I feel proud and thankful to share my house with my community and friends. I intend this house to be an example of comfortable living with a focus on ecological health. I want to show that "being green" is not necessarily showering once a month and reading by candlelight. I am meeting people where they are at, in hopes that they will take small steps in the same direction. It is a lofty goal, but the enthusiasm I have gained from the experience and my rapport with my townspeople as their selectwoman might just be powerful enough to make this a strong educational site.
House Specs:
(click the arrow to the right to expand)
House Information:
Andover, New Hampshire. On NH Route11, highly trafficked road.
Built 1948 by previous owner after WWII from materials of old schoolhouse across road.
3 bedroom, 1.5 bath. Previously inhabited by family of 6.
Illegal septic: 50 gallon tank covered by old railroad ties. Drains onto neighbor's property 20 feet from river.
Heated with oil, cracked furnace.
Old electric water heater.
Balsam Wool insulation (ground balsam fir).
70+ year old windows.
High lead content in water due to solder in pipes.
Ungrounded electric, 60 amp service.
Access to Sucker Brook.
Access to Northern Rail Trail.
Excellent Elementary/ Middle School.
Private High school: Proctor Academy.
Public High school: Merrimack Valley.
I bought my house in February of 2013 on a whim. I had begun Design/Build school at Yestermorrow in Waitsfield, Vermont USA the previous month (on a similar whim) and through a flash of brilliant creativity, my beloved mother, an established real estate agent and excellent teacher, woke me in the morning early in January to announce that she had "found me a house." We drove a mile from my childhood home to a small white cape that seemed to float above the ground: the front steps had been removed to claim "incomplete construction" taxes.
When I stepped into the house, a HAMM radio was connected in the kitchen to listen to Morse code. An old washing machine with a roller wringer sat in the kitchen--the only washing machine in the house. Collectibles had been chaotically strewn throughout the rooms. Half-packed boxes had been unpacked with nostalgic hands. Ungrounded electrical wiring and lead solder in the water pipes wrapped the house in a web. An open ceramic well was still accessible in the basement and the five-hundred gallon septic tank, covered by old railroad ties, drained onto my neighbors' property with an outlet 20 feet from the river's edge. Illegal, certainly. Costly to repair, without a doubt. Ecologically harmful, unhealthy, smelly, ugly, and nonfunctioning. Luckily, I knew nothing about any of the complexities, costs, headaches, backaches, and heartaches this project would bring me.
I should mention this house adventure was not in the plan. I had never once considered buying a house this young (I had just turned 20 years old). I had never really thought about my decision to attend design/build school beside the neat looking brochure.
I bought the house with my mom, despite the failed septic and multitude of other problems. I assumed I would change the water heater, maybe update some light fixtures, change a wall opening, and voilà!
A week into the project, with two friends helping me rip toilets out and walls down, buyer's regret hit my mom and me like a wall. We immediately became disenchanted. I sat on the stairs to the basement every couple of hours and sobbed. I hated my mom for bringing this upon me. My mom thought I should be doing a better job of integrating my design skills I learned at school. Preoccupied by the sheer monster of a task I had taken on, it only occurred to me weeks into my house project how my schooling and this project were related and many months more to realize how brilliant of a learning tool my mom had set up for me. This should have been obvious, perhaps, but I was slow to understand my mother's intention for this to be the praxis to the theory of design.
My house, built in 1948 from the old school house across the street--whose foundation I can still see from my kitchen window--was a sturdy piece of history and a promising classroom for me. The previous owner had constructed it himself after returning from WWII and lived in the 3 bedroom, one and a half bath, thirteen-hundred square foot home with his wife and four children, one of whom was handicapped. The bedroom on the second floor was divided by a sheet of plywood---bunk beds on one side, a double on the other.
I began by removing the water heater, removing the bathroom and kitchen features, and delicately cutting an access window in the wall between the kitchen and dining room. It was all fairly simple, with a few mistakes here and there from action before analysis. I'll mention those later.
The project got larger one day. I had an electrician friend come over for a consultation. He said, "Well, if you want to have safe electricity and meet code, you're going to have to tear down all the walls."
I hid in the bathroom and cried. Then, with a group of friends and some sledge hammers, we tore down all the exterior walls and pulled out all the insulation. I discovered it was insulated with Balsam Wool which was basically sawdust sandwiched between two sheets of tar paper. This explained the similarity in outdoor temperature to the indoor. Meanwhile, I had two friends go around collecting every screw and nail and bit of hardware in a box. I had it in my mind that at the end of the project, I would figure out how many materials we kept out of the dumpster. I did save a lot in the end, but most of it was out of code, frustrating to retrofit, or purely unusable.
