink a beer and tell some tales.

42: Names of places

2010-08-10T02:03:00.021+08:00

An outsider from another state named our neighborhood. This is obvious, because it's a bland, vanilla, developer-type, suburban-like name that doesn't resonate with any sense of place or reflect the personality of any community with roots. It probably looks good to a city dweller or flatlander, some of them anyway, looking for a whitewashed mountain resort experience, behind a gate, far from real people, out of a magazine.

The old gentleman, Mr. R.O. Wilson, told me that our greater valley, entered only through its mouth near the Tuckaseegee River or over a steep, switch-backed, narrow pass called Gribble Gap, used to be called Hogrock. Pronounced matter-of-factly with no hem but a big ol' "haw," in his deep voice, authoritative, full of character. You can hear his voice at minute 11:40 of the soundclip at the bottom of this post. He said that folk from around there used to slaughter their hogs and hang them from a huge, prominent, overhanging rock by the creek in the bottom land, where a horse pasture sits today, near the huge cornfield and tiny dairy farm that still graces the valley.

So we could call our place Hogrock Holler, I guess.

Except another old man, from down the road in an old two-story farmhouse near Gribble Gap, one who at age 78 strapped on antique steel spikes and climbed 30 feet up in a tree to help me once, told me that our unique cove used to be called "Cabe's Cove" after the people who lived in the small 1905 farmhouse at its mouth. Of course, nobody but mica miners, loggers, hunters, or a boy chasing his dog would have climbed up into our inhospitably steep and high reaches. The old man would say something, punch me in the gut for effect, and laugh. I wanted to hear more, and that was his storytelling style, so I was sore around the middle the next day.

Supposedly, the old house stood vacant because of a brother-uncle or cousin-cousin murder, something about an axe. I don't know if the fellow's story was true, or part tall tale, or if I didn't get it all wrong, but the old house was creepy and empty, guarding the dark, deep, steep cove like an eyeless skull, a windowless sentinel. It was barely visible in the summer amidst massive magnolias, ancient dogwoods, criss-crossed young white pines, green brier, downed rotting trees, and looming head walls with an overhanging canopy of oak and tulip poplar. It had been bypassed by our gravel road, with no way to even reach it across the bridge-less creek. Until when, about three years ago, the buyers of that property paid Matthew Cole, local artisan woodworker and timber framer, to restore it. It's still empty, but with a new porch, windows, roof, and paint and with an out-of-place wrought iron gate and stone pillars, constructed to attract the buyer, maybe for the better (except for the gates), it's been robbed of this aura and brought back into time.

Cabe's Cove. Hogrock. Painter Knob. Gribble Gap. Long Branch. Names are important, and used to mean something to everybody instead of nothing to anybody. They captured the mark made by a family with the guts and commitment to settle there for generations. Some folk still live where their great grandparents, or even grandparents, made a life without electricity, good roads, or easy shopping, and planted by the signs. Sometimes, the name is all that remains. How dare we change it to suit ourselves, for glossy marketing purposes, cleansing an old place of its history, however unwashed or colloquial it may be. When applied to ethnicity, culture, history, or community, "cleansing" can be a dirty word.

Of course, names are fun, too. I kind of like living in upper Hogrock. In Ruminations from the Distant Hills, Gulahiyi speculates on some of them, and gives some amusing examples.

Outside of communicating with the UPS man, I try to learn, resurrect, and celebrate at least some of the old names. It's about preserving the habitat for collective souls in a space (they might leave a place called "Green Forest Gables"), respect for those who came before, or at least the appreciation of place.

41: Blueberries are in!

2010-08-10T00:22:00.007+08:00

Sunday, we took a break from cabin building to head up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. There, you can drive over Richland Balsam, its high point at 6058 feet, and park at a secret spot, from which a trail can be accessed, a trail to heaven, a path that snakes through the mysterious deep shade of high-altitude, old-growth spruce and climbs to a West-facing knob on top of which there is a dense laurel slick. Except this one isn't populated by typical mountain laurel. Instead, blueberry bushes, waist-high, stretch across and up and burst at the perimeter of an amoeba-shaped football field.

This particular spot appeals deeply because of its obsurity and the privacy made probable by a one-mile hike in. Also, it sits above and faces the Caney Fork drainage. Every drop of water that lands here, nearby to the high sky, sometimes even amidst the clouds, will eventually flow through and past my own neighborhood, only ten miles away, or closer, as the hawk might fly.

With baby Angus in my backpack and Abel scampering sometimes out-of-sight amidst the ripe bounty, we picked for less than an hour and filled a gallon milk jug with our combined take.

40: Protection

2010-08-09T22:13:00.007+08:00

I haven't had the talk with our cabin yet -- the one about protection. Using locust beneath it and building a good overhang on the roof will help. But it being high summer, I've grown anxious to prevent any initial fungus, rot, or invasion of pests. So, last week, my seven-foot-tall neighbor, Eric (second picture here), came over from his adjacent branch of our holler with an extension ladder to help me string up a 40x20 foot tarp, hung like a kite to drain water, high enough to build our roof under its shelter. Pictures soon -- it was an adventure, and I'm grateful.

Also, I sprayed the logs with this, recommended by John at Schroeder Log Home Supply -- he was very helpful, and their website and print catalogue are excellent resources:

And I'm very curious to know what kind of small beetle or insect is causing these tiny tubes of sawdust to protrude from some of the logs, like ash on the end of a cigarette. It had to have just invaded, because we cut them in June. I'm not worried, but if the Penetreat doesn't get them then I'll have to figure out how to address it.

Readers -- can you help me identify the problem?

39: Perspective and scale

2010-08-07T03:04:00.005+08:00

Here's a similar blog I just discovered -- another fellow built a cabin and wrote a blog about it! His is a wee bit larger than mine and required lots of mechanized equipment. Anytime I feel fatigued with my project or impatient with my progress, I can glance at this and feel grateful for its simplicity and manageable size. There are more differences than similarities, although it's spooky-coincidental that he chose the same blog template. He's building a log "home," albeit with no kit. I'm building more of a frontier cabin with hand tools, like this one but without the chimney.

Still, read this blog and scroll back through his older posts. It's impressive.