Making Light Work Of Heavy Lifting
Two decades ago, I was working as a framer for a guy who was semi-retired but built one spec house a year. His talent was to find that one undervalued property that had slipped under the radar and make it work. This one year, it was a property with a “peek-a-boo” ocean view overlooking the houses on the other side of the road, but with a lot of bedrock. He ran the numbers and had blasting done to clear enough space to build a large and imposing house on the site that maximized sight lines to the ocean. There was a lot of blast rock piled up on one side of the property.
We got out of the ground and were working on the first floor above grade (essentially the second, main story). At about that time, a fellow came by to talk to him. He had a major landscaping project on a property across the street and down a few houses, and his client wanted a lot of rock walls done. Could he buy some of the blast rock from us? Boss just told him to take as much as he wanted for free, and boy, did they ever. Saved them money, and they could pick and choose to their hearts’ delight. Made their job a lot easier.
Fast forward a bit, and we’re putting up exterior walls. Pretty simple – lay out the top and bottom plates on the floor, nail studs to the marks on both, square the frame, nail the sheathing, lift the wall, position to the mark, nail off, and brace to plumb. Repeat and tie the walls together as you go. Not too hard, as we started with smaller walls that had some jigs and jogs to them. Then, the long back wall. To this day, I don’t know what we were thinking.
We had close to thirty feet of wall on the floor, ready to lift. Braces scattered, nail guns at the ready. One solid lift and we were done. The thing is, my boss, older than me and in good shape, was but a man. I was a younger version of the skinny old man I am now. It took one (well, two) “old man grunts” before we realized there was no way we were budging this thing. Now, a sane man would have nipped out and rented a few wall jacks to do the job. Not my boss.
He told me to take a smoke break and walked off the site. Turned out he had wandered down to where the landscaping crew was working and asked for a favour. He came back with four burly landscapers who, as if it was a welcome break in their day, picked up that wall with what I to this day swear were their pinky fingers, allowing us to position, nail it down, and brace it. Once the deed was done – thanks from us and “no worries” from them, we all got back to our respective jobs.
The true currency in the trades is respect and favours. Having grown up in a rural environment, I’d like to add to that obligation. When someone needs help, you help, without asking for money or evaluating how their politics align with yours, because they would do the same for you. The obligation is to the community, no matter how large and enduring or how small and fleeting.
