Against Entropy

—Originally Published in Timber Framing, the Journal of the Timber Framers Guild

Struggling to find a reason to build that satisfied my desire for social contribution, I nearly quit the building industry. There was a whole list of reasons, among them boredom and frustration with the residential construction industry for its lack of intellectual and social demands on builders, a felt disconnection from clients (I’ve always acted as a subcontractor), and difficulties finding local resources for our most basic raw material, timber – not to mention the difficulty of finding a good balance between making a living and making a life.

But a recent timber framing job that followed on the heels of a commercial truss job for our local billionaire, satisfied, at least in part, some of those desires. Though far from groundbreaking or unique in the timber framing field, it represented both a milestone and a stepping stone for me personally and as the operator of my company.

Built in northern Colorado where the foothills meet the plains at an altitude of about 4,800 ft., the frame used 17,120 bd. ft. of white fir and Douglas fir and covers 2,428 sq. ft. (including porches), measured inside the straw bales that will enclose it. Roof snow load, which varies widely in Colorado, is only 30 lbs. Fortunately, we had very enthusiastic clients who loved the fact that the timber was local. We solved a big portion of the handling damage by planing the entire frame, even though we had sold it originally as rough sawn. It seemed the right thing to do, considering the level of expectation I had for the finished product and what I felt the clients had a right to expect. They also accepted some less than perfect surfaces and corners that another kind of client might have rejected.

We found a mill not too far away harvesting trees big enough to make real timbers—white fir, Engelmann spruce, and some Douglas fir. The trees we used were harvested in a beetle-kill area in an attempt by the US Forest Service to manage the bug problem before it destroyed the entire forest. Those factors, plus surprisingly low costs, were the positives. On the downside, our timber arrived in less than ideal condition, poorly packaged, dirty, and with significant handling damage. The mill’s mechanized tumblers had left a pair of black grease streaks every 6 ft. on most of the timbers. Almost none of the timbers arrived without broken corners from the tumblers or forklifts. Muddy footprints and piles of dirt were part of the package. A few sticks flatly failed grade (even though they all had a grade stamp), and more than a few others were definitely at the bottom of the grade. We asked for and got a free replacement of about ten sticks. We used a few we really didn’t want to.

I’m proud of the project socially for a few reasons. The clients are local by any standard (nine miles from my house to theirs) and, in the process of building their house, all the participants seem to have managed to increase the size of their human communities. As one measure, at the raising, there were five paid staff and 13 working volunteers, plus a few observers and photographers. A few of the volunteers came because of an invitation I sent out to about 150 people; the rest were friends or family of the client or people who had somehow heard about the event and showed up, happier to work than to stand by. Contribution to a local cause, even if it appears to benefit only a few people specifically, I consider to have a huge impact on true community. Thus my obsession with local interactions above any other concern about our environment or the status of the world. We’re as likely to care for people we’ve helped as we are to care for people who’ve helped us.

My largest goal as a builder is to influence the relationship people have with their built environments. I’m convinced that people who contribute real work in whatever way they can to the houses they live in will have dramatically different experiences with their houses from those of folks who merely stand by and watch the whole process. I’ve never worked in the Colorado ski towns and have no plans to chase the trophy work there. I’m not saying I wouldn’t build a trophy house if the job landed on my desk with a pile of money, mind you. It just seems way more satisfying and interesting to be involved with people who intend to live in their house 12 months a year (imagine that).

I understand that none of us is in business particularly to make new friends. But it’s satisfying for me when our status with the future owners of a house looks a lot more like a trusted advocate than a necessary contract holder. These clients included as part of their contracted payment (honestly) oatmeal cookies, fresh eggs, dog-sitting, and consultation about our marketing strategy.

I can’t actually yet prove to myself that what I do solves my appetite for social contribution, but I have some evidence. The several local carpenters who’ve worked on this job plus more than a few passersby seem to have a new understanding of the possibility of craft. I hesitate to use the word inspirational, but it may fit. Even the metal stud and drywall carpenter who has been remodeling the space we rent was fascinated enough by what he saw in our shop to come to the raising and help out for a couple of hours. I like, in general, when men and women doing the daily grind of building are able to elevate their imaginations and their perspectives. Pride in workmanship may be one way to describe it, although that term insufficiently explains what I’m interested in. Good work and right livelihood are connected here, beyond my ability to describe but not beyond my ability to appreciate.

As for intellectual demands on residential builders, some stuff began to satisfy. Working from a basic, undetailed set of drawings by a straw-bale designer from Massachusetts, I designed the frame with the help of two engineers and one veteran joiner. This required halting the already started concrete foundation work until we had really finished the design. Interior pads and the turned-down haunch for the monolithic slab (the thickened portion at the perimeter that generally replaces the footing and frost wall) were all eventually respecified, and all the buried runs of hot water pipes, rebar, and electrical conduit were mapped out to avoid our Timberlinx anchors and the epoxied threaded rod below them.

Through the project, I’ve fulfilled some of the role of a good general contractor. Which I could have done officially, I suppose, but I found I enjoyed the position of advocate for the homeowners without the day-to-day responsibility of a general contractor. The homeowners, who acted in this case as their own general contractor, called when they needed something or were worried; otherwise, it was their baby. Their questions covered materials availability, relationships with other subcontractors, contracts, payment structures, how to handle estimating error in a job—and what to do when you feel unqualified to do your job.

Two itinerants worked on this frame. That they were on the road seemed less relevant than it used to. I used to feel of itinerants (and I have been one) that being on the road was really their story, as I think most people believe. But the story is just about good people, not how they got here or how long they’re staying. Five good people cut the frame in the shop, and I’m as proud of the camaraderie that prevailed there as any physical product we produced. As far as I can tell, we all shared lunch and cared for one another as brothers. Best crew I’ve ever had.

Some of my expectations remain vague even to me but I’m willing to enjoy what already feels successful. Elevated tradespeople, community involvement, client involvement, good shop culture—I’ll take it. The problem of making a living (including a profit) and making a life is partially solved. During this job, it took me 12 hours a day to get done what I had to do, more than I like to schedule for myself. But if part of the excess represents the work and energy needed to get a real business off the ground, I’m willing to do that. I also continue whenever I can to hire people more skilled and more educated than I am. A new marketing company, a new bookkeeper, and Curtis Milton here for a week to do compound joinery are a few examples.

—Adrian Jones

Adrian Jones (adrian@frameworkstimber.com) founded Frameworks Inc. in 1996, put it to rest for a couple of years to go on the road as an itinerant, then started up again as Frameworks in Wellington, Colorado, not far from the Wyoming border, in 2005.