Here I was at the beginning of the summer, 2013: My walls were just studs and sheathing. I had no electricity. I found out my furnace was broken. I had just paid $9,000 for a new septic to be installed. My two friends who were initially helping me left, fed up with my poor leadership. My brain was fraught with thoughts of my mortgage and questions like, "If I use spray foam insulation, I won't have fresh air so I shouldn't have a wood stove because it will use all the fresh air but wood is a local natural resource...." and on and on. My relationship with my mom was worse than ever.
So I retreated. For almost three months, I did nothing on the house. In fact, I moved to a different town entirely. I nearly sold the project several times after many fights with my parents. I think the fear of feeling failure kept me from putting it back on the market.
Suddenly, around September, I had the courage to pick it back up. I began making decisions--the most daunting task of renovation. I decided to go fossil-fuel free, so I bought a PV solar system, decided on an electric mini-split heat pump for heat and spray foam insulation to make sure the heat stayed in. And best of all, I asked for help. My neighbor started coming every day to help me run the plumbing and gave me the confidence I needed to push forward.
I graduated from Yestermorrow that month, too. I presented a Permaculture design of my landscape that incorporated the house with the vegetation, water, work flow, and sun. Excited by my drawings and the prospect of a food forest, my dad and I dug three ponds and long swales. We planted fruit trees and comfrey. As the house is situated directly on a state road, I began to realize the impact I could have on the community just by passive observation. My landscape would be the first indication to passersby that this place was something different.
In November, I held a presentation at my house about weatherization. I had joined the Andover Energy Committee and they wanted a workshop done. Twenty-five people came for a tour, demonstration, and presentation about my retrofits. I focused on three topics: finding leverage, using small and simple solutions, and planning for resiliency. It was a mighty success.
I became confident that what I was doing was worthwhile and could help shape the way we design our homes. I started viewing my failures as successes. The learnings were becoming teachings. The creativity that came from my Permaculture background intrigued visitors. The "newness" of my systems created a stark contrast to the surrounding houses.
By the end of April of 2014, I had new windows, spray foam insulation (an oil based product with high insulating qualities), primed sheetrock, a wood stove, plumbing and electricity, some lights, solar panels that had produced upward of 2000 kWh and so much excitement. I could see the end.
I'm writing this end of May, 2014. I have bags under my eyes, my spine seems to be in a knot, my hands are raw and split. The past month has wrecked havoc on my body. My parents came home from a long trip in Africa impressed by what had been accomplished in their absence, and then reminded me that there was still a lot left to do. My father, an absolute work horse, revved me up to cranking an absurd amount of hours each day into the house. I dropped all my other duties and started tiling, painting, oiling, planting, scavenging... They were quick satisfaction projects that kept us moving. We finished my room so I could move in. I slept here for the first time May 14th. It was a mighty accomplishment.
The kitchen and bathroom were completed in little stages with items donated or found: a granite tile countertop became my kitchen island, sample countertops from a local showroom were smashed to make a mosaic in the shower, and sinks from a foreclosed house down the road were hooked up.
Now I am rushing to finish the little things before an internship program I have set up for the summer. The first two come June 1st, and two more a week later. I know that once people are moved in, projects will never get finished. The baseboards, trim, molding and duct vents are all that remain in the bedrooms.
Financing
Staying sane in the process of financing is tough. This Google Spreadsheet is a slightly modified version of sample records from South Mountain Design/Build Company, West Tisbury, Massachusetts. It is an incredible tool for documenting bridesmaid options (to keep track of estimated costs), the estimated time committment, and calculations of the realities. The spreadsheet also acts as back up and reference to receipts.
It is fun to see where money was saved and can become a learning tool for time management and cost analysis.
Feel free to use this model for your own needs.
Budget
Time
Time is never as it seems in renovations. Some projects glide so smoothly one forgets the work that was done. Most drag on for days, months, even years. As a general rule, add 2/3 to the time you think you will spend on a project. Over estimating is more gentle on the mind, body, and budget (especially when working for someone else) than the rushed, stressful job half-done, half-perfect.
I made many timelines. One, during the early stages, estimated that I would finish by July, 2013. It is now June, 2014 and I am still attending to big projects and many more small ones.
Instead of a traditional timeline, I have made a "design-line". Though mostly chronological, the diagram to the right shows how projects led to other projects and the relationships between them.
Sample of UnrealisticTimeline
Solar panels installed end of September.
Ponds and swales installed by October.
House “completed” by end of November.
Midcanopy and Overstory planted by spring 2014.
Raised beds built in spring 2014.
Shed, duck house, and chicken coop built during summer 2014.
Planting of rest of food forest continuous.
Updates made to house
Septic
Windows
Plumbing and Greywater system
Iron filter at well pump
Water heater (60-gal hybrid electric heat pump)
Electricity (wiring, lights, and service upgraded to 200amps)
PV Solar System
Heating System (Mini-split heat pump)
Metal roof
Bathroom toilets and shower
Refrigerator
Washing machine
Landscape
Woodstove and hearth
Clay paint