We’ve got them all in the barn, but I struggle to pinpoint exactly which one is which. The line “Run that by me again…” has become a response that I use to delay while I try to work out which bit of the jigsaw the builders are talking about.
I do know that the wood is beautiful. I just love the symmetry of it, the airiness and the different views through the lines of the structure. Craft with purpose. It was sad when the plywood went up, screening the skeleton of the building from sight.
But the barn does begin to look more like a house.
And with the arrival of those mahusive steels that I told you about…
… the big build reached first-floor level. The builders are eyeing the roof now and the timber discussions are becoming ever more complicated. Trusses and purlins and joists, lintels and collars and plates…
It’s a relief to talk about bricks for a change.
I know what they are, they’re Cambridge Whites. I knew the barn they belonged to as well. The Farmer probably had a den inside its walls, back in the eighties, before the building was demolished.
We had to move this beast to extract our bricks from their 30-year hiding place:
And their reuse has justified The Farmers belief that you should never chuck anything away (damn it).
My bricks are beautiful too, but nature wins the day and it’s the views out of our soon-to-be windows that really take my breath away.