September 2003

September 8, 2003: Well, September's been a real trip so far here at Brickman House. Come to think of it, that's not so different from August, and July, and June, and probably just about every month since we've been here.

We started back again on our siding project this month, repairing and replacing rotted trim and clapboards, knowing that we've got to get the house secure before winter sets in. It hasn't been too bad of a project--some parts of the house were worse than we thought, others were surprisingly better. Par for the course, we suppose. And while we probably shouldn't be complaining about the project, because it isn't, after all, hauling flagstone around on 95 degree July days, it's tedious as can be, and deadly boring.

We have miles of replacement cedar clapboards, but we're trying to preserve the originals where we can. We feel that's the right thing to do, of course, for the house, but we have to admit, a trip to our local lumberyard to gather some replacement clapboards provided some serious motivation. We got the bill, and weren't quite sure whether we had just actually just bought some plain old cedar. Do they price white gold by the linear foot? A piece of advice for any of you out there that may have to replace clapboards on your houses any time in the next twenty years? Start growing cedar trees-- NOW. Either that, or move to a different house. Preferably built with brick.

So lately, every time we have to trim a clapboard to fit, we chuck the end piece on the scrap pile and think, "Well, there goes the cost of a good dessert... well, there goes a good bottle of wine... oops, we mis-measured? There goes our next European vacation..."

If the materials cost isn't bad enough, actually replacing the clapboards themselves is about as exciting as a conference of bankruptcy lawyers. The procedure to replace the clapboard itself goes something like this: slide slim prybar under clapboard to be replaced. Sloooowly and gennnnntly pry it away from the ones above and below it. Grab nail in good clapboard above damaged one with cleat in prybar, and prrrrry it out carefully. Nail breaks. Curse. Go to next nail, pry, curse, repeat. Spend twenty minutes freeing clapboard until you get to last nail. Make a move a fraction of a centimeter in the wrong direction. Split good clapboard along entire length. Pull out, discard, and prepare to now replace both clapboards. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Despite the frustrations, we've managed so far to repair the entire east side of the house, including replacing some rotting sills, though we've not yet gotten up the courage to tackle the last remaining, truly rotted, sill-from-hell on that side of the house yet. And we're mostly done with the front of the house, aside from waiting for a few properly sized scrap pieces to replace some odds and ends:

We're now working on the west side, with the bay window tower. We've just started the bay, and it's proving to be quite the adventure, but alas, that story will have to wait for a future Journal entry.

September 15, 2003: Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day... yeah, fat chance. We weren't going to get a dry day this weekend no matter how generous a mood the Wizard of Oz was in.

Fortunately, however, the arrival of this rainy weekend coincided with our realization that it is, in fact, mid-September, and we still have a huge, honkin' hole in the middle of our house covered with plastic. Yup, the erstwhile kitchen window:

Now, we have always intended on actually putting something more permanent than 6 mil plastic in the hole before winter, but when we removed the window in April, winter was a lot further away, and we had more immediate problems to tackle. Now, with winter approaching sooner rather than later, this particular project has moved up on the list of "immediate problems."

The window has always presented us with a couple of interesting issues....

The first is, that when Bad Joey the Plumber hacked a big rectangular hole in the wall and hung that wart of a bumpout window, he apparently deemed a header to be optional, and elected not to be bothered. At least discovery of that small fact solved for us the mystery of why, exactly, the wart window was falling off the exterior wall-- the framing bowed, causing it to separate from the wall. So we knew we had to reframe the window to include a header large enough to span the opening.

The second problem, though, was that there was no way to know what size header we could fit up there, because the dropped ceiling and heavy cabinet soffit in the kitchen dropped the ceiling at least 18 inches lower than its original height. In order to get a decent measurement of how high the rough opening could actually be, as opposed to how high it was, the ceiling had to go. A rainy day provided us the perfect opportunity to remove the dropped ceiling and cabinet soffit over the window to get the measurement:

Ohhh, very nice. We discovered that we could easily enlarge the height of the window opening by an entire foot, and still have enough room for a header of appropriate size. Mission accomplished.

