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.
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