You Can't Beat The System

I'm not sure where that phrase comes from, though it is the catch phrase for Charlotte Pipe, Valve, and Fitting. Interestingly that is for PVC pipe, a relative newcomer to the building materials industry.

Some systems are explicit, designed for a specific purpose. Others are more organic. The system evolves to meet a need. I spent a workday dealing with some moisture issues in a house today that had to be over one hundred years old. There aren't too many really old buildings here, because the weather, and flood conditions tend to wipe the slate clean every fifty years or so. But some stand the test of time, and because of that, I believe, demand a bit of reverence.

By definition, old houses are falling apart. All houses are falling apart. Old ones are just better at it--lots of practice. However, I've developed a theory: If all houses are falling apart, and there aren't that many really old houses around, the oldest ones left are better, and therefore have something to teach us. Or, have something to teach me, as someone who purports to build high quality new houses.

I learned something from the old building I worked on today. I was sent to deal with buckling tongue and groove wall coverings. In modern houses, these finishes are just that, finishes. In this building, they are framing members. There is no plywood, no sheathing pine, in fact. The exterior walls are lap-siding on studs, cedar siding on lathe, and the interior walls are all covered with 1/2" t&g.

The compromised t&g was only part of the story. The building sported a new, gigantic Maytag AC, cooling the hell out of an uninsulated building. Clearly the result of a conversation with a HVAC guy that went something like, "It's hot in here, what can you do?"
"Well you don't have any insulation."
"Spare me the details, it's hot in here."
"I can cool the place, but it's gonna take a big unit."
"OK, whatever, cool the place."
etc etc.

The place was cool. I'll give you that. It was also wet as hell. There was absolutely no insulation in the attic. None in the walls, and this completely sealed spray-foam under the floor. No fans, no ridge vents, no avenue for moisture to escape.

After removing two badly buckled pieces of t&g from the stairwell, I was shocked to find the back of each piece wet to the touch. Mold growing inside the walls seemed like some sort of insulation, but dissolved in my hands. As I planed the boards, and prepared to replace them, I realized I was putting a band-aid on a cancer.

Here is this perfect building, cheated out of its due consideration. It was designed to breath, or it breathed by design. It's tough to know which came first. Closing off one circulation route (the floor), and pumping in refrigerated air is destroying it. Literally, the moisture produced by that AC is a crushing force.

A building is a system, like the Pakistani river delta that is flooded right now, the environment as a whole, or each problem we face, really. They are all systems. To tweak one aspect is to miss the point. I've got to fix this building, and removing the AC is not an option. Somehow, I've got to create an environment where one-hundred-year-old boards, and five Real Estate agents (the building is an office now) can be comfortable. That may not seem like the tallest order, but it is.

The building is worth saving though. On any given remodel, I'm amazed when I see a building framed with hand-drive nails. In this building, I've got more than that. I've got hand driven nails and hand sawn boards. A colossal amount of human effort went into this building. Because of that, it is spare, concise, and beautiful. It is also not suited to modern solutions. Technological band-aids will not work. Surgery is necessary.

A Deal Was Made . . .

. . . Just not with us. As is common in the Real Estate business, a deal was made on the side, in spite of the fact that we had an offer in the hands of the owner. I could go into the details of the Murray family getting the shaft, but it's complicated and not that interesting, really.

The shocking and interesting thing to me, is that by making an offer an a property, you are really putting your fate in the hands of others. This property was well suited to our needs and would have been a good investment. However, besides the obligation of a thirty year mortgage, we were committing a great deal of work. Deal sealed, I'd have been fully committed to two to four years of actual house building, on nights and weekends. Someone else, three someone elses actually, of questionable character, decided that I would not be doing that. Not yet anyway.

All of this is really shocking to me for some reason. Sure the spot wasn't perfect, we can pick that apart. Maybe we are heading for a double-dip recession. I could have gotten injured building the houses. Anything could have happened. But, none of it will now. The path of my family's life is headed in a completely different direction that is no longer inextricably tied to a home-site that I will create with my own hands.

Now, if you read this blog with any regularity. You've gotta be wondering, what the hell is wrong with me. I want to live on a boat, build a small one, build two houses, move to Duck, maybe move inland and farm etc etc. Imagine being my wife! The thing is, I do want to do all of those things. And, I believe I will. It's just so odd when the impetus to do any or all of these things is taken from me.

So, yeah, I'm pretty irritated. I'm angry, dissapointed etc. But I'm really just shocked. And I'm shocked because I've been reminded of the scarriest aspect of our existence. As we grow and gain skills and become more and more capable, we feel more and more autonomous. But it's really just a myth. Our lives are a combination of factors. Skill, knowledge, dedication, and energy are part of the equation. However, luck plays a frigheteningly important role. Maybe this experience has been a good reminder for me. A reminder of my values. If you really get to know people, you might have sense of their Skills, knowledge, dedication and energy. But, to understand the luck alloted to any given individual is much more difficult.

