Breaking the Insanity Barrier, Part 2

As of this writing, we are now into year six of our twelve-month renovation of the Flinn House at #841 Main Street.  Putting that in perspective, I suppose it’s not so much worse than the fact that we are also now thirteen years into our five-year renovation of the Sublett-Miller House at #878 Main Street.  Whatever…it’s the journey, not the destination, after all.  Oh, and did I mention that we have blown the budget, too…  Hold on to your hats, and follow THIS journey!
 
A large portion of the delay can be traced back to the fact that we are currently on our third general contractor for the project, as well as an expanded scope of the project.  As we had been unaware of the true extent of the damage done by the fire until we pulled off the crumbling plaster to discover that the fire had been drawn up between the plaster walls, a chimney effect created by the burning wood inside and the solid plaster encasing it.  What we had thought were solid wall joists were charred and crumbling debris, with only the plaster holding it all together.  We had budgeted to replace approximately 50% of the interior structural woodwork, and hadn’t anticipated having to replace 90% as it turned out to be.

Our next surprise was the fact that, though the house was built with the bricks laid directly on the hard Virginia red clay, with no poured foundation (as was a traditional construction technique used during the time it was built), the interior brick walls flanking the main hallway were laid on a huge wooden beam set onto the clay.  This served well over the ensuing century, as the soil below was dry, having a roof set overhead, so the beam sat unyielding all those years.  The fire, however, had its way with the wood, and the beam on the South wall had disintegrated altogether.  The entire weight of the brick wall traveling from the basement to the top of the second floor was resting its entire weight on a single brick that had fallen into the space where the beam used to be, and the wall was already starting to give in to the pressures of gravity, the sag in the adjacent attached stud walls showing evidence of this slow downward descent.  This was the internal backbone of the house, with all of the floor joists joining into and depending upon this sturdy structure.  The house was slowly collapsing in upon itself.

Emergency measures were taken to create a support system to first take the weight of the third floor off the second floor, then take the weight of the second floor off the first floor, then to support the first floor itself, before jacking that three-story brick wall back into place slowly and pouring it a new concrete foundation.  We used a large chunk of our anticipated budget in this first unexpected expense.


The roof was gone completely, and in danger of collapse, so we hastily documented the slate patterns before taking down what was left that could not be salvaged, and went about the business of finding a good roofer.  In the meantime, we learned about a relatively-new product for roofing.  The SIPS panel.  It is a Styrofoam bed sandwiched between two sheets of plywood.  It holds the highest R-value of any structural material currently on the market.  We also got approval to be able to insulate the perimeter brick walls of the home from the Virginia Department of Historic Resources (DHR).  Previously, the plaster had been applied directly to the exterior brick walls, providing no insulation.  Thus began our journey to create an oxymoron: an energy-efficient Victorian home.  Instantly, more money began pouring out of our pockets and disappearing from our checking account.

Once the debris was cleared, and the floors supported so they could be safely traversed, we began to get to know the house a little better, and began to appreciate some of its finer points.  The view from the second floor out of the rear of the house was beautiful, and with the main floor rear porch, elevated as it was, a lovely back yard beckoned.

The main hallway, cleared of debris, was more than ample, and the general floor plan was simple, yet had a nice flow from one room to another.  Generous ceiling heights and large doorways allowed the light from abundant windows to reach to all corners of the rooms, so that in daylight there really was no need for supplemental light sources.

As we began to put the restoration plan into action, now that the structural issues had been resolved, we received a notice from the Virginia DHS that the staircase we had proposed was not going to be approved as submitted.  They had assigned a new Architect to our projects, and he had questions.  Since we travel through Richmond every other weekend on our way down to Danville, we made plans to meet with this new DHS Architect face-to-face to discuss the mater.  As it turns out, Tom was unable to come that weekend, as things heated up at work, requiring him to remain in Falls Church.  I wasn’t concerned, however, as I was familiar with the process at DHS from my work with the Sublett-Miller house. 
 
