When Adam set about ripping out the drywall upstairs – and immediately filling his first dumpster in the process – the emerging picture soon presented a number of challenging hurdles. I’ve mentioned the lack of a ridge pole and matters regarding rafters, plus the wiring situation. This wasn’t going to be nearly as straightforward a project as I hoped.

The dumpster, by the way, was a new step for me. Back in New Hampshire, our carpenter hauled the debris to the transfer station in his pickup – or I burned what I could in the side yard. We even used a lot of the ripped-out sheetrock and plaster to “sweeten” our garden pH. How much would the alternative cost us, anyway?

I’ll say it was a bargain, especially considering the time that would be lost if Adam were driving that to the trash transfer station an hour away.

Adam’s selective demolition led to a small collections of old wallpaper examples. Meanwhile, a hippie-dippy yellow crab painted under some of the later wallpaper, alas, couldn’t be preserved, not that I quite wanted that. Mine was the minority vote. Still, we’d love to know the story of its creator – a kid? – and its inspiration.

More puzzling were the broken bricks in the walls and joists away from the chimneys. Huh?

Or, more impressive, finding some of the exterior sheathing is more than 18 inches wide. Try buying that today.

The fire damage was more extensive than we had imagined. Not just the historic downtown fire of 1886, charring our rafters but not setting them ablaze, but also a later chimney fire that charred the insulation off electrical wiring that we were still using.

What if the char damage on the beams and rafters wasn’t superficial but went deeper into what we assumed was still solid wood? (We were relieved to find out just how much good lumber remained inside.)

We’re left wondering. Did a fire originate in one of two wings once attached to the house and then spread to the roof? Sounds like an archaeology problem to tackle sometime ahead.

In addition, earlier carpenters here didn’t seem to do much measuring. I had to ask Adam, “So how does it feel to be correcting 200-year-old work?”

He gave me a look.

As I said, Adam set to work with determination and within a day filled the first dumpster.

Beyond the fire damage, he uncovered more knob-and-tube wiring to contend with than we had wished.

But to our surprise, Adam is not only a master carpenter but also a licensed electrician. This was sounding too good to be true.

Starting this project was like being buckled into a big roller coaster, say the legendary Son of Beast just north of Cincinnati, or finding yourself pregnant, or so I’ll presume, either way resigning yourself to going along for the ride, wherever. Well, in either of those examples there is a destination, and we’re assuming there’s a fine outcome here, too.

I had no idea how much I didn’t know the morning Adam showed up with his tools.

Let me relate how relieved I was to learn that we could still live in our house during the renovations. Stories circulated of people who not only arranged for accommodations where their crew could live during big renovation projects but also had to clear out themselves for the duration.

Look, our financial pockets aren’t deep. We’re addressing my lifetime savings, unless my novels somehow turn out to become blockbuster bestsellers, even at this late date.

Taking more than a few deep breaths, then?

Adam hit the ground running.

At the end of Day One.

And Day Two.

Once we were underway, I was impressed by the measures that were taken to minimalize the spread of dust and debris and I would like to acknowledge those.

The zipper doorway to the second floor was the first step. And when working on the main floor, Adam erected clear-plastic envelopes he could work within. Made me think of the so-called “state rooms” on the historic schooner I sailed on last summer, where every inch was treasured. Adam’s power vac became a familiar sound.

It wasn’t the only place he was fastidious. I would never get my sawing accurate to 1/16 of an inch, especially not when dealing with an old beam underneath that was a half-inch shorter on one side.

Do note, a lot of unsung artistry goes on in projects like this. As well as a lot of weird shit, done by rank amateurs, those whose weird decisions you discover along the way. Long ago, on projects on our little city farm back in Dover, we realized there are many, many very good reasons for modern building codes and for the inspectors who ensure they’re followed.

Also appreciated were the health measures of venting the upstairs or wearing earplugs and a face mask. Our previous carpenter, back in Dover, discovered the hard way about the alternative, hearing loss, and maybe the lungs, too. I don’t know what to advise about plumber’s knees, either.

By being able to be present when all this was happening, I did get to follow the action. I’ll hope you, too, finding that entertaining.

With a sense of despair regarding the roof project and our lack of a contractor on the horizon, we went ahead and set about erecting raised garden beds for what would be my third summer of dwelling here. We would try to leave some space for a contractor to get at the house, should we ever, ever, find someone.

During one of the inevitable conversations with passers-by while installing the garden and its fencing, a trusted neighbor mentioned that she had just had some carpentry done by a former student, someone who had returned home after living and working away. She gave us his name and phone number, and an introductory conversation followed.

Yes, he could do the project, and he thought in could start at the end of August. I was startled when he said that was the upcoming August, not a year off. Could it truly be?

Naturally, there were delays while he wrapped up some other commitments, but we did find ourselves in a stunned state of disbelief when work finally began in earnest at the beginning of this past October. We finally had a contractor who not only showed up on the morning he promised, but also on the dot of the hour.

He hit the ground running, methodically, precisely.

At the heart of our big project is a new roof on the house. Not just the asphalt shingling, which itself has needed replacement – we could have found someone to do that – but the actual shape of the supporting rafters themselves. To gain much-needed interior space, the walls on the second floor are being raised. That structural work’s the complication. And how, as you’ll see.

When we were considering making an offer on the house, we were told to check out the rafters for signs of charring, a consequence of the 1886 fire that destroyed the canneries, wharves, and downtown. Sure enough, ours was one of the homes suffering damage though left standing.

A few weeks before starting on the renovation, our contractor stopped by with his mentor slash consultant for a closer look. More concerning, from their point of view, was the lack of a ridge beam. The rafters from each side were simply mitered together. In addition, they were further apart than current coding would permit.

Our project would be taking place in two phases – the back half of the roof last fall and the front half in the spring. Without a ridge pole, there was nothing to hold up the remaining half and nothing to support the new raised framing.

You’ll discover where that leads.