Paul removed a single rotted board on the cabin’s deck, and then, as with a Russian doll, removed one layer after another until in the end there was nothing but air! Every board was rotted through, although not all of them appeared so to the naked eye.
It all started with a discussion about the screened-in porch.
I said, “I think we could use some new screens, don’t you?” We could see quite a few holes where mosquitoes and such were coming through.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Paul said.
After a rash of bites covered our necks, arms, and feet, we reassessed the urgency of the situation.
Without any more talk, Paul fetched new rolls of screen, tore out the old, removed and replaced rotted boards, and fitted “the windows” with new screens.
So that you don’t think I’m lazy, I will tell you I painted the room.
A door from the porch leads to the deck. We walk out on the deck to hang our bird feeders, to replace birdseed, and to refill the hummingbird feeder with sugared water.
Anyway, when we were almost done with the porch, we noticed the shabby shape of the deck.
And thus began the board removal, which went on until there was nothing left to stand on. If you opened the porch door and stepped out, you would fall twelve feet down onto a concrete slab. Ouch!
Where are we now? There’s a new framework. Friends arrive today for a three-day stay. They’ll just have to take the cabin as it is. I imagine that when Paul talks to them about his labors—how this needs 2x4s, that needs 4x4s, this 2x6s and that ¾ rounds—they will have a better idea what he’s talking about than I do. The way my mind works, I think in terms of Russian dolls.