Fascia. Fascia: wooden board, orsome such thing, covering the ends of rafters.
On a rectangular building--that is to say, on a building a normal person might build using rectangular pieces of wood, such as 2X4s-- the ends of the rafters march off toward the horizon in a straight line. The fascia is, then, a long, straight board.
On a round building, the rafters extend from a center point like spokes on a wheel, which requires that the fascia be a kind of hoop. Nobody cuts hoops from long, straight trees, or even from short, crooked trees. They cut . . . oh, 1X4s, for instance. OK, I thought, I will choose a 1X4 cut from a tree with a morally stout soul, and bend it carefully into a hoop.
The first one snapped at the mere suggestion that I was going to violate its rectangular soul. So did the second one, from a different forest and moral family of trees.
Well, thought I, I will take my commitment to solidity and stoutness in hand, and use thinner materials: pine trim, for instance. The first one sent toothpicks far up the hillside. But I am nothing, if not stubborn. I found sixteen foot-long pine trim that I could trim a bit, and using more jerry-rigged contraptions than a self-respecting carpenter will admit to, made the flimsy fascia begin its journey back to the beginning. The second piece did its duty, too. All I had to do was to climb up and down a couple of ladders about a thousand times, doing my best to imitate myself and the other guy I wished I had to help me.
Five feet remained unfasciated when I ran out of materials. No matter: Home Depot is only three or four miles away. The final piece snapped! But I am no dummy: I bought ten feet the second time, willing to waste five feet rather than run to Home Depot again.
The second five-footer snapped, too, on the last screw holding it in place. I have a growing pile of expensive kindling. But the day is only half-gone, and the third, final, five-foot piece is in place, unsnapped! I dare not take off the clamps used to pull it into place, fearing that the gods of natural one-by-something lumber will take their revenge, but fascia I have, clamps and all.
So far.
I have no intention of removing the clamps. The clamps belong to Stan, anyway. He has a lot of clamps, or he used to. I am turning my attention to rehydration: beer, in fact.
On a round building, the rafters extend from a center point like spokes on a wheel, which requires that the fascia be a kind of hoop. Nobody cuts hoops from long, straight trees, or even from short, crooked trees. They cut . . . oh, 1X4s, for instance. OK, I thought, I will choose a 1X4 cut from a tree with a morally stout soul, and bend it carefully into a hoop.
The first one snapped at the mere suggestion that I was going to violate its rectangular soul. So did the second one, from a different forest and moral family of trees.
Well, thought I, I will take my commitment to solidity and stoutness in hand, and use thinner materials: pine trim, for instance. The first one sent toothpicks far up the hillside. But I am nothing, if not stubborn. I found sixteen foot-long pine trim that I could trim a bit, and using more jerry-rigged contraptions than a self-respecting carpenter will admit to, made the flimsy fascia begin its journey back to the beginning. The second piece did its duty, too. All I had to do was to climb up and down a couple of ladders about a thousand times, doing my best to imitate myself and the other guy I wished I had to help me.
Five feet remained unfasciated when I ran out of materials. No matter: Home Depot is only three or four miles away. The final piece snapped! But I am no dummy: I bought ten feet the second time, willing to waste five feet rather than run to Home Depot again.
The second five-footer snapped, too, on the last screw holding it in place. I have a growing pile of expensive kindling. But the day is only half-gone, and the third, final, five-foot piece is in place, unsnapped! I dare not take off the clamps used to pull it into place, fearing that the gods of natural one-by-something lumber will take their revenge, but fascia I have, clamps and all.
So far.
I have no intention of removing the clamps. The clamps belong to Stan, anyway. He has a lot of clamps, or he used to. I am turning my attention to rehydration: beer, in fact.
Comments
Post a Comment