Or not. As you've heard us say so many times over the last eighteen months, while we're at it... So we figured, while we were at it, and the kitchen was already cleared out, and the tools were already out, and it wasn't going to stop raining any time soon... we'd start tearing out the rest of the kitchen ceiling.

We didn't get all the layers down, but we made a fairly good dent in the project. Oddly enough, what slowed us down wasn't the actual demolition, but attempting to vacuum the majority of the mouse droppings off the top of the dropped ceiling panels and moldings to prevent them from raining down on our heads in a torrent every time we pulled a panel down. We'll work on the next layers during another rainy weekend:

September 23, 2003: Well, true to the way this season's been going, once again this week, Mother Nature herself has had her own agenda.

We try to keep our senses of humor about us while doing projects around the house, and we try to entertain you all with amusing stories that go on around our house, but it's just not happening this week. We exhausted every rain joke we know somewhere around mid-May. And while we were lucky to have sustained only minor damage, Hurricane Isabel was most definitely not funny-- seriously obnoxious was more like it. So we decided to let someone else bring "da funny" this week.

As you may recall, last month a good friend of ours came for a weekend visit for the first time. We had a great weekend lazing about the pool and visiting the cafes in town to stuff ourselves silly and hang out on Main Street. Our friend is, among other things, a travel writer for Fodor's, and as a thank-you note, sent us her proposed Fodor's entry for Brickman House. She was generous enough to give us permission to post it here-- too funny!

Brickman House.

Lovingly renovated by current owners, Brickman House is a must-visit for the savvy Delaware traveler.

The original home began life around 1840 in what was then an extremely remote northwestern part of Delaware known as "The Wedge." The one-room, single-level cabin, home to farmer Harding Brickman and his wife Mary, eventually came to include a lower addition (built in the 1930s) and an upper story (added in the early 70s).

The innkeepers discovered the forlorn property in late 2000 and have been living there since mid-2002. Tragically decorated by a former owner known only as "Bad Joey the Plumber," the unrenovated sections of the home feature lamentable highlights of 70's interior design such as dark wood (ish) paneling and avocado green accessories. Thankfully, the design team has updated the home's color palate with a delightful array of warm muted natural tones.

Amenities

Thousands of verdant state-protected acres—known as the White Clay Creek Preserve— surround the grounds of Brickman House. Deer from the preserve freely roam the property.

A slate-sided pool surrounded by lush greenery awaits visitors. A low-hanging mimosa tree attracts an excellent exhibit of indigenous butterflies for nature buffs or those who simply appreciate their beauty. The owners have a wide variety of the latest magazines to satisfy culture-vultures (People), Martha Stewart wannabes (her eponymous mag, Better Homes and Gardens and Southern Living) and urban sophisticates (New York).

For poolside assistance, breakfast service or ferrying visitors to town, male house staff wears kilts. Yes, kilts. It's a refreshing down-to-earth touch that befits the genteel surroundings.

Bed linens are natural and/or white, adding an air of openness and luminosity to an already tranquil setting.

Meals

While a plethora of fine restaurants are within a pleasantly short drive from Brickman House (be sure to check out Home Grown and its fantastic house specialty, polenta "fries"), dining in is also a joy. The daily mid-afternoon poolside wine respite and snack are not to be missed. Specialties of the house include open-faced turkey-raspberry sandwiches and an elegantly presented, yet simple fresh fruit platter. The inn's summer evening meal featured two kinds of salmon (brown sugar basted and lemon-dill infused). Locally grown corn-on-the-cob and potatoes rounded out the satisfying late evening meal. For wine connoisseurs, the innkeepers have amassed an adventurous selection of wines and single-malt scotches that reflect their worldwide travels and excellent taste.

Contact Information

For reservations, e-mail Brickman House at brickmanhouse@mail.com. For more information visit: http://www.brickmanhouse.com.

(Written in gratitude for a wonderful weekend by Karyn-Siobhan Robinson).

We'll be back next week with more clapboard replacement tales, and we swear we'll make good on our promise from our September 8 entry to tell you all about the details of the clapboards on the bay window tower!

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