Eventually, we came to realize the big old house was costing too much to live in, and we decided to build a modern house. It’s modular barn construction (post-and-beam), with 8-inch square posts and beams. Our contractor looked with dismay at the plans, went to Massachusetts with us to see some completed houses, and told us he would have to change his bid because he’d need to rent a cherry-picker. Roger simply showed him the large pulleys and heavy hemp rope he had acquired, and using that equipment, the house was built once Roger showed the men how to set things up. Our daughter and I stained the outside panels and all the posts and beams (the latter before they were erected) but one. (And that’s another story.) Of course, we did all the painting inside, and I made a lot of drapes for the big windows.
The next major job began when we decided we couldn’t leave some really choice old stones behind. Our new house was only across the town road and a brook that ran parallel to that — a mere 200 yards or so. I said how I wished we could have those stones in our new place, but understood there was no way to move them. By then we had a Ford 8N tractor with a front-end loader. Roger claimed we could move them. Before anyone made an offer, we decided to abscond with those stones.
One was outside one of the barns: a slab of chiseled granite about four feet wide, six feet long, and about ten inches thick. It became the doorstep to our front porch. A second stone was set on other rocks about sixteen inches above the ground under a huge old maple. It had a teardrop-shaped track chipped around its surface, ending in a drip space across the edge that made a lip. We surmised it was a leaching stone that would have been under a barrel used to soak wood ashes to make lye, and was raised so a receptacle would fit under the edge to catch the leached water. It became the entry step to our dining room.
The third was a real monster. We found it overgrown by a hundred-year-old planting of white lilacs. Cup-shaped, it had a hole about two inches in diameter that had been chiseled through the deepest part of it in its center. “That would make a great fountain,” I said. But even the tractor was no match for this monolith, once we cut enough of the lilac thicket to get at it.
The old barns gave up another treasure in the form of a stone boat, probably that had been used to build the newest part of the house. The foundation is cleanly cut granite blocks, probably from the quarry in a town about thirty miles away.
“We’ll cut some junipers for rollers and use that.” As good as his word, Roger made rollers out of some of the weed trees that had grown up in old pasture, went to work with his levers and fulcrums and heavy chain, maneuvered the huge rock onto the sledge, and then we hooked up the tractor to drag the thing. We just made it across the brook when the stone boat cracked and gave up. Never mind, we still had the tractor and chain, so we dragged the boulder to where we wanted it.
To make a reservoir for the water for the fountain, and to house the recirculating pump, we got yet another concrete well tile. To support our fountain, we built a dry-stone wall, and steps to get down to the reservoir to service the pump and fill it. The pictures show what you need to see as to the success of the project.
Our little Lhasa hated hot weather, and liked water if it wasn’t to be bathed in. The fountain just bubbled through the hole that someone had worked untold hours with a cold chisel to make for a purpose we never could guess. We loved that fountain and the memories when together we seemed to be able to do almost anything we wanted to do.
After that, replacing the fiberglass shower with a tub and ceramic tile seemed like a minor challenge. These projects are by no means all we undertook in nearly 45 years. We were lucky to have had the workmanship and sometimes equipment we needed that had been left behind by others. The building inspector was a specialist at restoration, and saved us from ruining electric tools on 200-year-old oak. We had the reference I mentioned above, a book we gave to our builder son.
The most important thing we had was the leadership of a born craftsman. It’s a matter of pride and gratitude to me that many things required two pairs of hands, and that I could be taught to be the second pair.
©2012 Joan L. Cannon for SeniorWomen.com
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