LIVING ROOM CEILING, FIRST PHASE

Yeah, I know I tole you to keep close as I dissected the living room ceiling, and that I'd have the next post up in a jiffy.
We have this thing up here called Winter, and if you thought the snippet of a post about last year's Winter was overblown, you ain't seen this winter. Oh, you saw the last post, where we had three feet two Mondays ago (actually between two and three), but then we had another foot last Monday, topped with a half an inch of ice. All these storms seem to come on Monday, which screws up my work week very nicely, thank you very much. It's Sunday night, and we're supposed to get six more. The radar might be my friend this time; it looks to be passing to the north. I just yesterday shoveled my way to the barn, and did my third shoveling to the shop at the same time.
Others of less energy would say that was enough, but ME? HA! I'm a true glutton for punishment. Chomp chomp.
I started my living room ceiling project a month ago, just before the snow dropped its first twenty seven inches. Good timing. It was also a month ago I got as sick as I've been in many years. Throat tickles turned to congestion, then coughs. The shit settled in my chest, and I took all my vacation in a prone position. I've had the p-nu-moan six times, and this was similar. I've still got a good deal of crap in my chest and throat a month later, but despite this, I have been both at work and working on the living room. Work now consists of framing a huge addition to the Pendleton-Chapman House in Avondale RI, so I get to work outdoors in the sea-whipped air on the Atlantic Coast while I cough.
Splendiferous.
In the meantime, I HAVE been working on the Living Room Ceiling Project.
As you will see as you read on.

 This is why I moved the operation inside. The barn will have to wait until the snow melts. Likely June, with this load. And that doesn't take the next, next, and next into account.

 I hate the color of this room, which is a bit exaggerated here. Babyshit yellow. The two false beams and ceiling/wall boxwork can be seen here, likely added in the sixties or seventies. The wood is knotty pine.

 The fireplace is likely early 1700s, the woodwork much later, likely 1960s or 70s. Still very nice, well milled, and installed by someone that knew what they were doing. It might very well be cedar; the knots seem a bit too big and the grain too wavy to be white pine. I don't know yet. The right planks are over twenty inches wide. All the woodwork that surrounds both fireplaces is similar, and looks to be based on a small bit of ancient paneling in the back room, the oldest in the house. The door to the left is very old, likely early 1700s. The fireplace is also early 1700s, but the cast iron surround is much later, prolly late 1800s. I have no intention of removing it or opening the hearth for future fires; I intend to install a small wood stove here. Note the steel flue insert. It used to vent a huge kerosene heater (go back to the first post or two to see it). The curve in the floor is no photographic anomaly; the stack has sunk a bit since its constructon.

 The west wall and its boxwork. Tools and sawhorses waiting to be set up. I moved the entire living room contents into the bedroom (very spacious it is, he said in his best Yoda voice), and have not been sorry. Heating this house is difficult on the slightest cold day, and the temps have been especially low this winter.

 The East Wall. Note the disparity in the width of the window trim and the stool, seen at the lower right corner of the windows. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this. The wood is pine, and has been woodgrained. Badly. I will replace it, considering that I have stacks of 400 year old southern yellow pine in the yard. I'm not sure what dimensions I will mill into the new trim. I KNOW that's not authentic, but very little of this house is authentic other than its framing. At this point in the project, I knew a few things, such as the fact that the joists run the wrong way, from gable end to gable end as opposed to eave to eave. This is not unusual for a timber framed structure of this age; the ceiling joists would normally keep the walls from moving due to roof rafters pushing outward, but the plates and sills are hewn and pegged. If it hasn't moved in 325 years, I'm not worried that it might in the future.

 A better view of the fireplace and its natural tilt. Hard to see here is the second floor under the 1x4 (actually 3/4" by 3") yellow pine floor, the latter likely installed in the late 1800s when heart pine was cheap and modernizing Colonial structures was the norm. If I was lucky (and if my first observations were right), it might be wide chestnut. If so, I'd expose it after I finished the ceiling and rewiring. Read further to see it from beneath, where other architectural treasures will be uncovered. The heater came with me from Arkansas, and though it looks pretty, it is highly inefficient and will not be used again in this room.

