The Night We Dressed the Foundation
Great moments in building history: The crazy new neighbors
It all began as my wife and I were starting to build our house. It was the middle of winter, and after waiting for weeks, we finally got a break in the weather.
After pouring the footings, we set out to find a mason to lay the block for our pier foundation. We had heard horror stories from others who had unsuspectingly hired brick masons from hell to work on their houses. We settled on a mason, mostly because he had indelibly painted in bold, pink letters the word “Bricklayer” on the side of his pickup truck. In my mind, this represented a serious intent and commitment on his part. This, however, was my first mistake.
On the much-awaited day, the mason arrived with two helpers, although we had contracted for him alone to do the work. I was reluctant to let his crew work on our house because I had not inspected their pickup trucks to gauge their abilities. I relented, however, and let them proceed, secure in the knowledge that the system of batter boards and stringlines I devised to define the location and height of the piers was foolproof. This was my second mistake.
The speed with which the masons laid the block was dazzling, but my feeling is that in bricklaying, as in dental surgery, speed is not always desirable.
After the masons left, we discovered that, despite my best-laid plans, one set of piers was above the height I had indicated, and another set fell consistently below the lines. I envisioned the furniture in our house rolling around on the wavy floor like loose cargo on a storm-tossed ship.
As we were sitting at home later that night, over the television came the ominous announcement, “Siberian express freeze to hit the city tonight! Details later in the program.”
The weatherperson elaborated on the impending weather system with such dread that well diggers in our area scurried to cover their posteriors with extra protection.
Suddenly, my wife and I remembered the unprotected foundation. We realized the mortar was in danger of cracking from the sudden freeze. But the stores were closed by this time, so we were unable to buy anything to cover the piers. The only thing left to do was to empty all of our drawers and closets, hurry down to our land and cover everything we could.
Our method of dressing the blocks was interesting. We started with our underwear, then added shirts and sweaters, and topped it off with coats. Each pier took on a distinctively female or male persona.
My wife’s sartorial talents began to emerge as she attempted to color-coordinate some of the outfits. As we were rushing to get all the piers clothed before the freeze struck, she looked over at one of the piers and said, “This one could use a scarf… or maybe a hat.”
“What are you talking about?” I screamed. “It’s a concrete block!”
It was a bizarre scene as we surveyed the rows of badly dressed concrete munchkins huddled against the cold. I used to look with amusement on people who dressed up their pets in little outfits, but this was beyond that—way beyond that. This could be a new topic for the TV talk shows: “House Foundations and the People Who Dress Them.” The next day, this apparition would clearly be visible to the houses that lined the hill above the valley in which we were building. I knew this would be the kind of thing the Neighborhood Committee, which gives an award for the “Yard of the Month,” would frown upon. Our neighbors already referred to us as “the people in the woods,” spoken in a way that made us sound like the subject of a Stephen King novel. So as not to arouse their suspicions further, we decided there was only one thing for us to do—we would lie like rugs.
We are presently trying to decide between one of two stories. Our first explanation would be that it is a tradition in our grandparents’ country to put costumes on the foundation of a new house and perform a folk dance for good luck. Our second explanation is that the brick masons did it.
—John Wofford, Newell, N. C.
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