CARRIAGE HOUSE

HARVARD MASSACHUSETTS

 

This is likely more than a carriage house; it probably sheltered a number of working farm vehicles, as it belonged to a…working farm.

This is the farmhouse.

                                                          Rear with Attached Kitchen

 

                                           Magnificent Front with Bays and Porticos

 

And this is the barn.

 

They really knew how to build barns back then, didn’t they?

But I digress, and after a plate of asparagus, that sometimes smells pretty bad.

Back inna goodle days, nails were expensive and often hard to come by. And if you wanted a piece of wood of a specific size, you made it yourself.

This circa 1800 carriage house in Harvard, Massachusetts (a small town north of Worcester, not the University in Cambridge) is about to be deconstructed by yours truly and accompanying Crew from Early New England Restorations. Once in pieces, we will bring the building down to Rhode Island where it will be reassembled in Avondale, next door to Watch Hill. The collapsing end is an addition and likely will not be rebuilt, but who knows?

Not I.

The land around the site will get developed, so it either gets moved or destroyed.

The timbers are hand hewn and squared using a broadaxe, which has a curved handle and a wide, curved blade. This tool is wielded from atop the log, and the curved handle allowed for even strokes without gouging the wood or cutting off one’s toes, which I’ve heard is a good thing both ways. It also leaves specific marks in the wood, some of which can be seen here.

 

 

After the timbers are hewn into shape, their ends are cut into tenons (they’re narrower than the timber and stick out) and mortises (holes to accept that which sticks out [oh my!]), then the two are drilled with a round hole and pinned together with tapered pieces of wood. These pieces are deliberately hand-whittled to give their surface many small angles that dig into the round walls of the drilled hole. It’s the square peg in a round hole philosophy; works pretty well in Colonial architecture and has been the mainstay of shipbuilding for eons. The pins are nearly impossible to remove and they hold the joint fast. I’ll give some examples of this when we do the job in the next few weeks.

 

 

These whittled pieces of wood, by the way, are known as ‘trunnels.’ ‘Trunnel’ comes from a shortened version of the term ‘tree-nail,’ and that is named for obvious reasons. I like the word trunnel. It seems so permanent. I just can’t pin down its origin, sorry for the pun. What pun? It seems Anglo-Saxon but my sources are unclear on the matter.

I just like the scallops in the wood. Knowing they were put there two hundred years ago by someone that just needed to do so, not by some sort of ‘expert,’ makes me even gladder.

 

 

Because we all were experts in those days. We were just working the land for a living.

And a hard living it was. But it gave us something we can only copy today.

Because who today could come up with a term like ‘trunnel?’

SHOP NOTES

 

Both of my readers should know (and so would you, if you bothered to read my profile, though my two readers already know what I do for a living so I don’t know who I’m addressing this to, really, so never mind), my gig is historic restoration. Since my move from Arkysaw to Connetykit, I’ve been employed by a company known under dual names, Early New England Restorations and Deschenes and Cooper Architectural Millwork.

I’ve had perty much just one task to perform since coming up here; that of taking huge antique pine timbers, grading them, cutting their ends off to see the grain within, denailing them, and working with a crew to slice them into    1½” thick slabs. These eventually get milled into some of the finest antique heart pine flooring and trim elements the world has ever seen.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term ‘heart pine,’ I shall explain.

Southern yellow pine comes from several species, ranging from shortleaf, loblolly, pitch, and longleaf pine. There are others as well, but we will keep our conversation to shortleaf and longleaf.

Mostly available in the southern states’ lumber yards, shortleaf pine is heavy, dense, and wet, by which I mean it is loaded with sap and water. It is grown quickly on tree farms that are clear-cut every few decades and replanted with more shortleaf pine. Selective clearing during growth allows the trees more sunlight and nutrient absorption, leading to faster growth. This is also the downfall of this particular species.