This bit of 1960/1970s fluff has bothered me since I first saw the house in 2012. This is the corner of the house, installed when it was expanded from a one-room end-chimney design to the full Cape (two-room with a long room at the rear with a central chimney) in the early 1700s. But the wood is the same age as the rest of the boxwork on the ceiling. What might live behind it? If I was lucky, a little excavation might uncover a gunstock corner post (go back to the Harvard Carriage House in Architectural Vestiges to see one). If not, whatever I'd find would likely be more authentic than the trim that surrounds it.

 Yes, whatever lives behind it can be revealed with a little careful flatbar work...

 

But, but, BUT!!!

 

Since I'd first seen the house (and much more since I'd been working in the room with no furniture), I noticed that the floor bounced like a rubber trampoline. I knew that many of the floor joists have ancient pine beetle infestations. Plus they are three hundred years old. Sighing as I looked out at the newfallen three feet of snow on the ground (okay it was twenty seven inches, grrrrr), I gathered my equipment, shoveled my way out to the cellar bulkhead doors, and went down to do battle with floor.

 

Maybe I'd learn something about the house's history.

Even though I'd examined the cellar before I even considered making an offer on the house, I didn't really KNOW it from down there.

 I'd already put five clip lights into place when I'd run new gas lines last winter, and now I brought my second sawhorses and some lumber to reinforce what I already knew was a worm-farm. Surprisingly, the joists, though worm-eaten, still had plenty of solid wood into which I could screw my secondary supports. Later I'll remove them and run newer, longer ones to the sills that sit on the brick foundation walls. These brick walls are locally made brick laid upon schist foundation stones, first set up in the early eighteenth century when the original one-room house was lifted, the cellar dug, and the central chimney built. Then the room to the north (the living room I'm restoring) was built, along with a couple of small rooms to the west. This became most of the present house, reportedly around the first ten years of the eighteenth century.

 Temporary support to strengthen the floor I'd be working off above. I'd add another to the east (right).

 A FIND!!! While Looking around with my flashlight, I saw a shiny bauble in the stones of the central chimney stack, and removing it, I had to laugh. I am a consummate treasure hunter (a reformed archaeologist, actually), and, using my metal detector, I once found the top tin (though it's actually made of aluminum) of this very item. I brought it to my all-knowing mother, who laffed and laffed.

"Merry widows! I haven't heard that term in years!" It turns out that this was the generic name for rubbers (a prophylactic device worn by men to negate the possibility of pregnancy in the women with which they were having sexual relations). Apparently keeping the tin in the cellar, stuffed among the chimney stones, was the preferred placement for such an item at the time. I need to approach the siblings of the Matriarch of the Farm to inquire about this, but my guess is that this item predates the last family by at least fifty years.

A good shake of the tin reveals that at least one still resides there. I don't believe I'll use it.

 

 The sills and plates are hewn in both the cellar as well as the living room, while the ceiling joists are sawn. The floor joists, however, are also hewn. The plates and sills are a mix of chestnut and white pine.

 

 The sleepers (the boards between the floorboards, which are flat sawn and not tongue-in-groove) are chestnut. To my delight, so are the wide boards above. These are below the heart pine floor in the living room. As much as I dread another project, the prospect of a random-width chestnut floor totally lights my fire. It will be uncovered and refinished after the ceiling and walls, though.

 The living room floor reinforced from below. Enough to do the restoration, anyway.

 The central chimney stack from the cellar. Note the squared timbers used as filler within, especially the group above and the one directly below those. I'm guessing that these are the first house's roof rafters, removed when it went from a one-room to a two-room house. Note the tenon and trunnel-hole of the timber directly below the big stack that supports the floor around the hearth.

 I'm not sure what the filled-in area is in the north foundation, but it was done rather haphazardly. I guess this was a coal-chute, but only a long talk with the elder Sibling will tell.

 One of the original joists below the kitchen, the 1690 portion of the house. Rounded except for the hewn side that supports the floor, it matches other of its kind in the same area. Worm food, but surprisingly strong.

