Category: Growing up

I’d dreamed for decades of building a house adjacent to my grandparents’ land in North Shrewsbury, VT. But we put building off until we were in our 70s – which turned out to be too late. However, we learned a lot about building in the North, and I’m taking this opportunity to pass some of it on.

The Land

We owned about 100 acres in North Shrewsbury, VT. My parents purchased this land from a neighbor more than 40 years ago. In many farming communities it’s traditional to accumulate land while in your prime; then to sell it to others as you age and don’t want to work so hard. But changes in productivity made farming at this altitude less economic, ending that traditional pattern. Summer homes and longer commutes opened a new market, but this land was less useful for those purposes.

The land runs steeply uphill from Bailey Road; this steep part is heavily treed – with a break for a power line that runs parallel to the road. The land levels above this, with a large open meadow. (My friend Orville remembers helping his father clear this land when he was twelve.) The narrow Saltash Road runs from Bailey Road past the meadow and continues uphill. There’s a line of trees – and a stone wall – separating the meadow from the road, with access breaks at each end of the meadow. The meadow isn’t flat – that’s rare at this elevation in Vermont – with a slope in the middle, separating the flatter portions at each end – and breaking the sight-line between them. (This is important, as you will see below.) Next to the road, on the other side from the meadow, is a Red Spruce-Cinnamon Fern swamp, sitting on at least 12 feet of peat. This may be unique in Vermont, and is protected by the state, although decades ago electrical poles were placed in it. The land continues up the slope beyond the swamp, as it is on the flank of Saltash Mountain – and the road eventually becomes a path to the top.

Both Bailey and Saltash roads are unpaved. (Shrewsbury allowed adjacent landowners to choose whether to pave, so some roads are intermittently paved.) Bailey Road to the west of Saltash Road isn’t plowed between a nearby driveway and my grandparents’ house because it’s so steep and there’s a way around. This makes a fine sledding hill, particularly after the snow is packed by snowmobiles. Saltash Road is a “Class Four” town road, indicating that it is not maintained by the town. Over the years, a combination of loggers working beyond our land and neighbors maintained the road. (A few years ago a logger gave us the choice of his widening the base of Saltash Road to allow a turn to the left – or having the large logging trucks go by my grandparents’ house. We choose widening the road.)

Finally, as the land passed through the hands of the Vermont Land Trust, it is limited to a single dwelling with no commercial use except farming. We like that.

Shrewsbury Limitations

Shrewsbury limits development in several ways: at least five acres per dwelling in most places; only a dozen houses to be built each year; strict enforcement of building standards and zoning; and, preserving the views that make the town so attractive. This last is generally interpreted to prevent building in meadows – especially in the center. We were able to obtain a building permit for a house in the meadow because we planned a one-story house near the meadow’s edge. The contours of the land would hide a house from the lower part of the meadow and trees would obscure it from the road. (Shrewsbury very smartly made the final permit conditional on their measuring the distance of the staked site from the road – so creative misunderstandings are not possible.)

Septic System

Septic systems are generally a problem in this part of Vermont because there is clay in the soil. This prevents ideal drainage and a particular quality sand is needed – but its sources are far away, making it expensive. While there are septic systems that don’t use sand, they are more complex and expensive – and complexity is an issue with something so fundamental. To be able to properly estimate our house’s cost, we needed an approved septic design. While this cost several thousand dollars, it’s design is now attached to the land and, so long as it’s built as designed, no further approvals are needed. Pleasantly, the siting of the sand portion will make it invisible from the house. (Water isn’t a problem in Shrewsbury as wells are invariably successful.)

What We Planned

We wanted a small, open-plan, 3 or 4 bedroom, 2 bath house, with the master bedroom on the ground floor to allow our grandchildren and their parents to visit. We also wanted a pantry – as Paula has never had one – and a garage so we wouldn’t have to dig the car out when it snowed. A preliminary look at plans and costs convinced me that a single-floor house would be cheaper at this size, as it avoided using floor space for stairs. We wanted a knowledgeable advisor so decided to find an architect. We found 2Morrow Studio in Vermont; they work with factory built homes, as they are concerned with greenness and consider this the best approach for most. They were extremely helpful, took us on tours at several house factories, and we enjoyed spending time with and learning from both John and Gio.

Factory Built Homes

One problem that factory built homes face is transportation; shipping boxes of air is always expensive and inefficient. Additionally, their width and height are limited by road dimensions and bridge clearance. Finally, they have to be built strong enough to survive the trip. So they must find enough savings from the “factory built” environment to overcome these problems. They do, of course, or they couldn’t stay in business.

