No, I’m not kidding, and you don’t even understand! Actually, if you are reading this, you probably do understand. I began building this shed, well, let’s just say numerous years ago. Yes, I can be an incredibly slow project-doer and builder-of-things. I admit that. I’m not always sure why. Sometimes it is my inability to focus. Sometimes it is the researching of what I am doing. Sometimes it is the redoing of the work that I messed up. And then, every so often, winter intercedes. With this project, winter has interceded at least three times. BUT, it’s not all my fault!
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| "I love the smell of shed in the springtime." Okay, that's not the original quote. |
Let’s start
at the beginning, since a lot has happened in the decade that this blog decided
to rest. After years of debating purpose
and siting, Kris and I finally decided that one particular location at the edge
of the backyard woods would make a fine place for a shed. We snapped photos of various sheds during our
summer drives around southern Maine. We
drew up plans and revised them. We (and
by we here, I mean Kris) scoured countless magazines for just the right
look. And then we settled on it. The size would be as large as we could
without requiring a building permit. Finally,
in the fall of a year not really numerically close to the current one, we (and
by we here, I mean me with the help of a friend and an auger) dug deep holes in
the ground, poured concrete posts, and built a large deck that would have to
survive to spring before construction could continue.
In the
following summer, walls were constructed, roof trusses were raised, windows
were installed, and all of it was topped off with some fine shingle work. We had a functional space that only lacked
doors and one soffit, the place where my energy ran out. Thus ends calendar year number two, and Kris
and I looked at the shed and saw that it was good.
And then, we
began to hit delays that were not completely my fault. Spring is a lovely time of year. Grass greens up. Leaves unfurl. Animals return to their warm-weather
activities. Birds begin chirping and
building their nests for a season of mating.
Despite living in the midst of the southern Maine woods, we did not always
have an overwhelming number of bird species parade through our yard, but in
past years, that number has risen. Our
favorite recent arrivals are the Eastern Phoebes, cute little things that are
easily identified by their regular flicking of their tail feathers as they
perch upon a post, chair-back, or lilac branch.
Upon consulting the books, we learned that phoebes typically lay two
rounds of eggs each season after constructing their nest. In successive years, we watched as two rounds
of babies emerged from nests solidly constructed on an angled downspout and on
a corner of our roof protected by an overhang.
For year number three, the phoebes had a new plan.
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| According to Wikipedia, the eastern phoebe (Sayornis phoebe) is a tyrant flycatcher of the Tyrannidae family. Sounds cool! (photo from Wikipedia) |
There would
be no more hunkering down amidst the wind and elements. No more being scared from the next as humans
absentmindedly used their porch. No,
no. It was time to take their mating
seasons indoors, and what better place than a 12’ x 16’ enclosed palace with
not one but two means of egress available to flying creatures that stand
roughly three inches tall? A handsome
shed at the edge of the woods with an open soffit and a gaping hole where the
double doors should be would do them just fine, thank you. And the phoebes looked at the shed and saw
that it was good.
You might be
thinking that as a human, we are higher up on the food chain, further along the
evolutionary path, and way more intimidating than a couple of hollow-boned
fliers. And you would not be wrong, but
those little phoebes had won our hearts a few seasons before. They are quite a team, momma phoebe and papa
phoebe! For weeks, they each beg,
borrow, and steal various building materials to construct a very stable
nest. After the hanky-panky is
concluded, momma sits atop the nest with a steadfastness and lack of humor that
would rival any straight-faced Buckingham Palace guard. Meanwhile, papa is flying around gathering
food for her. Once the brood hatches,
both parents make forays into the yard, often snapping up mosquitoes and other
insects for food. They take turns
returning to share the wealth. It truly
is a sight to see such teamwork and love in nature! And clearly, because birds do not have to
suffer through the terrible twos or teenage years, as soon as they teach those
youngsters to fly and feed, they turn their attentions back to amore and make
another round phoeblings.
This process
takes us well into the summer months, right about the time I am beginning to
turn my own attentions away from home projects to preparing for the school year
to come, both as a tech person working in the off-season and a teacher
tinkering with my curriculum. By the
time the “vacant” sign hangs on the shed, I am in no place to be constructing
doors. At least that’s my story, and I’m
sticking to it. The leaves turn and
fall. Snow comes and goes. When the spring winds begin to warm and push
the remnants of winter northward, the phoebes return, and during that whole
time, I am too busy with teaching and wrapping up the school year to beat them
to the shed. Once I see the familiar
little twitching tail and the deliberate flight path into the welcoming open
portal of the shed, I know it is too late.
Since there was already a nest constructed, the loving pair of phoebes
were able to spend the weeks reserved for labor hanging out on branches within
sight of the house, twitching their tails in mocking amusement. Mate, feed, rinse, and repeat. Thus ends calendar year three of shed
construction. And the phoebes mocked me
from the shed windows and saw that it was good.