 A newer sill that has been collapsing due to cellar moisture.

 Chimney stack with older timbers with mortises, all hewn chestnut. The water bottles are a precaution for those of us that have wells and might have ice take out power any time in the winter. Doesn't happen often. In Arkansas, the power was much more likely to go out, what with the tornadoes and ice storms. The cellar never freezes. Never has in three hundred twenty five years. Good old earth; one hell of an insulator.

 The only really new wood in the cellar. The termites have had fun with it. The older wood has pine beetles in places, but no termites. Let's hear it for old wood. I intend to treat everything in the cellar with Boracare this spring.

 

 BACK UP TOP!! Now for whatever lay under the half-inch thick pine. Damn! It was simply a painted four by four, and a new one at that. Most of this phase was done at night; my day job pays for this shit. The 4x4 ran up into the ceiling, so I'd have to remove the ceiling to see the thing in its entirety.

The ceiling joists that run the wrong way. The white lines are lime from the plaster ceiling, the first evidence of what was there before. The joists are sawn, the plate is hewn pine with some bark still on it. Note the broadaxe marks. Now here was a dilemma; the black spots are from nails that held up the wood lath strips, long gone. But those nails that remained were machine-made, not handmade. The lath strips were also machine-made, if the preternaturally exact widths are to be taken as evidence.

Now, machine-made nails are not rare around 1700, and split lath (as opposed to sawn lath) was for the Provinces. Connecticut had many small mills making everything the growing population might need. The Nutmeg State is famous for its enterprising, business-oriented populace (still is), and small mills were built on every stream with enough fall to power a wheel (we have a plethora of these as well, and old mill foundations can be found in just about any valley). But I was a bit disappointed to see that my own house's 1700s addition was so...modern. I have to admit that the name of my road IS Miller Road, though. The white lime that made the plaster likely came from crushed oyster shells, a by-product of other enterprising Connectikittens down the coast, twelve miles away.

Tole you we are enterprising bastards. There's not a speck of limestone in the state, which is the normal source for slaked lime for plaster. Gotta get it somewhere.

 

The sleepers that support the second floor floorboards are chestnut, but the flooring appears to be pine. I saw the pine floor from the "attic" when I first examined the house. The difference between chestnut and pine can be easily seen here. Chestnut has large knots, flecks of grain as opposed to long figure lines, and is much harder despite being equally as light. It resists decay and termites, works easily, and takes a brilliant finish. Or it used to before the Chestnut Blight killed all the trees.

 

The sawn joists are white pine, and not only sport tenons fitted into mortises in the hewn plates, but many are also custom-worked to match the curvature of the plate. The piece of wood with the geometrical pattern attached to the plate is a piece of deadwood installed to carry the edge of the lath. This joist, like several others, seems to have moved out from its original position. 

With enough of the ceiling removed to examine the 4x4 in the corner, I decide to take a closer look.

Ah-HA! It's not a 4x4 at all, but a couple pieces of 3/4" trim boxed around an old corner post (seen above the joint of the stained boxwork and the white trim around the post). It also has a trunnel through it as well as a few broadaxe marks. Hot diggity damn! But it does not look to be of 'gunstock' design.

 

Not a very good picture of the exposed post.

 

The post sports some rather enthusiastic broadaxe strokes, along with a generous piece of pine bark. The bark is ready to fall off, though I'd like to keep it. I will clean, lightly sand, and preserve this post. The others are in the bathroom (very difficult to expose, but I will try when I remodel that room), in the laundry room (already exposed it and half of it is gone to termites/water damage), and in the kitchen, behind the shelving above the sink. Prolly leave that one hidden. The lath on the walls was apparently left in place after the plaster was removed and the drywall installed; look to the right of the post.

 

 Egads! The floorboards apparently end two to three inches from the eave plate! The day I tore out this section of the ceiling was seven degrees, and icy air began to cascade into the room. More interestingly, the diagonal corner brace that can be seen behind the piece of pine with the circular grain on the right side is ABOVE the floorboards. Examination of the plate in the attic showed that it is much higher than the ceiling or flooring of the second story.

