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a barn

October 11, 2010

7 weeks ago I had a concrete slab (see above), blueprints, nails, a pile of wood and the guidance of a Master carpenter; now I have a 3 story, 28X32, wooden frame with doors, windows and a roof. It’s half-way sided, and should be a freestanding, fully-enclosed barn (really more like a workshop/studio/house) within a week. Two months to watch thousands of separate pieces from disparate places (Maine, Taiwan, Montana and Vermont, to name a few) arranged and attached to form a single, unified living space.

I live and build on Pumpkin Hill, my family’s farm spot; we are nestled far away from light pollution and jazz clubs in the Northeastern-ish woods of Lowell, ME; we are, literally, the end of the road. Physically separated from distractions, the barn carries through everything I do. Every morning, I wake up and see the barn smack outside my window. I eat meals, drink beers, write, sit, take naps and have conversations on the surfaces as they rapidly evolve. She is spattered with small mistakes (the mismeasurement on that top step will get me every time!), conquests (no one should hand nail that high up), and abuses (that many hammer marks on an ornery 2X6 is not really necessary) that are only noticeable and relevant to me. She is a perfect record of my growth as a builder in these two months, which makes her a clearer statement than I could ever make in words or diagrams.

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