Hope springs
eternal. Just as every baseball team is
tied for first on opening day, the waning weeks of winter gave me another
chance to reclaim my masterpiece outbuilding from that pair of one-ounce feathered
pooping machines. At the end of winter 2019-2020,
I had a secret weapon: a motivated
builder’s apprentice. Hadley decided to
take the editing and social media portion of her job in Lake Tahoe remote, and
she trekked across the country to live with us in Freeport for a few months as
she contemplated her next steps in life.
Having completed a sustainable design and build course at the Yestermorrow Design/Build School in Waitsfield, Vermont, she brought skills, motivation, and
most importantly, free time into our house.
Hadley was able to slay the inertia that so often bound me in the winter
months (okay, and the other months, as well).
Now I had a partner. I had to get
her something to do. We grabbed the
stack of tongue-in-groove wood that had been patiently waiting (I like to call
it acclimating) in the rafters of the shed.
Assembly took place in the garage.
Phrases like “good enough,” and “kind of square” could be heard. The two doors were then moved to the paint
shop (basement) for the layering on of what turned out to be some poor-quality
paint (spoilers!). Hinges were
frustratingly researched. Don’t
ask. I do not understand why it is so
hard to search for shed door hardware. I
know, you do not believe me. Neither did
Kris, until she tried searching online for them. Nothing that I found could top the relatively
plain fence gate hardware at Ace Hardware.
If you search and you find something and it’s not a gazillion dollars
from Restoration Hardware, more power to you.
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| Three layers of the black paint, and still it blistered in the sun. |
Sometime in
late February or early March (I have no idea, every day blends together these
days – more on that topic in the future), Hadley and I installed the doors
(“square enough”). The shed was finally
buttoned up. Only the soffit remained. And there to watch us, were the phoebes. They began their early season wanderings as
all of us began hunkering down for the pandemic. When I was able to pull away from remote
teaching for a few breathes, we installed the final soffit. And still, the phoebes looked on. After seeing them fly towards the now closed
doors, hover near the transom window, and sit patiently on the peak of the
roof, we decided we needed to do something.
Kris suggested that we build some sort of shelf for them to nest. It was getting perilously close to nesting
season, and we had not yet seen evidence of them constructing a new facility. Like any good action movie, time was running
out!
On the heels
of the soffit installation, I grabbed pencil and paper and began
designing. “To the chop saw!” I cried
out. Scrap trim and siding were
gathered. Angles were cut (and recut, of
course). Nails were pounded. And quicker than any project I’ve ever done
in my life, a shelf was assembled and installed, complete with a back wall, at
the corner overhang of the roof. Only
the final step remained, the moving of the nest. It was constructed high in the gable wall on
the inside of the shed, and was remarkably anchored on its 2x4 shelf with
mud. It was actually difficult to pry
up. Carefully, the nest was carried down
the ladder and transported to the new exterior quarters in hopes that the
lodging-starved lovebirds would adopt the new location.
We
waited. We watched. My ninth-grade students will attest that I
often interrupt our remote class sessions to stare out the window, trying to
track the busy patterns of the birds as they move about the yard. Weeks passed, and there was still no sign
that they were visiting the new site, but also no real indication that they
were hauling nest materials anywhere. Nails
were bitten (not mine, I have my own vices).
Clocks ticked down loudly and slowly.
Somewhere, a metaphorical long fuse was inexplicably burning down,
despite there being no explosions planned for this aviary action movie. Hope was running out.
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| Birdbox (without the blindfolds). |
But as was
previously claimed, hope springs eternal!
Last weekend, I noticed Kris sitting on the deck outside my window. Then she lay awkwardly down on the
ground. Out of a small, but not
immeasurable concern that she may be having a medical episode, I walked out to
see what was going on. “Shh...I’m
watching the phoebes...” I first sat,
then also laid down to offer a better angle into the man-made love nest, as the
shed is downhill from the house. After
some calm moments of observation, we saw the proof! A phoebe flew deliberately into the
under-roof nook, padded around a bit, and flew off. The nest had been discovered! Procreation could commence! Our loving team of mosquito-eaters would have
a place to call their own AND we could feel free to use our handsomely
constructed shed as the evolutionarily-advanced beings that we are.
All that
remains is the installation of a ramp and the final painting of all the trim (and
bird condo). Will they happen this
year? Will our brave building hero drag
this out into an unheard of fifth calendar year? Stay tuned to the Learning to Play with
Concrete and Stone blog adventure to find out!
I have a bunch of topics floating in the head, and some spare time in
the near future. Besides, what else are
you going to do? Check in on how poorly
our country is handling the pandemic?
No, stop that. Invest in things
that might bring you happiness, whether it be an investment of your time (like
you clearly have to this point) or money.
I hope you
are all well, dear readers. See you
again real soon.
Dave
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| No, that isn't the ramp, silly. That is the current latch to keep the doors closed. Doesn't it match the hinges? |
