Sunday, April 10, 2011

[mapsedge]

I feel a little like a well intentioned grave robber. There are several steps to this story, and it will meander a bit, but keep up with me.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I feel a little like a well intentioned grave robber.


I've posted at my public blog, The Road Less Ordinary, about my shed building project. Here and here, if you're interested or need a quick review. In summary, I need a shed, and I mean to build one.

The catch is that I have vowed to build it using as much reclaimed/recycled material as possible. Not necessarily free, though that would be nice, I just don't want to go to Lowes or Home Depot and buy new materials, not when so much usable lumber is going to our landfills. My efforts won't stop that, but I'll have done my part. I'll point at my shed and say, No more trees had to be cut down to make that.

Brings a tear to the eye, doesn't it?

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On March 22, 2009, our across-the-street neighbor, one Carl Ragusa, died. He was many decades old - somewhere in his eighties I think. I wrote about that here. Since that day, his property has sat empty and unused, though not un-cared-for. That property, about four acres of it, has a house and a corrugated metal-sided pole barn. All my life I've been curious what's in that pole barn. It's big enough to comfortably hold four full-sized sedans.

The front is all miscellaneous boards and plywood scraps, and there's a padlock on the "door". The back, however, is open to the world. I laughed when I found that out. I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

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Over the winter we had to deal with rats in our basement. They tunnelled under the outer foundation and got into the space between the outer (1950s) and inner (1930s) foundations. This wouldn't have been a major issue except that my uncle dug out that space to make room for the waste stack without shoring up the dirt under the exterior footing. The tunnelling from the rats collapsed that dirt, exposing the footing . (See picture, right. Click for full-sized if you like.)

Had we not killed the rats and had I not done this last summer, we'd be in "the tunnel" as we call it, staring at the underside of our deck.

So, I need a supply of cinder blocks to build a curtain wall to shore that up and prevent further undermining of the foundation - preferably for free. I checked Craigslist, but everyone either wants money for them or I'd have to drive across KC to get only three or four at a time. Cheaper to go to Home Depot and pay $1.75/ea.

The one day, driving home from work, I notice a large pile of cinder blocks piled more or less neatly against the side of Carl Ragusa's pole barn. Since I rarely see the son who cares for the property - his name is Joe - at the house, I wrote a note and stuck it in the mailbox, saying in summary, "Can I have the cinder blocks if they're not already spoken for?"

Yesterday, I saw Joe at the house so I went over. Yes, he said, you can have all the blocks you want, there are more around back of the barn.

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This morning, after mowing the lawn, I went over to the property to take inventory. It was then I discovered the barn was open across the back. The "more" cinder blocks were inside it, so I stepped into the dirt-floored coolness and had a look around. I have finally satisfied my curiosity as to its contents, and what I found was, from a recycled building materials perspective, astonishing.

I have never, until this day, seen a pre-1960, 2" x 16" x 12' piece of lumber. The tree it came from must have been massive. Laying in a pile of old lumber, it looked the keel timber of a steamboat.

There were coffee cans of 16d galvanized nails. A dozen wood sash 3' x 2' windows of single panes of glass, no mullions. A couple dozen spruce window sills, brand new. Carl never threw anything away and, I later learned, when he found something at a good price he bought every piece of it he could carry and put it in the barn.

I left with my head spinning with possibilities, but the knowledge firmly in my mind that I had permission only to take the cinder blocks.

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Later in the day, I saw Joe's car in the driveway, so I went over to make sure we could drive on the land (no way I'm carrying cinder blocks that far without mechanical assistance) and to inquire after the other materials. We took a tour of the barn, taking inventory.

We weren't done, though.

I was preparing to leave when he invited me into the house to see if there was anything in the basement that I wanted. As I stepped through the back door into the kitchen for the first time in many many years, it still smelled the way I remembered, the dated cabinetry and linoleum unchanged from my memories. (I know the person who built the cabinets - one Floyd Chapman, dead for many decades now) I remarked that I used to come over and play with Chris (one of the grandchildren) and that Therese and Carl's hospitality was always kind and generous. We went downstairs to the basement.

There was a pair of huge, 1927 Cincinnati Tool Company bar clamps, dark with rust but still usable. A stack of plywood. A Craftsman radial arm saw. I am welcome to it all.

I told Joe, all of these things have value. A quick posting on Craigslist or the local paper would get you a lot of benefit. He shook his head.

I don't really care enough to bother, he said to me. I'd rather all this stuff go where it can be used, to someone who knew [and speaks kindly of - just reading between the lines, there] my parents.

It comes down to this: if no one in the family wants it (whatever "it" is), it's mine.

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And so, I feel a little like a well intentioned grave robber. I had few dealings with Carl in his last years, which happened to coincide with our early child-rearing issues when we were pretty isolated ourselves, and here I am, written, so to speak, posthumously into his will.

I didn't go seeking a windfall, and it looks like there might be one coming. Working past the guilt, though, I'm overjoyed at the materials and tools, stuff that I certainly can't afford and wouldn't have been able to obtain otherwise, I think.

Comments

[starwyse]

I love that you get presents.
Carl's way of staying in the neighborhood :)