LOOM HOUSE

BUSHNELL FARM

OLD SAYBROOK, CONNECTICUT

I’m not sure if this is actually called a ‘loom house,’ but that’s what it was used for, pardon the dangling preposition. The closest outbuilding to the 1678 Bushnell Farm House, it has many features that tweak my brain nicely. I only wish that I’d taken more pictures from the outside. I think I was hot on listening to a program that had already started at the  Connecticut Trust for Historic Preservation’s ‘Celebration of Barns’ seminar at the Farm a month ago, and I just forgot to go back to take the rest of the pics I should of.

The first picture you aren’t seeing is the crazily tilted chimney stack that curves like a windblown sapling. But it’s what’s inside that really makes me smile.

 

The first thing I noticed was that the chimney stack stops a short distance below the ridgepole; it’s supported by some stout blocks that sit upon a flying beam below. This isn’t a mistake or a retrofit, either. The proprietor of the Farm explained that the floor space in this particular building was taken up by a large loom and the surrounding workspace was occupied with other furnishings specific to spinning and working with wool and flax, both of which were produced at Bushnell. I know that was a run-on sentence, but like Humpty Dumpty said to Alice, “Who is to be master, you or the word?”

I have seen this abbreviated flue design before, usually in schoolhouses in Arkansas. Stovepipe was cheap, brickmasons were expensive. Anyway, the folks at Bushnell Farm needed the floor space way back in 1702 or thereabouts, when this building was constructed.

So a regular fireplace wasn’t an option. I’m sure there was some sort of stove. If you look carefully, you’ll see that the flue is stuffed with paper to keep debris, squirrels or bats from getting in. If you look even closer, you can see a bent piece of sheet metal below the flue opening to catch debris that might fall out of it. I imagine it wasn’t always stuffed with paper.

Also note the 90-degree angled brace at the bottom left of the beam; it's been carved from the joint of a tree and branch. Natural grain turns at a right angle and makes a stronger brace that something pieced together.

 

The flying beam itself is an interesting feature. Instead of horizontal ceiling joists that tie the walls together (and keep the rafters from pushing them apart), the beam supports angled timbers that, in turn, support the roof. How it helps to keep the walls together, I don’t know. The building has been standing for three hundred years, so I don’t think it’s much of an issue.

But it nonetheless brings out the archaeologist in me. While admiring the beautiful broadaxe marks on the squared timbers, I noticed that the rafters on one side do not match the rafters of the other side. The closest rafters are rounded, with no broadaxe hewing, and the far rafters are squared. Closer examination shows that the far rafters were cannibalized from another structure; note the purlin notches on the sides.

So how did this happen? I’m sure the building was constructed all at one time; was the roof of a different design due to repurposing the building? Was it originally a shed roof for a simple barn, then the Farm became more prosperous and so rebuilt the roof to accommodate a loom? Could there have been a fire that destroyed the original roof and so was rebuilt from second-use wood? Why don’t we have groceries delivered anymore, or get prizes for merely buying gas at certain stations? Cheap steak knives and glass tumblers and the like. Too young to remember those days, are you? You snip of a human, you.

Okay, scratch that last inquiry; inquiring minds don’t need to tax themselves that much.

My last Vestige from this particular property is of the Interior Finish of the End Walls.

 

Being a restorationist, I have seen a lot of lath. My spell Czech didn’t like the word ‘restorationist,’ so I will change my moniker to ‘restorationary.’

Damn. It didn’t like that, either.

But I believe in Humpty Dumpty’s Rule, so we will move on.

Lath is the term for wood strips (sometimes metal in 20^th century buildings) that are nailed to the studs and joists. The purpose of lath (not ‘lathe,’ which is a machine that spins wood for turning) is to give a structural base with open spaces upon which plaster is applied. Plaster, being a plastic mixture of slaked lime or gypsum, water, and sand, needs something rigid but full of spaces that can support it as well as allowing the plaster to ooze through and help it adhere. It’s all too complicated to explain here; I suggest you go back to 9^th grade physical science to get a grip on the principals involved.

I wanted to use the spelling ‘principles,’ but the Czech once again foiled me. I’ll Czech out the proper spelling later and amend it as needs arise.

HA! The Spell Czech was wrong. The word is 'priciples.' So there. Nyah.

Back to the present, which is already in progress, according to Firesign Theater.

Anyone who has tried to hang a picture in a house with plaster should know what lath is. If not, go to my OTHER blog www.oldhousedoctor.blogspot.com to learn about it.

I’ve never seen lath like this. If it is indeed lath. It might have BEEN lath that lost its plaster, or it might have been intended as a substance upon which future plaster would be applied. My guess tends towards the latter explanation.

What is unusual about it is that the oldest lath I’ve ever seen (and I must admit that the earliest building upon which I’ve worked is 1810) is split from larger pieces of wood using a froe or other bladed tool. Wood lath from the mid-1800s until they stopped using it (around 1930) is sawn into 1 ½” x 3/8” strips and nailed to the structure below with 3/8” spaces between the strips. The saw kerf marks on the wood can usually be seen when the plaster is removed.

But this! Oh, my God, what hast thou wrought?

This ‘lath’ (if that’s what it is) has been cut from full-sized logs. Some sawmill back in The Day had the capability and expertise to cut thin strips of not already-split or previously-sawn wood, but to take entire log sections and slice them into strips as thin as ¼”.

Then some craftsman from the past took the time, care, and effort (this is the really cool part) to use a chisel to split those thin sections along their respective grain lines at about 1 ½” spaces. The grain never split completely, mind you; fibers of the wood still held the sections of split wood together. But the result is the same as if the wood was cut and cut and cut again, then nailed to the wall. Stronger, in fact. It creates a structural backing using the natural grain of the wood to add strength to the wall while allowing spaces for the soft plaster to ooze through, making the bond that completes a rigid, flat interior wall surface. Which, it appears, was never applied. Or disintegrated long ago.

If you look carefully, you can see the spaces between the thinly cut log specimens; the split grain lines follow the natural curve of the tree trunk's grain.

I was and still am impressed. I have also learned something from this.

Use your brain to use as little energy and gain as much result as possible, and work with Nature’s gifts. She’s given us SO many.

Follow the Yankee Way. Be frugal, work hard, live well, and pass on what you know. You can’t fail.

WE can’t fail.