The answer to the age-old question of whether to build or to remodel is found in the preference of the individual. Some people are temperamentally builders. They are happiest living in a home that was constructed for them. In their eyes it possesses far greater charm than anything that has been mellowed by years of use. There are others to whom nothing is more satisfying than to take an existing structure and alter it to their liking and needs. An elderly acquaintance, now a widow and living in a sleepy New England village, is taking keen pleasure in an old house of almost doll-like proportions. "All my life," she said, "I've wanted to live in a really old house but until now it has always been one new house or city apartment after another and I never got my roots down."

Granted that building or remodeling, like cheese, is a matter of personal preference, it is not improper at this point to set forth some of the merits of both. With a fine old building, there is that elusive something called charm. Time has mellowed it and the countless feet that have crossed its threshold have worn its floors. The blackened bricks or stones of its fireplaces bespeak the generations that basked in the heat of the huge logs that once glowed there. All these things have given it character.



Don't expect a new house, the day it is turned over to you by the contractor, to look as if it had been a family home for several generations. It can't. It has just been built. Everything is fresh and shiny; edges are sharp and even the bricks of the fireplace are untainted by flame and smoke. But if you have been even moderately articulate, the architect has been able to interpret your wishes and you have a house built as near as possible to your plans. You also have the satisfaction of knowing that, in the building, the workmanship has been honest and thorough, and that in materials used every advantage has been taken of the newest developments.

For instance, behind the plaster is the modern metal lath so superior to the old wooden variety. The exterior walls are as thoroughly insulated against heat and cold as any one of several highly efficient materials can make them; windows and doors are products of large wood-fabricating factories noted for superior work. All these are points of advantage with tangible merit, but time and your own efforts are the only means by which your new home can acquire personality and charm. This new structure is yours, made to your desires; and what you make of it is your own problem.

The house that you buy and remodel starts with certain attributes given by age, as already stated. Here we must offer one caution. It concerns houses built during the last quarter of the 19th century. The majority were badly designed and the quality of workmanship was none too good. Such houses are apt to be perched on high foundations, have exterior walls that offer the minimum resistance to winter winds, while architecturally, lines and proportions reflect an age when taste was either bad or lacking. We know of several attempts to remodel country homes of such vintage and are convinced that better results could have been achieved for less money if the operation had started with wrecking the structure and building anew.

On the contrary, except where decayed beyond salvage, we have yet to see a country home of the 18th or first half of the 19th century that did not respond admirably to remodeling. But it is well to be practical and compare its cost with that of a new building. Among architects, it is generally recognized that, save for a house with unusually expensive details or added equipment, definite figures per cubic foot of size may be computed that will cover the entire cost of construction. To get the cubical contents of a house, the architect takes the area in square feet of the ground floor and multiplies it by the height from the cellar floor to the eaves, plus half the distance from that point to the ridge of the roof.

For example, if the proposed house is thirty feet wide by twenty feet deep, its floor plan area is 600 square feet. Then, if the elevation dimensions are seven feet from cellar floor to living room floor; eight feet from living room floor to that of the bedroom floor; and seven feet from bedroom floor to the level of the eaves, which in turn measure eight feet below the ridge of the roof; the cubical contents would result from multiplying 600 square feet by the sum of seven, eight, seven, and four, or 15,600 cubic feet. With this figure established, it is simple to approximate costs as follows:

Wooden construction $0.45 per cubic foot Brick veneer construction 0.55 " " " Solid brick construction 0.65 " " " Field stone construction 0.60 " " " Cut stone construction $0.75 to 1.50 " " "

This tabulation, an average for the United States as a whole, is as accurate as any generalization can be and a safe one for forming a preliminary estimate, but local conditions may increase or decrease costs. The architect can readily determine which. This table, of course, does not include cost of land, construction of driveway, landscaping, or expenses incident to bringing electric service or telephone wires to the house.

From these calculations, it is an easy matter to take the outside dimensions of a house you are considering remodeling and compute its cubical content. Then you can ask your architect whether it can be remodeled as you wish for a price competitive with building a new house of like design and equal size. In order for this to mean anything, you should determine what proportion of the price paid for the property represents land value and what reflects the existence of the structure itself. As a simple example, we will concede that land in the neighborhood is held at $500 an acre and you can buy a five-acre tract with a house on it for $3,750. Here $2,500 represents land value, and $1,250 house value. The question resolves itself into comparing remodeling costs plus house value with those for a new house of like size and kind.

If so much must be replaced or rearranged that the figures for house and remodeling are in excess of those for a new structure, the wise course would be to abandon the idea and build instead. But the old house may have certain details that make you willing to bear the added expense. If so, you at least know the comparative costs and have definite standards by which to shape your course.

From personal observation, we believe that there are many instances where the total cost of house and rejuvenation is considerably below that of a new structure. Since confession stories are just as fascinating in home building as in the lurid fiction of the woodpulp magazines, we cite the experience of a family that bought a home nearly two years ago within the New York commuting zone. They were a larger family than the average and the house, of desired size, had once been a stagecoach halfway tavern. It contained twenty-two rooms and was in better than average condition. The exterior had been given two coats of white paint less than six months before.

The price for this old place, including twenty-two acres of land and a barn usable for garage and chicken house, was $8,200. According to actual record, only $2,798 was spent on remodeling. There were almost no structural changes required. Two minor partitions were removed and five new windows cut. Otherwise, this expenditure was largely devoted to the introduction of plumbing, heating, and lighting. By type of work, the costs for this remodeling were as follows:

Two bathrooms, each complete with shower; a kitchen sink and laundry tub $590.00

Heating system, including steam boiler, piping and 25 radiators, totaling 630 feet of radiation 889.00

Water system, cleaning well, installing pump and 500 gallon storage tank 218.00

Electric wiring entirely of armored cable and lighting fixtures 306.00

Sewage system complete with septic tank and disposal fields 230.00

All carpentry, including necessary work for plumber, electrician, etc. 160.00

Masonry, including repairs to fireplaces and chimneys 105.00

Decorations, paint, and paper for twelve rooms 150.00

Architectural supervision, plans where needed and preliminary inspection of several houses 150.00

Total $2,798.00

These are the actual figures for a livable and attractive country home. There are, of course, some things that await a future time for their accomplishment, but what place would be really enjoyable if there were not certain corrections and additions over which the owners could daydream and plan. We admit the figures just quoted are so low as to seem hardly credible, but they demonstrate what could be accomplished within fifty miles of New York during the summer of 1935. The contributing causes for this happy result were that these people knew what they wanted, hunted in a section that had not been too thoroughly combed by others like themselves and, lastly, happened to be ready to buy at just the right moment when the man who owned the property was anxious to sell.

But old country residences, including structures built as taverns, private schools and the like, are not the only type of buildings that may be remodeled into acceptable homes. We have seen old barns or stables, disused sawmills, general stores, old stone buildings that once housed small industrial enterprises, and even a church of the Neo-Classic period remodeled with distinct success.

Again, in Massachusetts there is a former textile hamlet. The mill itself is now a community club and the workmen's cottages, built about 1815-20, are homes for a dozen or more families where, daily, the head of the house motors to his office in an industrial city about a half-hour away. These story-and-a-half cottages, executed along simple Federal lines, are owned by the families who occupy them. They look out on a street lined with fine old elms and at the end is the stone mill with its belfry where still hangs the bell that once ruled the lives of spinners and weavers with its clanking iron tongue, morning, noon and night.

For picturesqueness, if the unconventional has a greater appeal than the more standardized type of home, remodeling an old barn into a country home has its advantages. This is particularly so if one can find either a capacious one of roughly laid ledge stone, once popular in parts of New Jersey and Pennsylvania and more rarely built in other sections, or a large hay barn with hand-hewn framework and side walls of weathered boarding. It takes only a little imagination to visualize such a building remodeled into a country home with a generous stone chimney and fireplace occupying one of the end walls of a former haymow. Invariably such remodeling includes construction of one or more wings to house dining room, kitchen, and servants' quarters as well as additional bedrooms and baths. The actual barn structure seldom lends itself to more than a living room and possibly two bedrooms.