I brought the proposed staircase drawing with me to the meeting, Secretary of the Interior Guidelines for Historic Rehabilitation in hand and prepared to argue for its appropriateness.  The Architect, however was unimpressed.  In creating a staircase that “would look like it could have been there originally,” I was creating a “false sense of history” he explained.  If I had a photograph of the prior staircase, I could re-create it exactly.  I explained that I did not, nor did the previous owner; all of the photographs and digital photos having been consumed by the fire.  We had only the upper remains of the newel post and a few charred spindles, but no idea what the handrail, profile, wainscot or other details looked like.
 
So, in order not to create a “false sense of history” I proposed a glass and steel staircase — one that would  never be mistaken for the original.  That was rejected by the Architect immediately, as it was not in keeping with the character of the house.  At this point I was getting a little punchy, and threw out the idea of a “foursquare” style staircase.  Again, the Architect explained that it was not in keeping with the style of the house, nor was the simple “farmhouse Victorian” style that I proposed.  So what then, I asked, WOULD be acceptable.  The Architect replied that he could not tell me what to design — it was against the rules.  Instead, I had to keep sending in design ideas until he approved one.
 
This is where I lost my patience, and, unfortunately, my temper, and insulted the Architect’s parentage, his upbringing, and perhaps even his manhood — I don’t recall, exactly, as I was not quite myself.  The Architect struck back, stating that he only regretted that he was not assigned our case earlier, as he would never have approved the front porch we built on the Sublett-Miller house, as it was not an EXACT replica of the original.  If he could have had his way, we would have been required to tear it off, but unfortunately he was assigned to our projects too late for that.  He stated flatly that he believed that we were taking advantage of the tax credits and HE did not appreciate it.  I retorted with the argument that investing  money into our house at #878 when the real-estate values in the area would not give us the return on our investment was not “taking advantage” as we would have no financial gain for our efforts.  I also threw out the concept that saving #841 from certain destruction would also not make us any fortune.  I would be lucky to complete the project and just barely break even.  He was not appeased, suddenly tuned me out, saying that our time was up, and abruptly stood. 
 
Though it was not my last contact with the DHS, I am not fool enough to believe that I have any power in such matters.  The Architect is the last word for approval of my tax credits, so I bowed out of the process and let the staircase matter wait until someone with better persuasive abilities, and a cooler head took over.
 
In the meantime, construction continued.  Our first general contractor phased out and our second one entered the picture.  Seasons were passing faster than I had expected.  In the meantime, new stud walls were erected, new joists installed, and all of the charred, broken and twisted remnants were removed and replaced.  In essence, we were building a new house inside the outer brick walls of the old one.

We broke through a shallow closet in one of the second-floor bedrooms to discover an empty space above the dining room that would allow us to create a bathroom and walk-in closet in a space that had been previously never accessible.

We opened up rooms back to their original dimensions, removing small storage rooms and bathrooms that had been added along the way.

We also uncovered another unexpected expense.  The potentially-salvageable rear enclosed porch had been built upon the ceiling joists of the kitchen, below.  When we opened up the kitchen ceiling, we were able to see that in order for that porch to have a level floor, the angled ceiling joists (once roof joists) had been shaved into a taper and measured about two inches thick at one end.  This clearly would never pass any inspection, so the entire second floor porch would need to be removed and the kitchen ceiling structure re-built.  This prompted us to re-think the kitchen and second-floor porch altogether.  It would also require approval from the DHS for the plan we were hatching. 
 

Since the structure was unsound anyway, we tore it off, in anticipation of either having to re-build it as it had been, or, hopefully to be able to expand it into an expansive eat-in kitchen below, a master suite in the basement beneath that, and a second floor master suite above.  We would wait a while before presenting this to the DHS Architect, and gather our ammunition for the proposal.

In the meantime, it stood as a giant gaping hole on the rear of the house until its fate could be decided.

