wood recovery - January 2007

I’m cold, very cold, and wet and I smell like a chicken farm. My hands are foul, my boots are covered with manure, my back is breaking and I’m hungry and sore and out of sorts. I want a warm shower in the worst way. Brad my delightful son and the energy behind my condition is upbeat and excited. “Look at this beautiful wood, Mom,” he enthuses. I groan, yearning for new wood from a lumber store, delivered, clean, ready to go.

In time I know I’ll agree with Brad but for now, the old barn wood seems like too much trouble and I’m only sadly reminded of the beautiful old barn being demolished for a row of new ugly houses. We’ll reuse the wood, taking satisfaction in that, but it’s still ugly at this stage and its potential seems far, far away.

The first sight of this old wood, on a cold day in December, was in a pile of crisscrossed boards, full of rusty nails, covered with the foul smelling reminder of its previous residents – chickens. The stench is strong, leaving me with little satisfaction as I scrape manure from each board and throw the decomposing mess onto our future garden site. As I bend my back into yet another impossible position, pulling yet another rusty nail, I question the wisdom of our recycling mania.

Whatcom County is where our chicken-shit-wood originated. Brad and I piled it so high and heavy on Brad’s 1995 Nissan wonder truck I was uncertain if we’d make it the few miles back to his Bellingham home. Then, from the same site, there was another load picked up with Brad’s friend and housemate, Erin, to help with the larger pieces. At a different site nearby, huge 8x8 beams, some 16’ long were also loaded. Erin is strong! Brad is strong! The loading of the truck a miracle to watch as leverage, strength, and ingenuity are employed. Another marvel, no busted backs or rusty nails through a foot. The truck, a small and old pickup, 4-wheel drive, 4 cylinder engine, wonder machine, hauling an impossibly huge and heavy load home with no mishaps, wins our praise.

Once the wood was in Bellingham it needed to be delivered to Whidbey. Several trips later with Ed, Fran, Erin and Brad’s hands all getting dirty and with more unloading, loading, nail pulling, cleaning, hauling and wear and tear on bodies and machines, the wood is housed under a tarp at the end of Grace Lane. The receipt says 1x6 and 2x6 and beams and miscellaneous, $240. Our designer, builder and enthusiastic recycling guru, Brad, is exclaiming not only about the “deal” we got but about the grain of the wood that you “just can’t buy anymore”. His passion for old wood is catching and my spirits lift. A warm shower, rinsing away the filth, and a good meal help me see the beauty of the wood grain too.


Another day, a cold and wet January day, brings another huge load of wood from a demolished building in Snohomish, picked up by Brad and Erin on their way to Whidbey from Bellingham. This billing statement reads 818 lineal feet: $129.43. More nail pulling, but no chicken manure. The new load is stacked, under a tarp, at the end of Grace Lane as well. Brad wears a huge smile of recycled wood glee.


The weather the past few weeks has been severe. Brutal winds, gusting up to 65 mph or more have left us without electricity for days at a time. More wind and snow and freezing temperatures are expected tomorrow so today, the 9th of January, despite the developing wind storm, we’re taking advantage of the clear sky for site work. The electricity has blinked several times and gone out twice, but quickly come back on. Then at 3:00 it went out again, settling in for the night it seems. Brad needs to catch a 6:00 ferry to spend tomorrow with his Dad, so at 5:00 we wrap it up cold but pleased with the job.

There’s nothing like a tractor to rip into the land, performing all manner of demolition. The soil is rearranged and site is contoured and flattened and changed to our will. Brad, the mad tractor operator, couldn’t be happier. Somehow, the levers and peddles, and wheels and gadgets are like extensions of his hands and feet, working at a rapid speed as he directs the machine to go forward, backwards, push, pull, cut and carry. Bucking, wheel spinning and tipping at precarious angles adds to my angst and Brad’s delight. Any comments from me urging caution are brushed aside, very much unappreciated. At the end of four hours, like magic, there’s the flat area for the first building we’ll build. This building is called the sleeping wing and is made up of a bedroom, bath, laundry, shop and carport. It is the first of three buildings that will make up our new home.



The carport clearning. 1/10/07






The tent is our shop. Plum full of tools for building our new home. Recycled carriage doors for our carport. They came from a home being demolished in Edmonds. Barn wood is stored behind carriage doors.