In summer this type of country home has much to offer. It is light, airy, and spacious; but when fall begins to indicate its arrival, unless the structure has been made nearer weather tight than is the nature of barns, life in the haymow is chill and sour. For use the year around, the old barn must be completely rebuilt with a cellar beneath for a heating plant and side walls and undersides of roof well covered with insulating material to prevent cold from entering or heat escaping. One of the most successful methods of treating the front, where once the old barn doors swung wide to admit a fully loaded haywagon, is to substitute a many-paned window of almost cathedral proportions. This lets in adequate light for what might otherwise be a dark interior. In summer it can be screened to keep out flies and mosquitoes. Through it on fair winter days, especially if it faces south or west, pours that most valuable attribute of country living, bright sunlight.

An old water-power sawmill makes an unusually attractive country home. We know of at least one so adapted. Here the space once given over to sawing logs into boards has been completely enclosed and is now the living room. On one side is a noble fireplace flanked by large casement windows that look out on the old mill pond. Bedrooms and service quarters are located in the end sections where lumber used to be seasoned and other special work done. This unique bit of remodeling, combined with the pond as a main feature of landscape development, is both rare and enviable. Yet there are a surprising number of old commercial structures that lend themselves to remodeling into present day homes and by their very unconventionality take on added charm.

In New England there is a substantial stone building of no architectural pretensions except that width, depth, and height are distinctly related to each other. It is now a country home but it began as a small textile mill in the early days of the 19th century when the industrial revolution was just getting under way. Later, when the factory era became thoroughly established, this lone little mill was left high and dry by the tide that swept toward the larger centers and it stood untenanted for years. Finally it was retrieved by some one with vision enough to see that, with proper partitions, both ground and second floors could be divided into satisfactory rooms. Here the new owner, or his architect, had the discretion to preserve as much as possible of the past. The old mill owner's counting room, on the lower floor, is now the library and, in almost untouched condition, is complete even to the cast-iron stove that once warmed it.

Converting buildings originally designed for other uses may take a still different course. A house, too small in itself for present day use, can form the nucleus of a country home. A most attractive place in Maine was so assembled. There were two or three other buildings on the property which were shifted from their original locations by jacks and rollers and skillfully joined to the little house to form wings. By clever rearrangement of rooms and shifting or removal of partitions, the assembled group became large enough for the new owner's uses.

Even a modern structure, designed originally for some branch of agriculture, can be converted into an excellent house if an architect is inclined to undertake the necessary contriving of plans and builders can be found who will follow his directions. Several years ago, a man was bitten with the urge to raise chickens according to the latest scientific methods of artificial lighting and forced feeding. For this he built a substantial structure with steam heat, electric lights, and other elaborate provisions. Being nurse maid to thousands of chicks ranging from a week old to the proper size for broiling was a strenuous job. Further, the creatures developed all sorts of maladies not provided for in the book and the mortality was so high that the project was finally abandoned.

The building stood vacant for some months until it came to the notice of a resourceful young architect. He measured, sketched, and drew plans. Now, what was once a factory for the raw material of broiled chicken is an attractive and compact Cape Cod cottage. Because of site and accessibility, the original building had to be dismembered and moved about two hundred feet. When re-erected according to the plans provided, the result bore little resemblance to the original box-like structure except that the floor space was the same.

Some country homes begin as week-end retreats. Then the habit of being in the country two or three days grows on the family until they see no reason for living in the city except for an occasional overnight ordeal with a stuffy hotel room. To make the average week-end shack a permanent home calls for material expansion. Double-deck bunks have been installed to provide adequate sleeping quarters; and for a limited time they find it fun to cook, eat, and live in one large room. But, when the house is used seven days a week, such condensation is anything but practical. So the establishment must be enlarged. This can be done with ease, especially if the original plans were drawn with such a change in mind. That is, the original structure now becomes the living room, while new wings and additions provide the much needed space for service quarters and conventional bedrooms and baths.

But the week-end place is not always built particularly for the purpose. Many times it is a very small farmhouse acquired cheaply and made usable at a minimum of time and money. When the decision is reached to convert it into a home of larger proportions, whether one realizes it or not, the plan of campaign follows the plan of no less a person than George Washington. Mount Vernon was not always a mansion but was the result of consistent enlargement. When Washington inherited it from his half-brother, Lawrence, it was a story-and-a-half hunting lodge of eight rooms. Then he married Martha Custis, richest widow in the Virginia colony; and, to have a home suitable for her, he had the roof raised and the house made full two stories.

Shortly before the outbreak of the American Revolution, he planned two wings. The first was that at the south end with library on the ground floor and master bedroom for Colonel and Mrs. Washington on the second. As the revolt against the British crown progressed, the construction of the north wing lagged somewhat but was worked on intermittently. This, the banquet hall, when finished became one of the noblest private residence rooms in America.

Washington, however, did not leave these steps in the enlargement and renovation of his erstwhile hunting lodge entirely to professionals. Whether away fighting in the French and Indian Wars or directing the course of action of the Continental Army, he never forgot what was happening at his country seat. His correspondence is full of minute directions regarding the finishing of certain rooms or of such injunctions as, "I beg of you to hasten Lamphire about the addition to the north end of the house; otherwise you will have it open, I fear, in the cold and wet weather." When the Revolution was fought and won, the Washingtons returned, not to a Mount Vernon that was a stranger to them, but to the country home they had so carefully planned. This specific planning by the owner, now as then, has definite bearing on whether the house will be yours or just a beautiful structure, perfect in all its appointments but totally lacking the impress of the owner or his family.

Several years ago, a man and his wife acquired one of the early Dutch farmhouses of the New Jersey back country. They had long wanted just such a place and having taken possession, they summoned an architect, an interior decorator, and a landscape architect. A few days were spent with them inspecting house and grounds. Then the new owners left on a winter cruise around the world. Their final injunctions were to the effect that next May they would return and would expect everything done. They did and everything was complete. The old house was perfect. Its furnishings were all genuine antiques of the period. The grounds had been graded, trimmed, and polished. Gardens, shrubbery, and hedges were just right, but the final effect was as impersonal as a demonstration model.

In a year or two, this property was sold to a golf club and its former owner bought another place and moved right in. Nearly two years were spent consulting and working with an architect and workmen, supervising a garden or two, and in buying antiques, a piece at a time. His second attempt at country living was not as sophisticated nor did it approach the museum standards of the former; but, when completed, it had that prime essential of any home, it reflected the character and personality of its owners.



LOOKING AN OLD HOUSE IN THE MOUTH



CHAPTER VI

LOOKING AN OLD HOUSE IN THE MOUTH

Buying an old house is a good deal like selecting a horse. Having found an animal of the desired type and breed, the question arises, "Is it sound of wind and limb?" Houses nearing or past the century mark also have their spavins and these should be recognized by the prospective buyer. He can thus form some estimate of how extensive replacements are needed, even on first inspection. This is of prime importance since it has direct bearing on the worth of the house.

Whether built of stone, brick, or wood, such structures may have rafters, sills, and main beams so decayed that new ones must be added. The foundation may need rebuilding and door and window frames may be so weathered that they also must be replaced. Beware of a house where floors slope and side walls are out of plumb. This means extensive shoring which is slow and expensive.

For a truly pessimistic report on the health of an old place turn to a trusted carpenter or contractor. He congenitally dislikes old buildings and will point out all defects with ominous head shakings and subtle suggestions for new building. In this way the prospective buyer will know the worst, painted at its blackest. Somewhere between it and the rosy view of the real estate agent will lie the truth. Therefore, it is well to do some inspecting independently. Knowledge of what are the weak spots in old houses and where to look for them will save much time and effort in the initial stages of house hunting.