We also removed the extra “front door” from the Music Room and restored it back to its original configuration as a window.  This house had been broken up into many apartments before the previous owners returned it to a single family home.  This door had once provided access to one such apartment.

Though we temporarily removed the wall between the two parlors, to be re-built as we moved forward, we discovered that the original pocket doors, tucked in during the fire, had survived without any of the charring that the other doors in the house had suffered.  They would be salvageable.  That gave us some amount of celebration, as it would be one less feature to have to re-create.  The mantel in that room would also prove to be salvageable.

Up on the roof, things were happening.  The charred remains of roof were removed and the hidden gutters were securely attached to the new perimeter structure.  The supporting structure for the SIPS panels was being put into place. 

Up here, you could not escape the enormity of what had happened here.  Below decks, the fresh new joists and studs, the still-fragrant new plywood, and the energy and debris of new construction littered every corner, and filled the house with a renewed sense of purpose and hope.  Up here, what remained was the desolate and scarred skeleton of the house, a surreal landscape of trees and sky where wood and windows should have been.  The flayed and blackened ruins peeled back to reveal the ancient internal structures still standing despite their torment.  Here, a layer of soot was permanently baked onto the surface of the brick and the remaining darkened window frames were all that was left of any flammable material.  It was sobering after the progress below to see the bare bones which was all that was left of the roof.

 The scaffold erected upon the attic floor was too much for me to resist, however, and I clambered up  to contemplate the landscape of this beautifully-sited home.

The view out back was tremendous, you could see the mountains in the background, and a sea of trees and tranquility.  Ms. Terry’s garage only added to the sense of timelessness of this view.

Across the street, the steamboat -like appearance of this Victorian beauty stood out against its neighbors.

The juxtaposition of Victorian, shoulder-to-shoulder against a foursquare provides interest in the architectural character of neighborhood.

Meanwhile, the four-story tower of the Penn House hovers over the enormous magnolia in the front yard.  The myriad of gables, angles, roof lines, chimneys and various windows make it appear more like a little city than a single-family home.

Just up the street, our own house can be seen, the wall for our front yard fence is in the process of being constructed, with re-pointing of the bricks in the rear portion of the house still in progress.

 Looking down the street an array of rooftops peeking out behind one grand old Victorian belie the presence of a whole neighborhood of such enormous and beautiful houses.

Just next door, and up the street, the lavender house with its lovely front porch and bold roof stand out in front of the First Baptist Church.

Across the street, #840 Main Street peeks out from behind the large tree in the front yard, the beautiful red roof tile giving the house a presence despite the foliage out front.  The stained glass in the oval window on top, typically unnoticed from the street view, stands out as a crowning feature. 
A neighborhood of ancient beauties, the view re-affirms that what we are doing here is the right thing.  That our efforts to preserve this house will provide a coherence to the neighborhood, a continuation of a theme of timeless beauty.  This house deserves a place in the future, not to be delegated as a memory, seen in historic photographs, described by an older generation to a younger one, or even lost to memory altogether.  It may not be the most grand, the most fashionable, or even the largest, but it is important, nevertheless.  It is a piece of Danville’s history that has a right to its place on “Millionaire’s Row” and its loss to the neighborhood would have been significant.
 
 
To Be Continued…
Carla Minosh

While I am new to Blogging, I have always enjoyed sharing the stories of my crazy life, so this is simply another medium to share, and hopefully entertain and enrich others. Perhaps you can feel thankful that your life is so steady and predictable after reading these, perhaps you can appreciate the insanity and wish you had more of it in your life. Either way, the crazy tales are all true (to the best of my spotty recollection) and simply tell the tale of a life full of exploration, enthusiasm, curiosity and hard work. I hope you all enjoy being a part of the journey.

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2 thoughts on “Breaking the Insanity Barrier, Part 2”

  1. "false sense of history"? No wonder so many are afraid of historical boards and committees, they are the very people that is preventing so many restorations from happening! Bureaucrats! Gah!

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