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A Roof Over My Head

August 18th, 2010

Our old house is getting a new roof. Back in April, the spring storms did some wind damage, and after some time the stars governing the insurance company, the roofer, us and the weather all finally aligned and with much scraping and hammering the old roof is coming off and the new one is going up.

We mulled over what the new roof should be- metal or shingle, what color, what style. Limited by our funds we went with shingles, a dark green similar to what we started with, only  a bit better quality and a slight textured look. Tuesday morning a crew of guys arrived and quick as locusts moving through a wheat field, they soon were scraping the old roof off. Under our green shingles was a layer of faded red- this is the roof I remember from my childhood, growing up in a house nearby. I have a memory of this house with a pinkish roof, weathered wood siding and a crumbling front porch laced with gingerbread, and a little metal gate out front. When we were looking at shingle colors I considered going back to the pink, but couldn’t find that option- guess it’s not a popular choice! But it would have looked sweet with the pink roses that bloom in the spring.

I was a little worried about what the crew might find once they got all those old shingles off- rotted wood, odd repairs, holes… But this old house though she may be saggy with age, is also sturdy. A few minor repairs were needed before the men started putting the new roof on. The man in charge said he thought originally the house had wood shingles- now that would look neat, I thought! Too late to change course now, though. As the guys threw heavy bundles of shingles up and stomped and hammered, the old house shook and trembled. A cup fell from a shelf and smashed on the kitchen floor, a clock fell from the wall. The cats mostly hid, or clung to my side. But the house was strong, the old timbers aged to iron-like firmness, and she took each swing of the hammer like a plough horse getting new shoes. “Hang in there, ” I tell her, “this new roof will keep us safe and dry next time the storms come through.”

As the new roof goes up, already the house looks better. The roof line is sharp and straight, the rows of shingles neat and orderly. Gone are the gaps and sags that made me fear that the whole roof would one day slide into the flower bed, crushing the hydrangeas and leaving us exposed to the elements. The crew works fast, noisy and swearing and joking with each other. They smoke and sweat, and belong to a club I could never, but I can play the fly on the wall and get a glimpse inside. While they work, it’s as though the house is caught up in a mini tornado. The saws, hammers, and generator roar and bang. Then just as quickly they pack up at the end of the day, neatly covering everything with tarps. The silence is tangible. My ears nearly ache with it. I pause to make sure the coast is clear, then Mama Cat and I slip out the door to inspect the work.

For the most part the crew is tidy, but bits of old shingles hang in the bushes and are scattered about the yard. Mama Cat is cautious and curious and she checks out the changes to her yard slowly. She doesn’t like being kept inside during the day when the crew is here, just as the chickens and ducks don’t like being kept in their yard. I let them out for some free time in the evening, and they rush about with wings flapping and feathers flying. A few more days of noise and men climbing about, then we will be back to peace and quiet, and the roof will be new and strong, ready for the fall storms.

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