The skeleton of an old house is akin to that of a modern steel structure. Hand-hewn timbers, morticed and pinned together, take the place of riveted steel beams. Since a timber frame is subject to rot, either dry or damp, one of the first places to look for unsoundness is the sills (the beams which rest on the foundation and into which are set floor joists, corner posts, and other main uprights). It is a simple matter to give them the jack-knife test at intervals of two or three feet. Stick the blade in as far as possible. Then try to turn it around. With a sound beam this cannot be done. If there is dry rot, the beam will often crumble under a slight pressure of the fingers.

Go over the sills on the north side of the building first. Here there is less sunlight and snow remains longer. Consequently decay from excessive moisture is not unusual. Roof rafters and plate beams (the long timbers on which the lower ends of the rafters rest) should also be knife-tested since long neglected leaking roofs eventually result in their decay. Unsound corner posts and other uprights connecting sills and plate beams are harder to detect since they are concealed between the outside boarding and interior plaster. Note the walls themselves and the corner boards extending vertically from foundation to eaves. If a corner of the house is enough out of plumb to be visible to the eye, or if the corner boards are loose, examine further as it may indicate decay beneath.

With brick or stone houses, the walls themselves carry the weight of the roof and so have no vertical timbers. If the walls are out of plumb it means that the foundations are either gone or are in need of major repair. Whether a house is of brick, stone or wood, there is one further place for knife testing—the ground floor joists. Cellar dampness may have taken its toll.

The fact that a sill, joist or other timber is unsound does not mean that the house is beyond repair. Many old houses with all their sills gone and some other principal beams no longer serviceable have been restored, but the necessity of such steps ought to be realized in advance and the cost taken into consideration. It is far from pleasant to discover that one has unwittingly bought the bill of expense this type of replacement means. "Let the buyer beware" generally rules in the selling of old places, and the purchase of a knife and an hour or two of poking its point into the principal timbers may save time and money later.

"The next time I buy an old house to put a new frame into, you'll know it," was the heartfelt declaration of a man who left his knife at home when he went house hunting. "The owner and the agent knew the sills and beams were rotten but didn't think it necessary to mention the fact. What I didn't see wouldn't hurt me until after I had bought the place and begun repairs. Then I learned plenty about decayed timbers and the cost of replacing them."

After the timber frame, consider the exterior. The foundation will probably need some "pointing-up," that is, replacement of mortar in the joints or cracks. The question is, how much? Will it have to be a complete job? Has frost worked such havoc that some sections must be re-laid?

If the cellar indicates standing water during heavy rains, drainage must be provided. Notice whether any cellar windows have been closed. Countrymen are prone to do this as a cheap and easy method when the framework gets beyond repair. Replacing stoned-up windows is not expensive or difficult but just one more thing which must be done. Notice the extent of the cellar. Old builders sometimes did only a partial job of excavation because of economy. Such a cellar was ample for storing root crops, preserves, and hard cider in the days before furnaces. It may be wise to complete the work of excavating. Do not expect to find cellars under wings and sheds. It was never the practice. If they are to be converted to uses for which excavation is desirable, this is another item for the adding machine.

With the foundation and its needed repairs noted, begin appraising the condition of the walls and roof. Sometimes a shingle roof will be found in good order or at most have one or two minor leaks which can be repaired. More often an entire new roof is needed and, in extreme cases, new boarding beneath. As with sills, roofs sloping to the north and east are more apt to be out of repair and for the same reasons.

If door and window frames are so loose that they can be lifted out of the side walls, the situation is serious. Putty and paint are of no avail. Rebuilding them is essential. It is extravagant business trying to heat a house with wind whistling in around doors and windows.

If the fabric of the side walls is of shingle, clapboard, or other types of wood, is the material sound enough to warrant repainting or must it be renewed? The object of paint is to close the small cracks and preserve the wood. An old house that has gone many years without painting will absorb much more than a new one, but it is surprising what can be accomplished with two or three coats of paint on siding so weathered as to seem worthless. Besides, a new exterior robs an old house of some of its charm, so preserve the old if possible, architects, carpenters, and contractors to the contrary.

Where walls are of stone or brick, the mortar of the joints has probably so disintegrated under wind and rain that repointing is indicated. Also, frosts may have heaved individual stones or disintegrated bricks so they must be reset. Expect this in places where down-spouts have leaked for years. If the walls have settled badly, lintels or sills of doors and window openings may be cracked and need renewing. Sometimes an old house has exterior walls of plaster. These are both picturesque and rare. Patch cracks and spots where it has come loose from the lath. Old plaster has a texture and patina that modern stucco cannot simulate, so preserve it if possible.

Indoors, there are many things to be observed and appraised but fireplaces come first. A country home without facilities for open fires is as uninviting as one without trees and flowers. Expect to find the fireplaces disused and closed with fireboards or bricks. Sometimes the mantels have been removed and new flooring laid over the hearthstones. Some detective work around the logical locations will tell whether fireplaces have been torn out or just concealed. If mantels are missing, look for them in the attic or on the rafters of a shed. More than one fine old mantel has been rescued from such a hiding place. We know of one fireplace complete with crane and iron cooking utensils that reposed for fifty years or more behind an unsuspected opening covered with lath and plaster.

Where original fireplaces have been torn out and chimneys intended only to serve stoves put in place, two courses are open. The more costly is rebuilding chimney and fireplaces according to indications of original dimensions. The alternative is a Franklin stove, a combination of stove and fireplace, which can be installed and connected to the existing chimney at a very moderate expense.

Incidentally, the chimneys of an old house should be examined carefully. Built in the days before separate flues and flue tiles, their mortar may have lost its binding strength and so a smoke test is advisable. Close all fireplaces except one and start a lively fire in it. When it is well under way, toss on some scraps of roofing paper. Then cover the top of the chimney. If there are any fissures in the chimney, your eyes and nose will leave you in no doubt. You cannot mistake the pungent odor of burning tar and its bluish smoke is easy to see. Trace these to the points where they leak from the chimney and mark the spots. Complete examination will tell whether repointing will suffice or whether rebuilding is necessary.

The condition of the plaster on walls and ceilings of rooms can be easily appraised. It is reasonable to expect cracks and that some of it will be so loose as to need replacing. Removing it all and starting afresh, however, is only advisable where a house has reached about the last stages of disrepair.

Partitions of even the simplest feather-board paneling should be preserved as well as interior trim, doors, and flooring. The same applies to old hardware, as a house with all original wrought-iron hinges, latches, and locks is both rare and valuable. Notice whether the floors are of old wide boards laid random width and held in place by wrought-iron nails. In houses antedating 1800, the floors in certain localities were of hardwood. Sometimes several varieties were used indiscriminately. With all their irregularities, they become a very pleasing feature when well scrubbed and oiled or waxed. Like fireplaces, they are sometimes concealed but it is an easy matter to remove the new flooring.

The soundness and safety of stairways can only be determined by direct inspection. If treads move beneath the feet, additional nailing is needed and possibly new supports. Step easily on those leading to the cellar. They are often somewhat rotten and may collapse.

If window glass is of the old, wavy, off-color sort, full of the bubbles, sand pits, and creases that characterized its production in early days, make sure that such panes are not discarded. Workmen view them with complete scorn and will cast them aside if not put under stern injunctions. "I never found that it kept out the cold any better than a good new piece," snorted one disgustedly when we suggested that he putty a fine "bull's eye" pane with a slight crack.

Sometimes part of the interior trim will have been replaced by modern substitutes, but a good carpenter working under an architect can match that still remaining. Likewise, later additions not in keeping with the original, such as porches, sheds, wings, and illogical partitions, can be readily removed with little damage to the house itself.