Needles to say, the house got VERY cold that night (seven below outside, and I had no insulation to shove into the holes I exposed).

 

The next day, trying to keep warm, I removed the remaining ceiling. The hewn south plate was, surprisingly, hewn chestnut. The north plate is pine.

The ceiling exposed, and the boxwork remains. The wiring isn't dangerous, but is not something to keep. I will work around it and preserve it until I ditch it entirely. All my new wiring will go through the cellar, attached to the ceiling. Safer that way, and I have no ceiling fixtures in my future.

The south joists and their tenons, showing past movement as the west part of the house (further away in the picture)  has journeyed further to the south than the east side. The chimney stack, behind the paneling, is likely to blame. The nailers for the old drywall were clear heart redwood. Go figure.

Tight tenon, east side.

Not so tight tenon, heading west. The curve at the bottom was gnawed by a rat, not carved before installation.

 

Furthest west joist tenon, only 3/4" of it still inside the mortise. I would add wood brackets to this one before finishing the insulation of the ceiling. Note the horizontal crack. I'd gotten there just in time. Or this crack was there in 1702. Who knows?

This is not my idea of good electrical wiring, and it shouldn't be yours, either.

I finally stuffed temporary insulation into the cold-spewing holes, which helped a bit.

 

"Modern" wiring attached to older wiring. This connection was cut and sealed, as it fed a ceiling light I never use in the bedroom. It also fed one of my two receptacles (I have ten in the entire house). Tine to run a new circuit!

 

It took three hours to remove the boxwork. The carpenter apparently liked to use lots of nails. Then five hours to run the R-19. This room is now much, MUCH warmer. It smells like insulation, though.

This was a lot of work. Next is running a lot of new nailers to match the one left in the middle of the room, then to put up new drywall. I'll reuse the denailed 1x from the boxwork for this (a Damn Frugal Yankee I have become). Ah, but then I have a surprise!

Granted, it will have to get a bit warmer before I can show you what I'm going to do to this room, as three feet of snow is atop the pile of lumber involved. I may work in the basement after I do the drywall, which, even considering the taping and floating, is perty damn boring and not really worth a big old post like this one.

SO.

YIPPIE TIE ONE ON!!!

SPRING IS AROUND THE CORNER!!!!

We did have four more inches of snow today, and five more is expected Thursday, with another five on Saturday.

 

So don't lissen to me. I'm snowbound and winter-crazed.

 

Jesus, this shit is worse than last year, which, if you remember, was the worst winter in New England in fifty years. THAT lasted forever, but it wasn't as deep. As deep as it is out there, this will likely last longer.

At least this room will be a bit warmer. It is, after all, the first room in The Standish House to have received any real insulation.

More will follow.

A LITTLE SNOW

I think it's perty stupid to name every damn storm that comes down the pike. It used to be only hurricanes that got named, and female names, at that. I still like that idea; females can be stubborn, unidirectional, and occasionally, devastating. Well, the worthwhile ones, anyway. I never got into the Andrew or Hugo thing, though I went through the latter. Camille, Agnes, Doris, Sandy. I can get into those names. Katrina? That name scared me from before the storm even formed. I know a Katrina, and believe me, that storm has nothing on her.

So when they said "Juno" was coming this way with an expected snowfall measured in feet as opposed to inches, I laughed. "Juno? That's the name of a movie with a pregnant girl!"
But, as a now ex-stormchaser with many tornadoes under my belt, I know a serious radar signature when I see one, and though I was brought up in Tornado Alley, I know a thing or two about weather in general. And when the Governor shuts down the highways with a Travel Ban, I pay attention. It's the first time I've ever seen one of those for an entire state. I also lived up here before this latest foray into New England Madness, so nor'easters are not unknown to me. Take a wet storm in Louisiana, add some cold air from Alberta, send the storm up the Mid Atlantic, and watch the snow fall in New England. It could be up in the Litchfield Hills (northwest CT), it could be The Corridor (south central CT to Springfield MA). It could be The Cape, New Hampshire, or Maine. But they get crazy winter weather anyway.
It was Southeast Connecticut this time.
Say hello to Juno.