So, with a lot of hard work and dedication, I believe I will get to give each of my wildest dreams a shot. And if not,maybe there wasn't the correct amount of luck involved. That's comforting really. Because I don't have to wonder about my skill, knowledge, dedication, or energy level. Maybe this failed deal is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Probably not.

Have I Got a Deal For You!

We, the family, and this time it's the extended family, have made an offer on a piece of property. We looked at the listing price, the qualities of the property, and thought hey, let's make an offer.

The goal is a place that the family can enjoy. Deanna, Quinn and I will eventually live ther full-time, and there will be a classy small garage apartment, that will never be called that out of respect for the governing municipality, for the grandparents. And that leads me to the interesting point about real estate dealings. Essentially this. They are all about bullshit!

The spot is a dream. Walking distance to Sound and Ocean. Potential views of both considering that the structures will be raised to be out of flood-harm's way. But this is not about hopes and dreams. It's about making offers.

So we want to make an offer. Obviously we want the property, or we would have spent our evening watching a movie. But, we have to act like we could care less, all the while promising to pony up a hundreds of thousands of dollars. So, after a nerver wracking few days of phone calls to mortgage lenders, all of the family members involved, and several waking moments in the night. I email the agent, and act disinterested. Like it would be a favor to the owner if I took the property off of his hands.

Then the owner, who's had the property listed for five years with as many realtors acts like he doesn't need to sell the thing. Like he couldn't care less. And the charade continues. The problem here is that no one pays full price. So the price isn't actually a price, and the offers aren't actually offers. Sometimes, it's a war of atrician. We banter about, until someone breaks down. Other times, it's more like the war on terror. We all think we are getting somewhere, and then some jack-ass from Jersey rolls up and pays full price.

The bottom line is that the negotiation creates more negotiation. No one has a number because the age old question of What can your afford? has no real answer. Hell, ask the government. We're all, accept for devout Quakers, playing a game of hot potatoe. Debt gets thrown around like the hot potatoe, and when the music stops, who's holding the bag. Who knows, but I can tell you this seller and I could care less! Shit, it's just money. We don't let bullshit like money bother us. Right !?

Of Canda Geese and People

Every Fall the Outerbanks becomes host to flocks of migratory birds. Like other moderately temperate Mid-Atlantic locales, our estuary is overrun by variouse species of waterfowl. It's pretty impressive, and a substaintial, yet gentle, reminder of the natural course of things.

Why might you ask am I remided of such a definitively winter occurrence? Not all of the geese return to their summer breeding grounds. Some stay, year-round. They seldom breed, but sometimes do. There has to be a pair, and they mate for life, I'm told. Chicks born to these staggling pairs are up against substantial odds. Food is pletiful, but so are predators. Most of them are singles. Maybe they are older, or injured, or just lazy. They create impromptu flocks, and pretty much just hang out. They aren't out of place, because this is their home away from home.

They are however, not inspiring. They do not fly in majestic formation, flaunting their endurance and single mindedness. They are in a sense counterfeit geese. Yet, by all technical parameters, they are geese. Through and through.

People migrate to the Outerbanks too. Some for weeks at a time, some for years. People are different from geese, in that they do not all operate on the same biological clock. Entry and exit to and from this humble beach region is not set in stone. However, on the same day that I spotted the motley flock of subgeese. I noticed a hitchhiking aquaintance of mine, that is in many ways subhuman.

I'm not sure that he always was. I know from several trips down Colington road, and an odd visit to my yard from time to time, that the indivudual in question has some kids roaming around the beach, by several mothers roaming around the beach. He is a carpenter by trade, but lots of us are. I'm not sure that is significant. The fact is, he has gone to work before, and at times there was enough money flying around a job-site to make him feel like he was getting ahead. Really establishing a foothold. Maybe not, maybe there was just enough cash to get some beer and coke and have a great couple of nights.

I've seen him in better shape, and worse shape. Sometimes he looks completely fine, but he's not. He's got issues with booze and poor planning. If you asked him, I'm sure he can't tell you where it all went wrong. Even as an observer, if his whole life were layed out before you. I doubt you could pick out a moment.

Likewise, the geese. They either get out of here on time, or they don't get out of here. Is it the moment that their flock takes off, and they are left behind. Or, is it earlier in the season, when their partner is lost or hit by a car. Or is it when they decide to go out for tacos the night before they know they are suppose to leave. People are similar when it comes to living a the beach. Some are made for the place, and are never home until they get here. Some don't stay longe enough. Some come and go as the mood suits them, and live richer lives for it. Some stay too long. And when they do, you can spot them. You may not know what exactly is amiss, but you know something is.

I say all of this to coin a phrase. Nobody wants to be rude or judgmental. And so, I'll try to keep it scientific. I've not named my associate, and I don't have to. He's a stray goose. Others like him are stray geese. No value judgement neede, just a statement of the facts.