As one goes about an old house it is well to be on the look out for signs of vermin, both animal and insect. With the former, traps and prepared bait will suffice. The latter require the services of an exterminator or some one skilled in the use of hydrocyanic acid gas. Such insects go deep into the cracks of woodwork and beams. Ordinary fumigating will not eradicate them. A single session with this deadly gas, however, will rid the house both of these pests and their eggs.

The things that may be the matter with an old house, as enumerated here, may sound very forbidding but circumstances alter cases. It is doubtful if any one structure will be afflicted with all these ills of decay and neglect. In our own house hunting we saw many that were sound enough so that, with the addition of modern conveniences and a good cleaning, they were livable. In fact, there is nothing equal to getting thoroughly acquainted with a house before radical changes are made. Live in the place six months or a year and then you will know better just what alterations or additions are wise.

In northern New England there is a delightful country home that has been renovated with great skill and charm. The reason behind it is that the owners went for many years with as few repairs as possible. Then came a large and unexpected inheritance. There was money enough to rebuild completely but relatively few major changes were made.

"Most of the expenditure was for restorations," the owner stated. "Once we day-dreamed of all kinds of changes but when the time came we knew most of them were impractical and would add neither to our comfort nor our convenience."

The most important thing about any house is, does it please you architecturally and is its general plan suited to your needs? If it seems to be well enough preserved so that renovation appears to be practical, turn to an architect with the understanding that, if you buy, he will be retained. He will then be willing to give the house an expert inspection and even submit tentative sketches of advantageous changes. His report, if the venture is to be financially good, should indicate that structurally the house is about one-half sound and usable.

Of course if you have found a house dating from the 17th or 18th century, you have something fairly rare and it is worth reclaiming even though very extensive replacements are needed. In Fairfield, Connecticut, for example, there is the Ogden House, built before 1710. Its present owner paid $4,000 for it in what seemed to be ruinous condition. Its renovation cost fully $12,000; but finished, this old salt box house is so unusual that more than one buyer is ready and waiting to pay double the amount spent.

Arrangement of the rooms of an old house, and how they will fit the requirements of the prospective purchaser, should be given more than passing thought. Most people when they begin looking at places have large ideas about moving partitions, cutting new windows, and changing the location of doorways. These can be done but they are relatively expensive and if carried to excess rob the place of all character. Even the simplest of old houses has definite balance in its design and arrangement of rooms. So think well before tearing out partitions indiscriminately or moving doorways and cutting windows.

In fact, if some old house seems to you to call for drastic reconstruction, you would do better to let it alone and look for one that more nearly fits your mental picture. Buying a house you do not really like is as foolish as marrying with the same reservation. Some hardy people go through life so mated but more get a divorce. So it will be with the house. After a season of dislike, divorce by sale will be the end. If it pleases you from the start, however, you and it will develop a mutual affection as the years go by and it will become the old home in more ways than one.



NEW SITES FOR OLD HOUSES



CHAPTER VII

NEW SITES FOR OLD HOUSES

Substantial houses built by old craftsmen who knew how to achieve beauty by restraint lined the straggling single street of a forgotten farming town. Despite weatherbeaten clapboards and sagging roofs, the fine ornamental detail of doorways and window frames assured similar niceties within.

"What good are they," snorted practical grandfather. "If they were where people had adequate incomes it would be different. But here! Once this was a prosperous town. Men made money breeding merino sheep. Now the town's dead and its houses falling apart. Better tear them down to save taxes."

Twenty-five years ago many substantial old houses were doomed to die with their towns. Today, people who want an old house but cannot find it where they wish to live have learned that it is practical, financially and otherwise, to transplant an old structure to a new location. Once this was the sport of eccentric millionaires or of amply endowed museums. Now it is done for people of average incomes. The expense will about equal that of building a new house of the same cubical content and architectural detail. Sometimes it can be accomplished at a slight saving. But whether the cost is equal, a little higher, or somewhat less, the great advantages of a transplanted house are a certain mellowness of age and that charm of individuality which only old structures possess.

For those who want an old house on a site of their own choosing, there are now men who deal in old buildings ready for removal. Just as pickers comb the back-country for antiques, a related group search for untenanted old houses. These men are a cross between practical builders and antique dealers. They know Early American domestic architecture and experience has taught them the point beyond which salvage is impossible. Also they are experts in dismembering such houses so they can be re-erected.

Tearing down an old house is easy enough, but to do it so that it can be rebuilt is a trade in itself. From removing paneling and interior trim to taking apart the hewn timber frame requires care and understanding. Too much brute strength will split boards that should be saved. Similarly, it is disastrous if mortice and tenon joints are sawed apart. Such are the short cuts of ignorance to be expected of ordinary carpenters and handy men. And when the old house is on the ground they will display exasperating unconcern regarding what goes where and how to put the structure back together. The most complicated jig-saw puzzle is simplicity itself compared with an Early American house taken apart without predetermined marking and numbering.

Having learned this by bitter experience, these experts have evolved marking systems that prevent confusion and follow them rigidly. Likewise, since old house lumber when taken apart and stored warps and splits so badly that it can only be used again with difficulty, they leave their houses standing wherever possible until sold. They are far from impressive in this state and it takes both imagination and enthusiasm to inspect the assortment offered. Usually the roof and possibly one or two of the sides will be covered with prosaic roofing paper. The doors and windows will be securely boarded with coarse lumber.

The depredations of nature lovers who uproot shrubbery and rend such flowering trees as dogwood are as nothing when an amateur antiquarian finds an early 18th century house unoccupied. Such enthusiasts steal and wreck like Huns. Nothing is safe from them. Door knockers, H and L hinges, fireplace cranes, wavy old window glass, whole sections of paneling and even hearthstones are wrenched from place with light-hearted abandon. What they don't make away with, they generally ruin. One visit from such a relic hunter may leave an old house a shambles. How otherwise upright people with a modicum of interest in antiques will glory in looting old houses is truly remarkable. We knew one whose pride was a collection of fireplace cranes so filched.

Knowing this, the old house dealer, immediately he has bought a structure, makes it as weather-tight and marauder-proof as possible. Sagging floors and weak stairways are braced, as are fireplaces injured by dampness and frosts. Paneled partitions are stripped of layers of disguising wall paper. Any efforts to modernize that hide original conditions are torn out and the house cleared of the rubbish left by its last tenant. Even then such a house is not overly attractive to particular housekeepers.

To offset this, the old house dealer first shows one or more albums of pictures of the houses he has for sale. These contain complete snap-shots inside and out, together with plans and dimensions. If he is wise, he also has simple typed statements, giving all the data he has been able to gather concerning each house, approximately when it was built, its connection with local historical events, and, if possible, the names of prominent personages who dwelt in it or were guests there. Knowing that buyers are much impressed by such facts, he often makes a careful search of recorded deeds and books of local history for those few interesting facts that he may use advantageously. For instance, to be able to say that Lafayette, on his extensive old-age visit to the United States, was entertained in a house may be just the right romantic touch that will close the deal.

With such an old house, the dealer generally quotes a price for it dismembered and ready to be moved to its new site. Since the cost of transportation varies with the distance, the trucking charge is customarily given as a separate item. In general, the dealer will undertake delivery at a lower figure than any one else. Also, such a dealer or an associated contractor will set a sum at which he will re-erect the structure on the new site. Since he is accustomed to working with old materials and knows just what problems he faces, his price will be lower than the combination of the cost of the old house and the price set for its rebuilding by a contractor unfamiliar with such work. The latter, to protect himself from unforeseen contingencies, must naturally add a proportionately large sum to his estimated cost.

The exact cost of an old house re-erected on a new site cannot be given offhand. There are too many elements to be considered. How extensive are the changes, how many baths, what type of heating system, are only a few. All are important factors that must be determined before the final figure can be set. So, the prospective buyer must have patience and understanding. Also, he should have his architect prepare plans for the work with just as much thoroughness as if it were a new building. To the layman it may all seem very complicated but to an architect who knows his old houses, it is no more difficult than new work. He begins by making a careful set of measured drawings of the old house as it stands. He examines the fabric to determine what sills, beams and other parts are unsound and must be replaced. He takes as many photographs of details of the construction, both inside and out, as seem expedient and labels the prints explicitly so that they relate directly to his plans. Later, when rebuilding is under way these snap-shots will refresh his memory and make it easier to explain some special feature or unique construction to workmen who never saw the house before.

