Hellooooo down there!

Hellooooo down there!

You guys remember that post last winter, right?  The one where Barry made me…I mean convinced me…to banish my fears and come up on the roof on roof-shoveling day.  Remember the shaking in the boots?  The utter fear?  The palpitating heart?

But I did it.  Stepped off the ladderand gingerly inched across the slippery roof to the chimney.  It was a day to remember. 

I did it for the Blog.  And later did it one more time for chimney cleaning. To overcome fear.  To reach for the skies, as they say.  And to have something to write about it for the blog.

Something happened on Saturday that brought those memories immediately to the forefront.

Barry is building an addition onto the garage to house his new 1976 twenty-four foot Sea Ray boat.  I shouldn’t call it “new” any more.  He’s had it for almost a year and a half.  It’s his baby.  Right now the boat is still at the fiberglass “doctor” up in Chassell getting medical attention.  (It’s been up there a lot this year.)

The boat wouldn’t fit in the garage, so guess what?  Several months ago the husband gets the smart idea he needs to build on to the garage.  So he can work on the boat during the winter months.  (Heaven knows how much this boat is going to cost us by the time it gets in the water…and then we don’t even want to think about what it will cost us then…)

So he’s been steadfastly building the little addition despite all the weather challenges this autumn.

The whole enchilada

The whole enchilada

The other day he comes in the house looking rather sheepish.  Oh no, Trouble.  You can just tell.

“Honey, can you come out and lend me a hand on the addition?”

“Oh sure,” I agree breezily, not really thinking what this means.

Out we go.

We reach the garage.  He gestures toward the ladder with his hammer. 

“Can you climb up there and hold the end of a board while I pound it in?”  he asks.

(Here’s where all my maturity, spiritual or otherwise, completely deserts me.  Here is where whining sets in.  It is terrible.)  I am back to quivering knees, a pit in the stomach, absolute fear.  At first I tell him “No way, absolutely no way, am I going to climb that ladder, what are you thinking about, I can’t do it, where are your friends?  No, no, no!” 

But then, sucker that I am for attempting to overcome fear, I climb slowly slowly up the darn ladder, almost to the top….and then scurry down to the bottom almost in tears.

“NO I CAN’T DO IT!”  I cry. 

“Yes, you can,” the carpenter says.  “Come on, Kathy, I really need you to help.”


But once again I climb up the terrible ladder, and with shaking sweating palms thrust the feet onto the scaffold.  Yep, I’m up there.  OK.  It’s been done.

Carpenter-husband starts to work, pounding.  I obediently hold my end of the board.  Pound, pound.  I start peeking around, wishing for the camera.  Where is the camera when you need it?  How could you go anywhere without it?

The Man with the Rafters

The Man with the Rafters

Then it’s time to descend the ladder.  Almost as scary.  It’s  a long long way down there.  OK, breathe deep.  Don’t think.  Just step down, one foot at a time.  (Excuse the crappy-looking shoes.  They are the garden/work shoes, not the dressy sneaker variety.)



So fast-forward to yesterday.  I kid you not, this is what happened.  Before we decided to drive to Silver Mountain (or in the middle of deciding) I realized I had no blog.  And remembered the scaffold incident.  And said to Barry, “Hey, give me the camera, I’m going up and taking pics for the blog.”

And proceeded to climb up the ladder, all nine and a half feet onto the scaffold, without even thinking. Without a moment of fuss.  With no fear.  Stood around and snapped photos and effortlessly walked down the ladder.

Looking down on our little house in the big woods

Looking down on our little house in the big woods

Which goes to show you.  When you need photos or material for a blog, you’ll do just about anything.