My approach to looking at a factory is a bit different than most. As I know that a key to an efficient house is doing many small, invisible things right I look far past what is in front of me. I don’t look much at what someone is showing me; instead, I look in the distance to see how the people who don’t know I’m watching them are doing their job. I saw only one firm where the people who didn’t know I was looking at them all did their job properly: Vermod Homes. (This may be because they are the only firm we visited that commits to year-round employment – difficult in this highly seasonal industry.) They started making trailer replacements after the floods from Irene in 2011 – and they built them as they should be built: net zero – and they are expanding to larger homes. They also introduced me to my favorite HVAC component: the CERV2 ventilation system. (I’m surprised to find myself with a “favorite”, but it is unusually well conceived and constructed.)

Another firm that I’ve visited and read a lot about (but didn’t take a factory tour) is Unity Homes. Started by a builder of very expensive, timber frame homes, he wanted to build houses that his employees could afford to own. While factory built, they are mostly shipped as flat panels – greatly reducing shipping costs. They ship modules of kitchen and baths, but still ship very little air. They will do turnkey projects if they are close enough, and shell constructions farther away – without requiring a second profit margin as factory built home dealers do. So the critical exterior part of the home benefits both from being factory build, and factory staff-assembled. We didn’t include them in our process, as their designs didn’t quite fit what we wanted (for esthetic reasons, Paula wanted a steeper roof than they offer for single story houses). But I continue to follow them as I like their approach so much.

Since we abandoned our house building effort, I learned about Bright Built Homes. This firms seems do want to build properly, and their designs are attractive to me. If we were to resume our effort, I would include them in our list of approaches to try.

Finally, we looked seriously at Foard Panels. While basically a SIP manufacturer, they help with structural design, and install the panels. Thus they avoid the potential finger-pointing that could result if they didn’t do so much. We would have gotten a tight, well-insulated shell to be finished by local carpenters. This is a good combination of factory and local building, but we thought it would be too difficult and time consuming to get the price and timing that we wanted. Unless part of a standard process, you can have only two of fast, cheap, and high quality – and this approach isn’t common enough to be standard.

Why We Didn’t Build

As you probably expected, it’s a combination of reasons. While we have the money to build the house, it would leave us with too much our net worth in houses. This isn’t an appropriate allocation as it would take away too much of our long term flexibility – important at our age, as we don’t have the time to recoup losses.

Our second reason is that we wouldn’t use it as much as when we were younger. We used to drive to Vermont most weekends in the winter to ski, as we both enjoyed it, and frequently brought friends along. But Paula can no longer ski; I still can, but it’s not as much fun by myself. Additionally, the four hour drive takes more out of us than it did when we were younger.

Finally, much of my desire to build was the result of a long term dream. My grandparents’ house was the only constant place while I was growing up and I spent many summers there. So having a house nearby seemed like a continuation of my childhood. When I reconsidered it, it just wasn’t as important. (I try to address emotional decisions by imagining I’ve made a choice and seeing how it feels.) We can still use my grandparents’ house, and we can stay nearby if our cousins are there so we can see them – and even bring our dog. So we’re not missing as much as it might seem.

I’m still on mailing lists that I joined when I was investigating building – but probably won’t build. I still want to have a house with a CERV2-based HVAC system – but I probably won’t. Regardless, it was fun and a good learning experience.

July 18, 2020

In 2022 we moved from a cape-style house to a single-story house. To help finance the move we sold the VT land to a neighbor. We still enjoy walking up the road through it.

We moved to Fall Church from South Carolina (see my Age 5-8; Isle Of Palms, SC post) because my father, a naval officer, was transferred every 2-4 years. While my parents looked for a house we stayed for a couple of months in an apartment on a farm – this was where I first encountered television. As it was the summer and before daylight savings time was thought of, my sister Claire and I were outside with jars looking for fireflys. When we went near the owner’s house, we saw a window flickering and heard strange voices; it was a black and white television playing Kukla, Fran and Ollie, a puppet show. The next day Claire and I asked the owner about it and they invited us in to see it; of course, we told our parents about it and hoped we could get one.

The house they found was in Falls Church; it had two bedrooms and an undeveloped attic. My father, an engineer, was good with tools and converted the upstairs into a TV room with a bedroom for me beyond it. This gave me a new way of not going to sleep when I should. For years, I’d read under the covers with a flashlight – listening for my parents so I could turn it off and pretend sleep. Now, I found a place in the back of my closet to drill a hole to watch the TV. Unfortunately, when one of my parents checked on me I didn’t have time to return to bed. They filled the hole and I returned to my flashlight.

Sindbad, a Springer Spaniel

Sindbad came from a breeder near Falls Church. As he grew, he became very personable and began to explore the world. In the early 1050s he could roam free, which was good as our back yard wasn’t fenced and he wasn’t neutered – few dogs were at the time. He had something on his collar with our phone number; every week or two we would get a phone call in the early evening to come get him from someone’s house – frequently the home of a female dog.