Dismembering houses for re-erection is accomplished by two methods. The more common is taking them apart board by board and timber by timber, marking each piece by a system of numbers and colors so that it can be returned to its proper place. The other is called "flaking." Here roof, side walls, and partitions are cut into large panels and numbered and marked in colors. At the new site they are put in place much as a portable bungalow is assembled.

With either method, plans prepared by the architect are of prime importance. One set of his blue prints is thoroughly annotated with numbers and colored marks. This becomes the working key, the solution to the rebuilding puzzle. Also, the plans serve as the basis for rearrangement of rooms, shifting of partitions, and the introduction of plumbing, heating, and electricity. Invariably an old house has one or more tucked-up rooms that under present-day conditions can wisely be eliminated and the space added to adjoining ones.

A favorite arrangement with old New England farmhouses was the parlor bedroom, located, as the name indicates, on the ground floor and connected by a doorway with that room of ceremony and funerals. Although it was often little larger than a double bed, it was the master bedroom of the period. Our ideas have changed and such a room can wisely be eliminated. Again, there is the problem of space for baths and closets. The former were, of course, unknown and the latter woefully few when the house was young. Thus, with the bedroom floor, architect and owner have before them a problem demanding skillful contriving to devise locations for these two essentials.

When dismembering starts, the man doing it and the building contractor, unless by a happy circumstance he is one and the same person, must work together closely. The first thing is to remove doors, window sash, and as much of the interior trim as possible, along with all the hardware. Numbered and marked, these are stored in some dry shed or barn. If feasible, they can best be left at the old site until the reconstruction has progressed far enough so that they may be put in place when delivered. All fireplaces are now examined carefully to determine the exact angles of sides and backs. The individual stones must also be numbered and keyed. Paint is applied, that will not rub off as the stones are removed.

Now everything is ready for the dramatic tearing apart. With flaking, the roof and walls are marked off in great squares related to the timber framework beneath. Then it is only a matter of sharp saws, muscle, and patience before the house has been reduced to panels, loaded on trucks, and started toward the new location.

The task is not as simple with dismembering but it, too, starts at the ridge pole and gradually works to the foundation. While one crew is clearing away the roofing, another is taking off the exterior siding. If this happens to be the original wide clapboards, great care is exercised so they may be used again. This may or may not be true of the boarding underneath. Even old builders were wont to use second-hand lumber where it wouldn't show. On the other hand, where the exterior is shingled the side walls underneath are often of wide soft wood plank which take the place of both weather boarding and supporting studs. They are, of course, numbered and removed to be used again. Shingles, whether roof or side wall, cannot be saved as they are invariably too weatherbeaten. Lath and plaster are likewise destroyed in the dismembering but they are small loss as they are usually in bad order.

If the studding is in good condition, it is used again but if it is badly warped or of oak, it is left behind. Century-old oak is as hard as concrete and must actually be drilled for nails. When the studding is taken out, all window frames and doorways are removed and stored.

Now comes removal of stairways, feather-board partitioning, flooring and paneling in the order mentioned. Offhand one would schedule the latter as one of the first things to be taken out but the building ways of the old workmen dictate otherwise. As a means of stopping drafts, they put all paneling in from joist to joist, that is, from below the upper surface of the flooring to above the lower surface of the ceiling. After floors and ceilings are out, it is a simple matter to loosen all paneling and remove it in large units. Wherever possible whole room-ends go intact. The stairway is also taken out as a unit, especially the more elaborate one in the front hall. Prying loose the old wide flooring is a difficult operation. The original hand-wrought nails have rusted fast and if too much leverage is used, the boards split. Men used to such work salvage the old flooring with little damage, however.

At the same time that the paneling makes its exit, the large hearthstones are pried from position and moved to a waiting truck. All that now remain are the chimney and timber frame. By this time each joint of the latter has been numbered and given its color code. With a simple derrick and ropes and pulleys, dismembering the frame commences. The pins that make the joints tight are removed by driving or boring. Roof rafters and purlins come first; then the yard arms that brace plate and summer beams, followed by these timbers themselves. Second floor joists come after them, followed by the corner posts. Each must be removed with caution and ingenuity. There must be no sawing apart or proper re-erection will be impossible. Since first floor rafters and sills are usually badly decayed, the general practice is to use new material. So the old ones are left behind.

While this is in progress, two men pry lintels, cheeks, and other large stones from the fireplaces, as well as stones at the openings of brick ovens. As many old bricks from the chimney are salvaged as possible. Large stone door steps are also removed but generally no attempt is made to take along the dressed stone of the foundations. The cost of hauling to the new site is out of proportion to the advantage gained. Native stones uncovered in digging the new cellar are made reasonably square and used instead. Old houses antedating 1800 are not usually over twelve or sixteen inches above the level of the ground and so little new stone is needed.

The chimney of the reconstructed house must outwardly resemble the original. Where it comes through the roof it is of ample proportions and built of old brick, but except for old fireplaces and ovens, it is otherwise modern. With flue tile, cement, mortar and hard brick, safety of construction is accomplished in much less space. What is saved frequently becomes closets or the well for plumbing pipes.

Finding space for baths is a nice game of ingenuity. Perhaps there is a small bedroom that can be divided and provide baths for two main bedrooms. Again, shifting a partition a few feet may do it. In one old house, once a tavern, the dance hall on the second floor was reduced nearly ten feet and the space became a combination bath and dressing room. Thus, the rural ball room was translated into a large master bedroom with all present-day appurtenances. In another house a storage space six by eight feet became an excellent bath by having a window cut in the exterior wall.

In the all-important question of kitchen and servants' quarters be modern from start to finish. The old farmhouse kitchen was both living room and workroom. It was large and cheerful. Accordingly the reconstructed house continues it as a living room. The new kitchen can best be located in an extension either original or new but designed to be in keeping. Here the noises and odors of cooking will not permeate the main structure and with mouse-proof new partitions, kitchen, pantry, and servants' quarters can be arranged so they will be logical and convenient. Wherever possible the garage ought to be a part of the service wing for ease of access and heating in winter.

Because of the individuality of old houses, returning doors and windows to the original location is not entirely mandatory. One here and there can be moved a little without destroying resemblance to the original. With the plans for re-erection complete, everything is ready for a second raising of the frame. New sills cut to the same dimensions as the old are put in place. Then corner posts, summer and plate beams, and other principal timbers are hoisted to their proper places. By virtue of numbering and marking with colors—red for the ground floor, blue for the second, and black for the attic is one reconstructor's code—each mortice and tenon joint is put back just as it was originally and the whole frame made plumb. Now hardwood pins driven home at its joints make the skeleton firm and solid. Then comes the new roof of whatever type of shingles selected. Along with it starts the work of enclosing the side walls. These steps, of course, apply to a structure taken apart piecemeal. With a "flaked" house, roofs and walls are returned to position as panels. Making saw-cut cracks tight is the only remaining step.

If possible, the old studding and weather boarding are used, although, as neither will show, new material can be substituted if desired. Similarly a rough flooring of cheap lumber is laid as a foundation for the old. Such features as the main stairway and paneling, cleaned and repaired, are now brought in through large openings in the side walls and put in place before enclosing the frame is completed.

There are two points of view about using old window frames. One favors using them despite lack of mechanical means for raising or lowering the sash. The other, reasoning that many of the frames are bound to be badly weathered and not too sound, recommends new ones complete with weights and cords. With the latter, the old effect is preserved by reproducing the exterior molding exactly and by using the original interior trim.

