Vanishing Resolve And Loom Restoration

My wife Janet has been interested in fiber arts of one form or another as long as I have known her. She does cross-stitch and she also knits. Her specialty has mostly been knitting socks and hats. Lately she has taken an interest in weaving.

Over the winter she took a weaving class and the interest intensified. She brought home projects and proudly showed all of us the things that she had made and talked about the different weaving patterns and techniques. While I was obsessing over my farm planning, she was cruising the Internet and dreaming of owning her own loom.

On some evenings our paths would cross and we would have simultaneous one-sided conversations about our consuming interests. I would go on and on about my planting plans and farm research, no doubt an exceedingly dull topic for someone distracted by the lure of websites full of looms for sale.

True to form, I always responded to her talk of buying a loom with a predictable dissertation on our financial priorities and the laudable goal of me making a loom for her from scratch with my woodworking equipment in the garage. Undaunted by my reasoning, she correctly pointed out that it would probably be years before I would have the time to take on such a project. My weak rejoinder of "...yes, but how many opportunities will I get to build a loom for you?" had little effect.

The stalemate existed for quite a few weeks until she trumped all of my arguments by pulling the Ebay card. Wearing a skeptical expression, I leaned over her computer to peer at the image of the loom for sale. It turned out to be right here in Michigan. A glance at the very reasonable price tag and the vintage beauty of the simple loom that was advertised brought all of my objections to a swift end.

Before I knew it, I was drawn in hook, line and sinker. I asked her how much she was willing to spend on it and then I secretly put in a bid for considerably more. We impatiently watched the hours crawl past until the end of the auction and were delighted to learn that we had won. The price ended up being considerably less than either of us had been willing to spend.

I called the seller of the loom and set up a time to pick it up. That evening after work I met the man and his father at a church on the outskirts of Detroit. The loom had been purchased by them years before from an elderly woman who could no longer use it. It sat in a side-room in the church and was occasionally used by the children. Ultimately it was deemed to be taking up more floorspace than they could spare and they put it up for sale.

A stamp on the back of the loom indicates that it was built in Michigan in 1938 by an obscure and short-lived "Fredrikson pattern shop". I've been unable to find much of anything about them and would not be surprised if this is the only surviving loom of their manufacture. To my engineer/woodworker's eye it is extremely well-designed. We were able to dismantle it for transport without any tools as the entire thing is cleverly held together with simple wedges.

Unfortunately the loom is missing a few critical pieces. The previous owners confessed that they accidentally gave away the frames, heddles and supporting pulleys with another loom that they had sold earlier. I didn't really mind because the missing pieces creates an opportunity for me to employ my woodworking skills without being too big of a project.

Janet and I spent a few nights reading up on the finer points of loom design. We concluded that our new loom is a "counterbalance" design and is extremely similar to one sold by a Swedish loom company called Glimakra. After sketching out my ideas for the missing pieces, I headed out to the lumber store to pick up some maple boards for raw materials.

Now we just need to clear enough time in the crazy farming schedule for me to get those few pieces made. In the mean-time, the loom has become a conversation piece in our farmhouse living room. Janet is doing her best to withstand the wait.

Leading Economic Indicator - No More Tarps!

We purchased our farm in the Fall of 2008 amid turmoil in the housing market. In fact, the steep downturn in housing prices was the only way we would ever have been able to afford it. Little did we know how severe the economic catastrophe would ultimately become. We saw an opportunity and decided to take the chance. It was a wild and frightening ride but we appear to have made it across the chasm mostly unharmed.

The farm was purchased as a short sale and showed signs of neglect. The worst of all was the roof on the house. Our building inspector marveled at the poor condition and stated that he had never seen such a high level of degradation on a roof so young. His opinion was that the shingles had been defective before they were ever installed.

On a portion of the house the shingles had disintegrated leaving only the tar paper as the last defense from the elements. Most of the material had either blown off into the back yard or accumulated as sand in the gutters. Our mortgage company reluctantly agreed to our purchase of the home as long as we were willing to take steps to correct the roofing problem right away.

I would like to think that I am a frugal man although there are some who would say that I'm merely cheap. Whenever possible I prefer to do work myself to reduce the costs and roofing is no exception. Since we didn't move into the house until December of that year, I concluded that it was already too late in the year and the weather too unpredictable for me to replace the roof. I saw no other choice but to install tarps on the roof to keep out the weather until spring.

I spent some time trolling the Internet for information on the best way to go about the project. Luckily I happened on a Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) website that showed exactly how to do it. The information was intended for use in the wake of tornadoes or hurricanes but seemed suitable for my purposes as well.

Per the instructions on the website, I bought a very large blue tarp, some long framing nails and a stack of 2x4 pine lumber. I climbed up on the roof one late evening and had it wrapped up in a few hours. This was undoubtedly the first time any of the neighbors saw me and despite my pride in a job well done, I can't imagine that their first impression of us was a very good one. I shrugged my shoulders and assured my embarrassed wife that it was only for a few months until spring.

Then the roller-coaster economy headed straight downhill and picked up speed as it raced hell-bent for leather into a seemingly bottomless pit. Layoffs began in earnest at the automotive company were I worked and soon I was furloughed as well. We held on with all of our might and tried to keep our fears under control as companies fell, storefronts were boarded up and thousands of my coworkers and friends were hurled out of their once comfortable lives. All of our extra funds evaporated and the roof obviously had to wait.

As the first anniversary of our move to our little farm rolled past, the winds of Autumn whipped the faded blue tarp until it disintegrated into tens of thousands of blue confetti strips. They rained down on our back yard and made an incredible mess. I can't even walk by a cigarette butt without stooping to stick it in my pocket and now the children and I had many hours of cleanup before us. I climbed onto the cold and windy roof once again with a pile of supplies and tarped it for what I hoped was the very last time.

Winter came and the snow piled deep. In the dark of the year, the economic gloom reluctantly released its grip. The outlook for my employer and the general economy is finally looking as if the worst is over. A few weeks ago Janet called me to say that she had seen a billboard along the highway by a major roofer in our area advertising cheap winter rates.

For a few moments I considered beginning my customary mantra about how I could do it myself for so much less money. Then my thoughts turned to our new CSA venture and the massive pile of farming tasks that I am trying to accomplish this year. My resolve melted away and I agreed that she should give them a call.

A few days later the trucks drove up our driveway and disgorged a crew of friendly and hard-working gentlemen. They swarmed over our house while I was away at work. They removed my blue plastic work of art and peeled away what little remained of the original roofing. Their compliments about the job I had done in protecting the roof and their marveling that no plywood sheeting even required replacement puffed me up with pride as I momentarily forgot the sting of paying for somebody to do the job for me.

In the end I am greatly relieved and glad it is all behind us. It's good to know that the roof is now whole and the house protected. It is also no small relief that the task is off of my to-do list. Each evening I turn into my driveway after a long day at work and take in the view of our home and the farm. The sight of that nice new roof without any tarps makes me feel that the worst is behind us and we are moving forward once again.

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