If allowed to grow naturally, shortleaf would yield a strong, tight-grained wood that dries without warping or splitting. Unfortunately, the grain of modern yellow pine is wide and wet, loaded with knots, and is known for its instability during the drying process. This is due to the accelerated growth rate so companies like Weyerhaeuser and Deltic can reap greater profits. It is still stronger than fir or white pine, which are the main structural woods available up north, but its tendency to move after installation makes for less tight buildings in the end.

Enter longleaf pine.

Longleaf pine was used on a small scale throughout the first hundred years of the nation’s existence (it was a preferred wood for building but competed heavily with chestnut in the northeast), but after the Civil War, it was pretty much wiped out as a dominant species.

Growing much slower than its cousins, it achieved heights of well over a hundred feet and diameters of a 1977 Ford Econoline van, one with a V8 and seating for eight. Fuzzy dice were optional.

The building boom that followed Reconstruction pretty much doomed the species. Between 1870 and 1920, most of the stands of this noble species were cut and milled into structural and trim elements used in homes and commercial buildings throughout the country, mostly east of the Rockies. Demolish any turn-of-the-century building and you will find dark brown pine timbers that are as straight as when milled a hundred years ago. And just try and put a nail into one. No, don’t. It’ll bend. The wood is hard and dense, and takes nails reluctantly.

This wood is also very old. It was old-growth when cut a hundred fifty years ago, so much of it is between three and five hundred years old.

Known today as ‘antique heart pine,’ it is available mostly as reclaimed wood from demolished buildings, and is used for re-milling into trim elements. There are still stands of longleaf, but they are not the old-growth monsters of the past.

And another tidbit; ‘heart pine’ is actually a corruption of the term ‘hard pine.’ Shortleaf was known as ‘soft pine’ for obvious reasons, but time has corrupted the term.

Once sawn in a certain way, antique heart pine shows off its very tight grain as alternating thin lines of red and cream, which, when varnished (no staining is necessary), turns to a deep orange or red.

The resawing of this wood has to be done in a particular fashion to attain this pattern. ‘Quarter sawing’ exposes the grain in a way to expose the vertical grain along the most horizontal (visible) plane of the wood. There is considerable waste, as that which is flat sawn can’t be used in the same way, but even the waste gets used on other projects.

At DCM, we’ve been taking timbers from a 150-year-old woolen mill demolished near Boston, selecting them for quality, sawing the ends off to examine the grain, color, and amount of pitch, then bisecting them and denailing them using Japanese nail pullers and metal detectors. They are then loaded on a truck, taken to a small saw mill in Charlestown, Rhode Island, and cut into slabs. They are then brought back to the shop to be further selected, planed, and milled into some of what you see here.

 

 

                    Timbers at the scrapyard in Braintree, Mass. DCM timbers are in the background

                                            Selected timbers in the shop yard before separation

                                                
                                                                        Denailing

 
                                          More denailing (featuring Bubbles' lower half)

 
                                          Milling with the Sawmizer, featuring Richard

 
                                                                      Milling close-up

                                                                     Quarter sawing

                                      Slabs loaded on the truck ready to go back to the shop

                                      Very expensive (and accurate) molding machine

                           Very goofy (and accurate) finishers featuring Brian and Matt 

                    Cabinet doors destined for The Ocean House in Watch Hill, Rhode Island

                                             The result of quarter sawing, unfinished

             Half a finished arch for The Ocean House. Flash makes it oranger than it actually is

                           The Ocean House, Watch Hill Rhode Island, as seen from the ocean side

If you’d like more information of DCM, just Google Deschenes and Cooper. I’ll be posting more on our restoration work very soon.

SOUTHERN GRACE/SISTERS AT THE CROSSING

BLYTHEVILLE ARKANSAS

 

This late nineteenth/early twentieth century commercial storefront caught my eye while walking the downtown of this northeast Arkansas city.

Blytheville is worth a walk through its historic downtown, if only for the exercise. I say this tongue-in-cheek; Main Street is one of the longest I’ve ever seen, so you’ll get your workout in walking it. It’s also lined with a lot of interesting architecture.