After enclosing is completed and the interior partitions are in place, the house is ready for lath and plaster. Wood or metal lath or any one of the various plaster boards can be used as foundation. Now comes a fine point. Present-day plasterers produce a much finer finish than was the rule a century ago, but if they understand the effect desired they will restrain themselves and possibly omit the final skim coat.

The next details are the window sash, interior trim, and the final exterior siding. The latter can be either the original clapboards, new ones of the same width, or the long riven shingles. Whatever is used, for protection against winter winds, the boarding ought to be sheathed either with building paper or a quilting. Likewise, the tops of all door and window frames must be properly flashed. This prevents rain leaks which are bound to stain the plaster.

Before the original flooring is re-laid it should be thoroughly scrubbed with a mild lye solution to rid it of old paint, stains, and dirt; as many of the old nails removed as possible, and injured sections discarded. Since there is bound to be an appreciable loss, the attic flooring can be used to take the place of that discarded or an additional amount bought from some wrecker specializing in materials salvaged from old structures. Along with cleaning the old flooring, it is frequently wise to have the edges re-planed so they will be straight and true. It obviates wide cracks that gather dust and lint.

In taking the old house apart, a bit of siding may give a clue to the original color outside. Under the various coats of paint and paper of the interior the owner may get glimpses of the scheme of decoration used when the house was young. We may not realize it but Colonial Americans were partial to color in the home and used a number of very effective off-shades now largely forgotten. If these can be discovered and samples preserved for matching, the results will be authentic and at the same time give the house an individuality and atmosphere that will not be met with elsewhere.



A house that can be purchased for removal will not often be completely equipped with its original wrought-iron hinges, door latches and locks. But the chances are that enough will remain to indicate what they were and replacements that match and fit can be bought from an antique dealer specializing in old hardware.

Since electricity is entirely a modern convenience, selecting fixtures must depend entirely on the owner's taste. One of the most satisfactory restored houses we have seen has very few fixtures and many portable lamps chiefly made from old jugs and converted astral oil lamps. In bathrooms, kitchen, cellar and garage, no attempt was made to affect the antique. Being strictly utilitarian rooms, simple fixtures that would provide the maximum of light were employed.

So "if only" has become an actuality. The old house is now comfortably settled on its new site and like most transplanted things will thrive better if some faint flavor of its old surroundings is present, such as an apple orchard or one or two fine old trees that look as if they and the house had grown old together.



THE SMOKE GOES UP THE CHIMNEY



CHAPTER VIII

THE SMOKE GOES UP THE CHIMNEY

"Remember that the new chimneys are not to smoke," wrote General Washington from New York in 1776 to his kinsman and overseer, Lund Washington, regarding the remodeling of Mount Vernon. That admonition is just as necessary today as then. A chimney is still an essential part of a house. Also, despite the newest and most effective heating systems, family life, in the country at least, still centers around the hearth. Old, new, or merely middle-aged, no country home is considered properly equipped without at least one fireplace.

There is no use in pretending that they are needed for heat, but the leaping flames and brisk crackling of burning twigs are a cheery sight and sound. "Harriet will have her fireplace fire even though she has to open all the doors and windows," chuckled one householder. This ceases to be a pleasantry if doors and windows have to be thrown wide to let out smoke instead of excess heat. Then this center of family cheer becomes as exasperating as any other inanimate thing that doesn't work.

If, by purchase of an existing structure, a householder has become heir to such a problem, simple things, like fireplace hoods, capping the chimney, or increasing its height, can be tried. If these fail, architectural counsel is the next step. Such trouble is more frequent in houses dating after the stove era than before. The old masons built fireplaces for practical use rather than for occasional indulgence. They had never heard of aerodynamics but they knew how to construct fireplaces that would give out real heat as well as chimneys that carried the smoke where it belonged, up and out.

Of course some unwise features are to be found in the old work but, for the most part, design and proportions cannot be improved. The angles of sides and back, size of opening and throat, location of smoke shelf, size and proportions of smoke chamber, all were determined through years of rule of thumb experiment where only the best results survived. Therefore, the owner of an antique country home with chimney and fireplaces intact should think twice before he gives orders to demolish them. Similarly, he who is building a new house can well plan to reproduce the old fireplaces in size and shape.

Building proper chimneys and hearths was slowly evolved through the centuries. In the late 18th century, an American codified this masonic lore and established the scientific basis for a proper fireplace so cogently that even today his principles form the backbone of fireplace building. He was born Benjamin Thompson, March 26, 1753, at Woburn, Massachusetts, but is better known as Count von Rumford of the Holy Roman Empire.

"The plague of a smoking fireplace is proverbial," began Rumford in his treatise on the subject, written during his years in the service of the Elector of Bavaria. Stripped of the involved terminology characteristic of the natural philosopher of that day, his specifications for a smokeless, heat-radiating fireplace are very simple and depend on three fundamentals. First, the size of flue must be in proportion to the fireplace opening. Second, the angles of back and jambs must be such that they will reflect heat into the room. Third, throat and smoke chamber of proper size and shape are essential because the former improves the draft while the latter prevents smoke from being blown out into the room by a down draft within the chimney flue.

From this it is clear that the New England-reared count of the Holy Roman Empire was really describing the type and design of fireplace in general use at home in his boyhood and explaining the scientific reasons for its superiority over European rectangular ones, built throatless and without a smoke chamber. As stated before, technical men today generally go back to Rumford's work and the American tradition behind it, but in one particular they make a wise departure. Instead of a single common flue, they advocate separate ones for each fireplace.

These modern specifications, based on several centuries of good practice, are as follows: The fireplace should be at least 18 inches deep and have a hearth 20 inches wide. The size of opening must of course be in proportion to the dimensions of the room, but one with lintel less that 26 inches above the hearth is not practical because of difficulty in tending the fire. A good maximum height is 42 inches. The width should be in accord and exceed it so that the opening is a well-proportioned rectangle with its greater dimension horizontal.

In our country home, built about 1765, there are three fireplaces, each of different size and proportions. The largest, where the cooking was done, is 50 inches wide by 37 inches high and 18 inches deep. The one in the old parlor has a width of 38-1/2 inches, a height of 28-1/2 inches, and a depth of 13-1/2 inches. The smallest has an opening just off the square which is 27 inches wide by 25-1/2 inches high with a depth of only 11 inches. All three are non-smokers under all conditions of wind and weather. With proper size of wood they are easy to tend and good sources of warmth except in real winter weather. Each is individualistic in hearth dimensions, the largest of course being that of the old kitchen with a hearthstone over seven feet long by two feet wide.

Whether heat radiates into the room, or goes up the chimney along with the smoke, depends on the angles of fireplace sides and back. The former should be set at an angle of about 60 degrees so that they flare outward from the back wall. There are two schools of thought regarding the back. One would have the forward pitch begin one third of the distance from floor to lintel; the other favors the slope starting at the bottom and continuing upward in an unbroken plane. In the former, the pitch should be about 23 degrees from the vertical; with the latter, 18 degrees will suffice.

From this point the consideration of dimensions goes up the chimney. In its standard ordinance for chimney construction, the National Board of Fire Underwriters calls for fireplace flues with a draft area of one-twelfth of that of the fireplace opening and determines this area as a circle or ellipse that will fit within the tile used to line the flue. As it is difficult to obtain flue linings of exactly the desired area, it is better to select a size slightly larger, rather than one smaller, and so make sure of sufficient capacity under all weather conditions.

Between the lintel of the fireplace and the point where the flue commences come the three structural features so stressed by Count Rumford. They are the throat, smoke shelf, and smoke chamber. As its name implies, the throat is the opening through which smoke, hot gases, and some flames pass on their way upward. Experts hold that its correct construction contributes more to the efficiency of a fireplace than any other feature, save proper flue design. The area of the throat opening should not be less than that of the flue and its length must be equal to the width of the fireplace. It should be located eight inches above the lintel. Under present practice, a cast-iron throat with a damper which can be opened and closed to regulate the up-chimney flow is standard. Also, when the fireplace is not in use, this damper can be closed and so prevent loss of other heat.