Like many dogs, Sindbad disliked the mailman; he barked at him and looked like he wanted to bite. However, the mailman had made friends with one of the dogs on his route. When the dog’s owners were out of town the dog stayed with the mailman – and went on the mail route. When Sindbad barked, the dog pushed through the screen door and beat him up in his own living room. That mostly stopped the barking at the mailman.

After a couple of years we fenced in the backyard. Sindbad, of course, was expected to stay in the yard. But the “springer” part of his breed name was apt; he could easily jump the fence. (We had accidentally trained him to jump by confining him in the kitchen when he was a puppy. The barrier in the door wasn’t high enough, so we gradually increased it.) When he chased a bird – he loved chasing birds – he would run the length of the block, soaring over the fences.

School was close enough that I could walk, but it was in a different county – which became important. Sindbad tried to follow me to school, so we kept him in the house until I’d been gone a while. No fool, he followed other kids. I’d be sitting in class and suddenly hear his nails clicking in the hallway, then he’d come around the corner and greet me. The teacher would send us to the office, where I’d call my mother to come get him. The “different county” was important because the dog catcher of the school’s county wouldn’t cross the other county to pick him up, and the surrounding county’s dog catcher wouldn’t go on the school grounds. At least we didn’t have to pay for his release every time he found me, and we learned to keep him in the house until all kids had gone to school.

When we went on a trip without him, he was left at a nearby kennel. He resented this: every time we returned to pick him up he sat in the back seat, looking out the window and grunting his indignation. He ignored us for the rest of the day. As you will see in some future posts, he was a very human dog.

First Time Camping

As I was in the Cub Scouts, I read about and dreamed of camping gear – and received a sleeping bag for my birthday. Perhaps partly because of this, my parents decided that we should try camping so we could travel at less cost. We went to some park – I don’t remember where – we had two surplus pup tents, my sleeping bag, and two blankets for four people. Claire had one blanket, my parents shared the other, and I had my sleeping bag. When we went to bed Sindbad got cold and crawled down to the bottom of my sleeping bag – below my feet, as I was short – and curled up. After a while he came up and laid down next to me with just his nose out of the bag, and this is how we spent the rest of the night. (We planned better for later trips. I don’t know how this could have occurred, as my father normally planned perfectly.)

At breakfast, we discovered that we had bacon, three eggs, and potatoes. My father combined them: he fried the bacon and removed it from the pan; then he fried the cut-up potatoes in the bacon grease; next he poured off the excess grease and added the broken-up bacon and the eggs, and scrambled them all together. We loved it, and it became our standard camping breakfast. (I can taste it as I’m writing this.)

Decades later, my wife Paula and I went camping with her brother and his wife, their family and friends, and two of our friends. I had told Paula of the standard breakfast and, despite her dislike of grease, she – probably reluctantly – went along with my plans. Our friends had a large (4’ by 2’) gas griddle that they brought along. So I made a gigantic version of the scrambled egg concoction. To her surprise, Paula loved it and our friends loved it too. The others smelled it and came by. They sampled it and brought back more of the ingredients for me to cook. In total, we probably used three dozen eggs, three pounds of bacon, and five pounds of potatoes – and it turned into brunch. That was the only time that Paula and I camped, it was properly memorable.

Leaving for Guam

My father’s next assignment was at the shipyard on Guam, which is the far side of the Pacific Ocean – a two week voyage from San Francisco. The Navy sent movers to pack us up, but it was still a lot of work, and they needed more supervision then they received: When we unpacked, we found the moldy remains of breakfast. We planned to drive across the US, camping along the way. As I was packing my books, I decided to leave some for the next kid to use the room. I placed them under the bottom drawer in the chest of drawers my father had built into the eave, and left a note telling where they were. I always wondered if they were appreciated.

May 15, 2020

The Isle Of Palms is the first place that I really remember and we lived there around 1950. It was connected to the mainland by a single bridge and is near Charleston, SC. My father, who was in the Navy, was stationed at a Naval Base nearby. Our house was the last house on the road to the dump before an undeveloped marshy area, and was just a couple of blocks from the beach. It was elevated enough that my 6’3″ father could easily walk underneath.

Charleston, SC

Before we moved to the Isle we lived in Charleston while my parents looked for a house. As both were busy my parents hired a nanny. While Claire and I were at a park with her, another little girl spit on Claire and somehow our nanny was in a fight with her nanny – defending Claire. The fight was intense enough that the police got involved; both nannies were arrested and all of us were taken to the police station. Parents were called and a couple of hours later Claire and I were released. I assume that our nanny was too, as she continued to take care of us for a few more weeks. All of this is hearsay as my only memory of the event is pushing the siren button in the police car.

