And Why Is it Called the Ivy Palace?

It was originally dubbed “Ivy Acres” by Randy and Mike the Selectman, and truly I had never seen so much poison ivy in my life.  I am one of those people who just has to look at the stuff and I’m headed to the ER for a shot of Prednisone in my butt.  And I did get it a few times this year, but the place was kind to me, relatively.  We did think that poison ivy was holding it together at first.  Randy wanted to make a sign that said “Ivy Acres: A Little Piece of Purgatory.”  He’s amused by the whole thing, and has known me long enough to tolerate my foolishness, as I have tolerated his.  He also loves any opportunity to exercise his chainsaw; he worked for his nephew’s logging business up until last year when he was going through chemo and then radiation, and now he’s working his way back up to a whole day in the woods.  Hey, if he wants to practice here, there is a ton to do.  I own a chainsaw—and have done for 12 years—and I am terrified of it as ever, even though I have completed a chainsaw course that had me fell a 24” tree within ½” of its target destination.  Speaking of ER’s, I used to work in one.  I have seen what they can do, even to professionals.  So most of the small clearing I do with a variety of amazing but non-mechanized pruning, lopping and hacking equipment.  But Randy (and, when the going got tough, his nephew) do the big trees.  Dave too.  Oh, everyone is in on the Ivy Palace act here. 

First thing we had to do was clear enough trees to get a backhoe in behind the wall-o-crap to dig some test holes to find out if I could put a septic system in.  Surprise!  I could.  I am now going round and round with the health department regarding the need for an “engineered” system, which no one but they think I need.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

 

 Now, I do not know what happened to my “Before” photos of the trees—I cannot find them, but this is the cabin after Keith and his bucket truck came and removed 5 enormous trees, one growing right against the house—we cannot take the stump out because, well, there goes the house.  So it will eventually have to be level with the dirt.  Hernando’s Termite Hideaway, for sure. (Fortunately, Barney put in chestnut joists so while it’s tiny, it’s darn sturdy . . . in most places.  We got rid of all the metal cabinets, the toilets, the player piano (do you know how much just the sounding board weighs on a player piano?), the miles of barbed wire that just kept appearing during the tree-clearing, the broken glass from the windows, the 4x4 plate glass window (another back-breaker and I have no idea what he was going to do with that either—Barney just took whatever people gave him, thinking he’d find a use for it someday),the toilet, the beer cans, the old metal pails, and all the other floatsam and jetsam around the house and the little generator house.  This does not count the bottle dump on the other side of the spillway—there are still many years of spelunking left to go down there I fear.  Inga the Volvo (pictured) brought nearly everything to the transfer station, bless her heart.  Except the sounding board.  I put an ad in the “freecycle” online newsletter and a silent man and his Tony Perkins-ish son drove up in a battered S-10 and silently (them, not it) coaxed it into the bed.  “Whatcha gonna do with it?” I asked cheerfully.

Silence.

I turned specifically to Anthony Perkins. “What’s your dad going to do with it?”

Shrug.

“You don’t know?”

“Um.  Something.”

I was hoping re-purposed autoharps.  Backyard sculpture.  An artsy-crunchy loving home.  Instead I felt like I was sending my 4H calf away with the slaughterhouse van.
But it’s all gone, and the area around the house is clear.  Keith ripped a lot of the p.i. out while he was working, but it came back in droves, and I’ve since planted grass seed along the front of the yard because if you keep something mowed, not much can get back through.

 Here’s the back, facing the pond.  This is 20 feet long. The porch/deck will come out 8 feet and run the length of the house.  8 feet of that, on the left, will be enclosed and become part of the interior. Do you see the different siding that is on it?  That lovely brick asphalt shingle affair, covered over in parts with the wood shakes?  It’s what he had . . . and when he ran out, he stopped.  Under that siding are these magnificent oak boards that make up the frame.  They turned out to be one of the sturdiest things about the house, there not being too many cross beams and braces, and so these wonderful things acted as siding and stability at the same time.

 

 

 Go inside, and walk to the left of the chimney.  Look down.

 

Possibly this is why Barney had the tub in here—to catch the water that was leaking from the roof.  When it was stolen (but could they take the metal cabinets too?  nooooooooo) we saw the extent of the floor damage.  Charming.  This has been the focal point of this summer’s repair, for the whole corner needed to be re-done in order to start the project I wanted—putting a new roof on.  Ev is a mellow dude, slow as a turtle, and mad about detail.  He’s also the president of this area’s chapter of the small house builders’ association, and adores the fact that he will be renovating a truly tiny house.  But I have found that there is quite a bit of prejudice against small houses, on many state, local and personal levels.  More of that later.

 Another photo of the massive vegetation challenge at the pond’s edge; you can see all the logs blocking the spillway.  It’s lush, but frightening.  However, landscape taming is my forte, and I remain undaunted, even in the face of laughter from all around me.