The smoke shelf comes immediately above the throat and is formed by recessing the brickwork of the back the full width of the chimney for at least four inches. With very large fireplaces, it may be as much as twelve inches. The object of this feature is to stop any accidental draft within the flue from going farther and blowing smoke out into the room. The area in between this and the flue itself is called the smoke chamber. Here the walls are drawn in with a gradual upward taper to the point where the flue lining begins. The chamber so formed can and does hold accumulated smoke temporarily when a gust of wind across the chimney top cuts off the draft for a moment.

In building chimneys, the old masons varied their structural ways and materials according to the part of the country in which they worked. New England workmen were partial to a central chimney, the core around which the house was built, and their usual material was stone. Occasionally brick was used but this material was more in favor with old houses of the middle states and the South. Here, instead of the central stack, a chimney was built in each of the two end walls. The climate was milder and the style of architecture, with central hall and stairway, made such practice desirable.

The mark of an old chimney is its massive construction. In those of the central type, it is not uncommon to find a foundation pier of ten by twelve feet in the cellar. This was laid dry and just below the level of the first floor, large transverse beams were put in place to support the hearthstones of the fireplaces above. Here dry work stopped and, from there to the chimney top, all stones were laid in a mortar made of lime and sand. At a point above the smoke chambers of the various fireplaces and the brick-oven flue (always a part of the kitchen fireplace) all came together in a common flue. Here the chimney gradually tapered to the top and was usually about three or four feet square where it came through the roof. Originally such chimneys were entirely of stone. Comparatively few are found in original condition today. Time and weather usually made repair or repointing of the portion above the roof line necessary and, in the course of it, brick was often used instead of stone.

By ample proportions the old masons achieved fire safety. This can now be accomplished with a distinct saving in space if one is building a new chimney. There are certain fundamental provisions as stated in the standard chimney ordinance cited above. These are tedious and complicated reading for the layman, but to architects, builders and masons, they simply mean standard workmanship and materials that have been used for years to insure correctly functioning chimneys. Possibly a brief resume of these fundamentals is not out of place in order that the prospective country house owner may not demand the impossible in his schemes for convenient closets, cupboards, or even a stairway.

The chimney may be built of brick, stone, reinforced concrete, concrete blocks, or hollow tile of clay or concrete.

All chimneys should rest on an adequate foundation located below the frost line and both chimney and flues should adhere strictly to the perpendicular.

If an angle is necessary, it ought not to be greater than 45 degrees.

No offset should be over three-eighths of the total width of the chimney.

In laying brick or other material, care should be taken that all joints are tight and completely filled with mortar.

Unlined chimneys are not prohibited but the best arrangement is one in which all flues are lined with fire clay tile, joints well set in mortar, and each flue separated by a partition of brick. Only sound, uncracked tile should be put in place.

Fireplace walls must be of ample proportions to support the chimney and at least eight inches thick. It is further suggested that they be lined with fire brick.

The woodwork around fireplaces must not be closer than four inches to the back wall of a chimney and floor beams must be two inches away from a chimney wall. The space between should be filled with loose crushed cinders or other porous incombustible material to form a fire stop.

Plaster for exterior walls of a chimney should be applied direct or on metal lath. No wood furring or lath.

The hearth, which may be of brick, stone, tile, or concrete, must be supported by a masonry trimmer arch or similar fire-resisting construction. Both hearth and arch should be at least twenty inches wide and not less than two feet longer than the width of the fireplace opening.

If the mantel is of wood, it must not be placed within eight inches of the jambs, or twelve of the lintel.

The minimum height of chimneys above the roof line is two feet for hip, gable, or mansard roofs, and three for flat ones.

Chimney caps must not reduce the effective draft area of flues.

In connecting the smoke pipe of a heating plant, incinerator, or water heater to its flue in the chimney, the opening must be built with a fire clay tile collar and the smoke pipe should not protrude into the flue beyond the collar. Otherwise, the efficiency of the draft is materially impaired.

In addition, home owners may have other features installed that will do much to increase heat production of fireplaces and convenience in the use of them. One is the steel fireplace form, built into the chimney. This takes the place of jambs, back, throat, smoke shelf, and smoke chamber and is so designed that behind sides and back there is an air space opening into the room through intake and outlet vents on either side of the fireplace. The cold air of the room is drawn into this space, heated by radiation and returned. It acts on the order of a hot air furnace and can be used to advantage in new fireplaces or in old ones too much out of repair to be used without rebuilding.

There is also the sheet-steel smoke chamber which comes complete with throat damper and smoke shelf and is put in place above the lintel where it extends to the point where the flue commences. A common device for easy disposal of the ashes is the ash dump, a small cast-iron vault located in the fireplace floor and connected with an ash vault built in the chimney foundation. The vault is equipped with an iron door so that the ashes may be removed once or twice a year.

So much for chimneys and fireplaces. For actual and even heating of all parts of the house, some type of heating plant is necessary both for comfort and economy. It is true that our forefathers lived, many of them to a ripe old age, with only fireplaces to heat their drafty homes and with no heat at all in their public buildings. They did, however, fortify themselves well with a daily draft of rum and they wore a quantity of clothing that would be intolerable today. Further, plenty of wood for fuel grew at their very door; it was part of the normal farm work to cut it down and prepare it for the cavernous fireplaces.

But then, as now, a fireplace could only heat a comparatively small area. Further, under modern conditions, it is the most expensive heat that can be generated. Even though your holding includes a good sized wood-lot, the cost of labor for getting fuel cut, drawn, and piled in your cellar may run to more than the same amount purchased from the local coal yard.

If you have purchased an old house with no heating plant or are building a new house, the type of heating used will largely depend on what your architect considers practical and what you can pay for. The chief systems, viewed in descending order of expense, are hot water, steam, piped hot air, and the pipeless furnace. All of these can be fitted to burn either coal or oil.

Provided one can meet the initial expense of purchase and installation, the ideal system is probably the oil burning, electrically run, hot water heating system. Barring the final perfection of the robot, it is as near to a mechanical servant as one is likely to get even in this age of invention. There is no shoveling or sifting of ashes. There is no furnace shaking or stoking, no puzzling over dampers. Periodically and for a price, a man comes and fills the oil tank. A thermostat regulates the heat. You have only to set it for the desired temperature and forget it.

There is just one flaw with this perfect system. It is dependent on electricity. Let that fail and there is trouble. The fine copper radiators, so efficient when all goes well, spring leaks if the water in them freezes. A few years ago an unusually severe blizzard in the North Atlantic states worked havoc with all of the modern devices. Roads were blocked, telephone and electric service lines were down, and even train service was impaired. One of our neighbors had built a new house two or three years before and equipped it with practically every appliance known to modern comfort, including an oil burner.

In a few short hours this blizzard had set him back more than a century. Electricity, of course, failed and the heat in his fine furnace dwindled and died. It grew colder and colder, ultimately reaching twenty degrees below zero. Added to the discomfort of the family was the disquieting knowledge that the freezing point would mean cracked radiators. Luckily he had three fireplaces that really worked. He had plenty of wood. So for three days and nights, he and two other members of his family worked in relays to keep roaring fires going in all three fireplaces. In this way they maintained a temperature of at least 40 degrees and so saved pipes and radiators.

One may argue that, if water freezing in radiators and pipes is all, why not drain them in such an emergency. This is a job for a plumber, as it must be done with a thoroughness that leaves no moisture behind. The average layman has neither the skill nor the tools for it. Therefore, if there comes a winter when snow, ice, high winds, and low temperatures cause you to wonder if living in the country the year around is quite sound and you decide that a few weeks in a nice city apartment would be a good idea, close your house, if it seems more expedient than leaving a caretaker behind, but don't try to save the plumber's fee. Remember pipes, radiators, and valves cannot be mended. They have to be replaced and that is expensive.