 This is the radar signature for a classic Nor'easter; it was on Unisys the afternoon of the storm that was progged to hit last night.. We've already had eleven nor'easters this season, some producing many inches of rain. But if there is a vigorous cold front behind or within it, expect snow. A LOT of snow. The question is, 'Who will get it?'

 Nine a.m. Apparently WE got it. Snow was falling heavily, as it did all last night and all day today. Still is at five thirty this evening. At this point I had dug a path to the gas grill to allow the Short Dog to get out and pee. The Tall dogs would have to fend for themselves, and though it doesn't show in this pic, they had already plowed their own path through the yard. A circular one that led back to the door.

 

 I like wind-blown snow sculptures. The space beneath the truck allowed the very dry snow to blow right through, leaving some nice curved ledges. At this point, I was not going to go out to take pictures; I love my camera and had no intention of it going out into the storm with me. This was taken from the side door's protective awning this morning; the better pics would have to wait until the flying stuff stopped. It didn't. It just slowed. There were a few moments of nearly-not-snow, but the wind blew enough off the roof and down my collar to make it seem like it was still snowing, Then it would start again

 

 Speckle Pup says "Can I go out in it? Hunh? Can I? Can I? Can I Hunh? Can I?" It was her puppy-driven energy that plowed the paths for the rest of the dogs. Good thing for Cheerio, whose legs are only four inches long. Speckle stands fourteen feet at the shoulder. She looks slightly shorter here.

 

 Later in the afternoon, I donned my gear and went to work widening the path for the dogs. This pic gives a bit of perspective on the drifts, which are over five feet in some places on the farm. It's hard to say just what the actual depth of the snow was; out on the lawn, it was between twenty seven and thirty four inches. But some places, where the wind howled without something to break it up (it did this all night), less than five inches remained. Cheerio isn't so sure of this whole thing, but she got out and tunneled through the snowbanks, wrestling with her baby Speckle, who appears to have her tongue stuck to her nose here.

 

 First order of business after the dogs have a path; make the grill accessible. I AM from Arkansas, people.

The smokers will have to wait. At least until the snow is less than seven inches.

 

 To my delight, the barn roof held the snow load. Let's see if it holds with a big March snow, which will be heavy and wet.

 The House roof has very little snow. It all blew off as it fell. Except where it drifted over the 1910 addition. The plywood deflects water that drips from the gutter above, which needs reattaching. So sue me; I ben busy. It's temporary.

 

 Marley finally makes it outside to play, which she did in the deepest snow, romping with the Everpup. Marley is an Akita, a Japanese breed. She'll sleep in the snow and not even notice it.

 

 Looking towards the barn/greenhouse. Roof held nicely, and the snow covered all the last trash piles that came out of the greenhouse. This year, despite the high snow, Speckle will not leap over the snow-shortened fence. Thanks to the little wire wrapped around those yellow knobs, heh heh heh.

 

 Speckle-plowed paths.

 

 It took an hour or more to dig out the back of the truck to the driver's side door from the gate, a distance of about twenty feet. The stepladder was necessary to get out of the backyard, as the plywood gate opens outward. I think the same was true last year. Good thing it was in the house and not out in the barn, where it was only four days ago.

 

 Strange eddies created in snow on the south side of the truck.

 Even stranger sculptures on the south roof. Deep uns, too. The thing under the blue tarp is a free refrigerator, which will go into the cellar as soon as I can dig my way there. The cellar bulkhead lies somewhere beneath the drifts to the right of the fridge. Good thing I got the shoring of the living room floor done Saturday; there's no way there now. Stay tuned for that project; it's next.

 The plywood gate and the canyon I had to create to get out of the yard. And what's under all that snow? An inch of solid ice from the last storm, of course.