This building has a banner hanging over the sidewalk reading “Southern Grace Tearoom – OPEN” as well as a nicely designed corner sign on the building proclaiming “Sisters at The Crossing.”

THIS is a fine example of how to enhance the exterior of a turn-of-the-century storefront. The wood panels and single-lite doors are either original or copies of what was originally there. The brick, though painted (and the Railroad Street side has been stuccoed), is in good shape, and if you’re going to paint brick, it might as well be in a shade close to that of the brick below.

The color scheme on the woodwork is pleasing and simple, with earthy tones of mustard and teal allowing the sashes and doors to stand out. The windows on the Railroad Street side’s upper story are arched at the top, and the double window in this style is somewhat unusual. I’m not sure if the round windows on the first floor are original, but the brick that surrounds them is left unstuccoed, a nice touch.

Lastly, the reproduction light fixtures (with fluorescent bulbs, as well) above the plate glass add another turn-of-the-century touch. I wonder if anyone has noticed the pronounced kerf-marks left by the huge circular saw blade on the wood upon which the fixture is mounted.

Entire building restorations (and I’m sure someone spent a pretty penny on the interior) are not always necessary.

Well thought-out enhancements can turn an older building’s façade from something boring and mishmashed to a cohesive part of a historic downtown. It never ceases to amaze me what a good paint scheme, proper signage, and attractive light fixtures can do to make a building stand out (and blend in) as well as to make a community proud.

SOUTHARD BUILDING

BLYTHEVILLE ARKANSAS

 

The Southard Building (I have no idea if it is really called that, but it is the name on the moniker stone) is typical of turn-of-the-century commercial storefronts, containing a retail business on the first floor with a living/office space above.

This one caught my eye because of the faded signs on the west side of the building. I’m sure that it once housed the St. Francis Drug Company, if the only legible sign can be believed. Okay, I can make out the Coca-Cola sign, but that’s about it.

The west side has also seen its upper story windows covered (replaced) with plywood painted a brick red, as well as some non-historic white mortar repointing on the parapet and other areas below. A side door and first floor windows are also missing, their spaces filled with bricks. The first floor windows are placed where they are because shelves and counters lined the walls when it was a drugstore.

I understand that windows go by the wayside when store spaces change with the ages, but I like to see some artistic attempt made where such things exist. Why not paint the upper window plywood to look like windows? Then the ‘eyeless’ look would be avoided and the building enhanced. Repainting the signs is another way to dress up the building; I’d do it with local businesses and design the signs in a turn-of-the-century motif.

I’m not a fan of modern metal storefronts, as GQ Fashions has, but having an operating business in a store is far better than an empty shell. WalMarts will always sprout outside of town; let’s do some shopping in our downtowns to keep them alive and growing.

 

PLANTERS BANK

OSCEOLA ARKANSAS

Most banks built at the turn of the nineteenth-to-the-twentieth century reflect a solidity and permanence that states “Your Money is Safe Here.”

Planters Bank is no exception.

Built in the Neoclassical style so common with banks of the period, Planters has gone through a series of changes, as is evidenced by the missing sign. The dark elongated rectangle within the entablature (the massive lintel held up by the Doric columns and square pilasters) undoubtedly once held raised letters naming the bank, possibly painted with gold leaf.

But it wasn’t always Planters (I keep wanting to insert an apostrophe, but there was undoubtedly more than one planter and banks never used plural possessives). It became First State Bank, Citizens Bank (no apostrophe?), a mercantile store (redundant term, that), and City Hall.

Its present use is as a church.

 

Though I guess a bank could be considered a place of worship. Milburn Drysdale would agree.

An adjoining building to the left has since been removed, revealing a rather flimsy party wall made of cinder block. It is rather a thin structure compared to the massive, solid Bank façade presented to the public.

A lesson in economics, perhaps?