Polio

I had polio just before we moved there, while we were visiting my mother’s parents in Vermont. I was very lucky: there was an iron lung waiting for me in town, but I never needed it. The lasting effects were stuttering, weak ankles, and the muscles that pull my legs forward go out of shape quickly – all minor effects.

When we moved to South Carolina I was looking forward to being active again. But I was weak – not just the polio – but also from rarely getting out of bed for weeks. So when I was in school I couldn’t go out to play at recess. As I was bored, I decided to sand my desk top smooth – removing the many names and comments. Some of my classmates did the same, but they didn’t have as much time to devote to it. During the first year, I wasn’t strong enough to go the full day. So I’d tell the teacher that I was tired and was going home. I’d begin to walk there, and was picked up by the same nice man every day – years later I learned that he was the truant officer, doing some extra duty.

Nearby

As we lived so close to the beach we were there frequently. The swimming helped me become stronger and I became accustomed to the usual undertow; I learned to swim slowly towards the beach and not be concerned as it carried me down the beach. The nearby woods and swamp were a big attraction. We walked all though them and brought treasures home. One was a large chunk of something that I was convinced was a meteorite, I put it in my shirt to carry it and showed it to my parents – who were most concerned with the damage to my shirt. I still wonder if it was a meteorite, and read articles about those found with interest.

But the dump was the biggest attraction. Naturally, I was forbidden to go there and, naturally, I went. We looked through the piles for treasures and sneaked them home.

Language

This was before television and regional accents were stronger than today. My father was from Massachusetts, and had a pronounced accent (think twice JFK’s). The locals couldn’t understand him and he couldn’t understand them. In the family, my mother could translate as she had lived in the South while she was growing up. I presume there was someone at work to translate for him there.

When I was eight my father was transferred to Washington, DC and we lived in Falls Church, VA. And finally, the somewhat southern accent I’d learned fit right in.

April 9, 2020; April 24, 2020 added Charleston, SC section

My stuttering is a result of polio, which I had while in Vermont at age five. We were there for the summer at my grandparents’ house and my father drove up for a few days every few weeks. The house was twenty miles of dirt roads away from the nearest doctor. The family doctor, an osteopath, drove up every day to give me a treatment, trying to keep my muscles working, which was mostly successful.

As a kid, stuttering was just part of life and I wasn’t really aware of it. When I was seven, my parents noticed me hitting my right thigh with my fist. This was my way of interrupting the stuttering, but it caused a constant bruise. A speech therapist came to the house to work with me every week. She told me to relax when I had trouble saying something, instead of hitting my thigh. While this took me a long time to learn, it was something that my parents could remind me of when they saw me hitting my leg.

As I was writing this post, I wondered whether I’m an introvert because of the stuttering and whether they are associated. A brief search led to opinions about it, but nothing remotely scientific. My impression is that I would have been an introvert regardless. The introversion made a bigger impact because my father was a naval officer, so we moved every 2-4 years – requiring me to make new friends.

At School

There was little effect of my stuttering in school, both the teachers and other students seemed to accept it without comment, until high school. I went to high school in Long Beach, CA – with 4,000 students. We lived in quarters on the base, and the Navy provided a bus to and from school. While I had spent a year in a local junior high, it didn’t feed that high school so the few friends I had made there didn’t help. So I entered the school knowing no one except the few others from the base. The only thing that helped me was that the school was “tracked”, separated into classes by perceived ability. This meant I was generally with the same students. Gym class was the problem.

Gym class wasn’t tracked, I was in class with kids that were larger, stronger, and more mature. While I’d been active, the polio had left me generally weak – so I was a safe butt for taunting about stuttering, and anything else. Mostly, it didn’t affect me outside of gym class, but one day I was running somewhere and ran through a classroom building. A student from my gym class who enjoyed taunting me tripped me as I entered; I flew halfway across the building and slid the rest – anyway, it felt like that. I got up and continued running, hearing the laughter behind me. I’ve always wondered if that would have occurred without the stuttering. And I still remember the incident with all the intensity of when it happened.

The only other place that stuttering affected me was when I met a girl I found attractive. Not only did the stuttering make asking her out more difficult, my concern about it frequently kept me from doing so.

Stuttering When Teaching

In the first night of my First Teaching Gig the class didn’t go as I’d expected, and my nervousness caused stronger stuttering – which declined when the evening improved. That was the only time I really thought about the stuttering until an event at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.

It was the last class of the course. At the beginning of each class I had a piece of paper that the students could sign, saying they were not prepared. This meant that I wouldn’t call on them for the first third of the class unless they raised their hand. For that class, every person signed the paper! When the class started it became apparent that they had completely prepared for the class, but wanted to talk about other things. So it became a general discussion about life, school, and work. Along the way I asked them how my stuttering affected the class. They said that they noticed it for the first couple of classes, and never noticed it after that. I’m now in my late 70s, I still stutter, and don’t care.

April 9, 2020