 

 This was a s far as I could shovel this afternoon. I'll dig to the street tomorrow. The plows have finally been by, so I guess the Travel Ban is over. Big deal. I ain't goin' anywhere tomorrow either. Note the mailbox across the street. Not only filled with snow, but almost buried. And ten inches deeper than the pic posted this morning. Go back and look; I'll wait. I'll dig that out for my Mail Girl Cindy. She'll appreciate it. We must look after our Postal Workers.

 

 I loaded the feeders and suet cages yesterday in anticipation of the storm. The juncos and sparrows aren't fazed by the two feet of snow beneath their feet. I'll have to load the feeders again tomorrow. Sigh. As if I don't have enough shoveling to do as it is. But they are my puppybirds, so whattayagonnado?

 

The Canyon to the truck, complete with added snow. Light was fading. Cocktail hour beckoned. The dogs were squeaking to be fed. Guess I need to oil them.

Thing is, that curved pile will be there until March. Watch. You'll see.

Time to settle in for a Long Winter's Night.

Note to all of you; Midwinter's Day is only six days hence. Then we glide to Spring. Really. Make sure to do the proper sacrifices while chanting the proper words on Candlemas, February 2nd.

"Ai! Shub-niggurath! The goat with a thousand young!"

A LITTLE FORCED TIME OFF

  I know I said I'd post some pics of the living room project, but tiny bits of viral material in my system said otherwise. Just off my back for the first time in a week, I needed to take a drive to get out a bit. Not to worry; I'm not dead yet (sorry to those of you who didn't worry anyway; us Yellowbeards are never more dangerous than when we're dead). But I needed a divertissement.

So I took a slow road across the hills to examine what has been done at my job in Glastonbury during my absence. The hell with the job; I stopped at The Salmon River Canyon west of Colchester because it looked wild and deep on the DeLorme atlas. It was, though the ice on the trails made hiking impossible. It also closed the road I'd chosen to leave the place. I got out anyway. It has been cold up here, with only one or two days above freezing since Christmas. And even then it rained like a bitch then froze immediately. Winter is still my favorite season. Why? No Bugs. Gonna get colder and snowier starting tonight, so the living room project will get underway this weekend whether I like it or not.

There is also a historic covered bridge at the site (west of Colchester on Route 16), but it is about as historic as yesterday's underwear. The thing has been totally rebuilt in the past few decades using modern timbers and steel corner braces. A nice bridge in a fantastic location, but only a few of the original timbers were reused, so I didn't take any pix of it. Well, one.

 The Salmon River in winter, looking upstream from the covered bridge. They stock it with salmon and trout. Catch and release, dontcha know. Best way to torture fish. I like the wall at the left; I imagine there have been problems with erosion there, as it is on the outside bend of a very wild river. This thing floods rather magnificently, if the pictures I've seen are to be believed. If you decide to take a look at the river, you'll know you're in the right place when you top the ridge and drop like a screaming eagle into the deep wooded canyon in front of you.

 

 

 Despite the swiftness of the current and steep fall of the water, it freezes over occasionally. Then it thaws and huge slabs of ice travel swiftly downstream, sometimes forming ice dams that cause VERY cold local floods. These in this pile are about ten feet across and more than a foot thick; I don't think I'd like to be canoeing with them clunking the sides of the boat.

 

 

 Looks like alls you need is a large icepick the size of a pickaxe, a bunch of empty tumblers, and a case of good scotch. Macallan 12-year old will do. Call me when you've got it. I'll go to work on the ice.

 

 

 Looking downstream to the new bridge. Looks cold, doesn't it?

 

 

 One of the reasons I wanted to see this area is that it's known for some pretty good mineral collecting, mostly garnet (the Connecticut State Gem), beryl, and tourmaline. This is schist country, and schist means gem minerals. The sand in this river is made of very fine, very clear garnet, likely almandine or pyrope. Prolly the former. It's the red stuff, like duh. I intend to return at some time to see if anything larger shows itself, likely when I can actually pull pebbles from the river. They're quite frozen in place right now. Winter. Sheesh.

 

 

Apparently a popular girl with someone. I don't believe much graffiti I read. Someone doesn't like her, though. Hope it's not true. Christina, if you're out there, now is the time to go to the bridge with some sandpaper.

 

I found this draft dated early 2015 and couldn't find it in the posts, so here it is. If you've already seen it, my apple-ogies. I've been deep into the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom finishing, and hate to show a half-finished project, so I have delayed. I will dribble some out a bit at a time, as the End is coming soon.

It's been terribly, terribly difficult this year.

STANDISH HOUSE

THEN AND NOW

(originally written after the first snow of the snowiest year on record) 

 It's been a while since my last post, but the beginning of winter is no time to write when the cold and snow are on their way. But I do have a special treat. Read on. 

 

    Winter has hit in full force, and the past three weeks have been spent in preparation for it. The barn is shored, the greenhouse has finally been emptied of all its trash, and all the close-to-the-house brush clearing has been done, The pond is frozen, two inches of snow covers the ground, and I've had my annual run-out-of-LP gas-on-the-coldest-day-of-the-year episode. Yes, I awoke on Tuesday to a sputtering bedroom heater and immediately cursed my cockeyed gas tank gauge. I then awoke on Wednesday to seven below outside and thirty-four in the house. It would be a week before I could get the gas company to bring me more. But I learned from last year and had installed an emergency valve that allows me to hook up a 20-gallon grill-sized tank in a pinch, and this was certainly that. I have heat and hot water again, and it's a good thing, as temps won't go above freezing for much of the next week. It's still cold in the house, around fifty.

   This being the case, I've decided to finally do some interior restoration starting today. It's about damn time; I haven't done anything to the interior other than infrastructure repair upon moving in. Today I'm moving everything from the living room into the bedroom and intend to update the living room completely. It presently features some fine wide cedar paneling on the fireplace wall, a heart pine floor, and stained pine trim around the windows and doorways, none of which are original. The drywall has been taped but not floated, and all seams are visible. In addition, the ceiling sports two faux box beams that scream out "1960s!" The fireplace wall paneling was designed to match the paneling in the back room, apparently the only old paneling still in existence in the house.

 

   So today, after moving the furniture, I intend do the initial investigation as to the original configuration of the room. I'll start by going into the attic/second floor to remove a floorboard and examine the joists from above. That will let me know with what I'm dealing. I hope I'll have another post tonight with pics of the investigation.

 

 

In the meantime, here's a treat for you historyophiles. One of the Izbicki siblings, Bertha's daughter Barbara, brought me this picture of the house taken in 1938, when Chester and Bertha bought the derelict Standish House. I took one look at the disrepair and asked "Was this taken before or after the Hurricane?" The house looks like it's been through one, but it was actually taken in summer, months before The Great Hurricane of 1938. That storm devastated Long Island, southeastern Connecticut, and much of Rhode Island. The storm surge brought twenty feet of water into the streets of downtown Providence. Providence is less than forty five miles from Preston.

 

Note the south addition is only one-third the size of that addition today, and that the side door is fully visible and not enclosed. The roof cornice on the gable end has a set of horizontal returns (missing today and not authentic to the original Cape design) and the front of the house sports a large porch, complete with Victorianesque column brackets. Several outbuildings can be seen on the left side of the picture. They are all gone now, as is the view of the pasture on the hill behind those buildings. The entire hill, still a pasture of the dairy farm up the road, is now obscured by a tall hardwood forest. A 1930s-era car is in the driveway, and a now-disappeared rock wall divides the driveway from the south yard. Careful perusal of the picture show strange lines or dark streaks from bottom to top; these are pencil lines that were added to the original after it was apparently crinkled, then unfolded. Mine is a copy. The chimney has a korbel mine doesn't have; it was rebuilt sometime in the past twenty years.

 

                                                                             1938

                                                                               2015

    Looking at this makes me realize it's time to take down the old temporary gate and fence near the door and replace them with something more appropriate and less hillbilly. That'll happen when the snow goes away. Possibly spring.


Recent Note:
This was done, and despite the late summer verdure, mostly chest-high Johnson grass, the property looks much more civilized now that when I was pretty much camping out.