However, blizzards that seriously interrupt electric service are so rare that one need not forego the decided comfort that an oil burner gives, just because some such chance may arise. Also, if the question of expense must be considered, steam can be used instead of hot water and will cost from one-quarter to one-third less.

The initial expenditure for both hot water and steam heating is considerably less, too, if coal rather than oil is to be the fuel. This calls for quite a little more supervision on the part of the householder. He can cut down some of the drudgery of stoking by installing a gravity feed type of boiler. This is equipped with a hopper and needs filling only once a day. Or he can use the old fashioned hand-fired type, with or without the services of a man of all work. There will be dust and dirt as well as the morning and evening rituals of stoking, adjusting dampers, shaking, and cleaning out the ash pit. There will be the periodic chore of sifting ashes and carrying them out for either carting away or for filling in hollow places in the driveway. But his fire will burn, no matter what happens to the current of the local light and power company.

However, as already stated, electricity is a faithful servant most of the time and there are devices that not only take away some of the drudgery of furnace tending but, in the long run, actually save money in coal bills. One of these is the mechanical stoker which is electrically driven and burns the finest size of coal. Another way of reducing the coal bill is to install an electric blower. This, as its name implies, is a forced draft controlled by a thermostat, and with it the cheaper grades of coal can be used. Incidentally, any coal-burning furnace that gets to sulking can be made to respond by placing an ordinary electric fan before the open ash pit. We have done this with a pipeless furnace and have been able to burn the cheaper buckwheat coal almost entirely as a result.

There appears to be no mechanical device for removing the ashes out of the cellar. So, if the householder puts in a coal burning steam or hot water plant as a matter of economy, and then in a few years covets an oil burner, it is perfectly practical and possible to have one installed in his furnace. Whatever the fuel, make sure enough radiation is provided with steam or hot water plants to heat the house evenly and adequately in the coldest weather according to your ideas rather than the plumber's. He is usually a hardy individual who considers 68 degrees warm enough for any one. Theoretically it may be. Actually most people are more comfortable at a room temperature of from two to four degrees higher.

Cheapest of all to install and operate is the pipeless furnace. This is hardly more than a large stove set in the cellar. An ample register in the floor directly above it is connected to a galvanized iron casing that surrounds the fire pot. It is divided so that cool air from the house itself is drawn downward, heated, and then forced upward again. This system will not work well in a house equipped with wings or additions so placed that the air from the central register cannot penetrate. It is particularly effective in a house with a central hall.

In the 18th century compact house with central chimney, the pipeless furnace register can be set in the small front entrance and another register cut in the ceiling directly above it. This carries part of the heat to the second floor and so makes for better distribution of the warm air. As already stated, such a furnace is quite inexpensive and so easy to install that the average handy man will not find it too complicated. We put one in our country home some eight years ago merely as a means of keeping the house warm during the early spring and late fall. We have since found that it can and does heat the entire house even at sub-zero temperatures.

In all honesty, however, one must admit that it has certain disadvantages. First, it is like the old-fashioned stove in that an even heat is hard to maintain. Second, with coal or wood as the usual fuel, there is a discouraging amount of dust generated. Third, the doors to all rooms must be left open so that the currents of hot air can circulate. One chooses between frosty seclusion and balmy gregariousness. Yet, in spite of these very definite "outs," it is far better than no furnace at all. It is, in fact, an excellent stop gap for the country house owner who is not prepared to invest in the more expensive heating plants at the moment. The more effete system can always be added later and the faithful old pipeless junked, moved to some other building, or left in place for an emergency, such as a public-utility-crippling blizzard or flood.



THE QUESTION OF WATER SUPPLY



CHAPTER IX

THE QUESTION OF WATER SUPPLY

Whether one lives in the country or the city, geology and geography govern the source of the water that flows from the tap. Cities go miles for an adequate, pure water supply and have been doing so since the days of the Caesars. Such systems involve thousands of acres and millions of dollars for water sheds, reservoirs, dams, pipe lines, and purifying plants.

The country place is a miniature municipality with its own water system. The latter need not be elaborate or expensive but it must be adequate. Nothing disrupts a family so quickly and completely as water shortage. Personally, we would far rather see our family hungry and in rags than again curtail its baths and showers. "We can be careful and only use what is necessary," sounds easy but before long everybody is against father. He is mean and unreasonable. Save the water, indeed! It is all his fault. He should have known the supply would fail when he bought the place. A moron could see it was not large enough. A six weeks' drought? Well, what of it!

Meanwhile water diviners, well diggers and drillers add gall and wormwood to the situation. "Oh yes, that well always did go dry about this time of year. Saving the water wouldn't make any difference. Better not bother with it but dig or drill a new one." Expense? Why quibble about that when the peace of one's family is at stake. There is, of course, only one outcome. A broken and chastened man soon makes the best terms he can with one of his tormentors. If he is wise it will be with the advocate of the driven well. That solves for all time any question of water supply.

Before deciding on a source, however, consider what the daily needs will be. From long observation, it has been found that the average country place requires fifty gallons of water a day for each member of the family, servants included. Then allow for two extra people so that the occasional guest, whose knowledge of water systems begins and ends with the turning of a faucet, will not unduly deplete the supply. For example, a family of seven should have a daily water supply of from 400 to 500 gallons depending on how much entertaining is done and how extensive are the outdoor uses. This allowance will be ample for toilets, baths, kitchen and laundry, as well as for moderate watering of the garden and lawn. Of course, if cars are to be washed regularly, fifty gallons should be added to the daily demand. If there is a swimming pool, its capacity should be figured by cubical content multiplied by seven and one-half (the number of gallons to the cubic foot) and allowance made for from fifteen to twenty-five per cent fresh water daily.

The daily production of a spring or drilled well can be easily gauged. A flow of one gallon a minute produces 1,440 gallons in twenty-four hours. In other words, a flow of ten gallons a minute means 14,400 gallons a day which, at fifteen gallons a bath or shower, is enough water to wash a regiment from the colonel to the newest recruit.

Estimating the daily production of a shallow, dug well is more difficult. The number of gallons standing in it can be obtained by using the mathematical formula for the contents of a cylinder, but only observation will tell how quickly the well replenishes itself when pumped dry. By long experience, however, country plumbers have found that if such a well contains five feet of water in extremely dry weather, it can be relied upon for the needed fifty gallons a day each for a family of seven with enough over for safety.

In fact, with all water sources except an artesian or driven well, the question always is, will it last during an abnormally rainless season? Never-failing springs and wells that never go dry are institutions in any countryside. So consult some of the oldest inhabitants. They know and if they give your well or spring a good character, the chances are that even the most exacting of families will find such a water supply adequate. Whether it is pure or not is another matter but one that can easily be determined by sending a sample to your state health department or a bacteriological laboratory. That this should be done before such water is used for drinking purposes goes without saying.

The driven or artesian well has two points that makes it worth the cost. There is no question of purity or of quantity. It taps subterranean water which is unaffected by local causes of contamination or by drought.

The kind of water system, like the supply, is governed by geography and geology. If there happens to be a spring on a nearby hillside somewhat higher than the house, nature has provided the cheapest and simplest system. A pipe line and storage tank are all that are needed. Gravity does the rest. On the other hand, if the spring is on the same level or lower than the house, a pump must be added to the equipment to force the water into the pressure tank and out of the faucets. If the spring has a large flow and adequate drainage, a water ram is advisable. With this hydraulic machine, three-quarters of the water that flows into it is used to force the balance into the storage tank. The expense of operation is nothing and as water rams and pumps cost about the same, such an installation has much to recommend it.

When the search for water goes below ground, one must reckon with geology. What lies below the turf is the deciding factor. If it is sand and gravel with a high water table (the level of subterranean water), an excellent well can be had cheaply. The practice is either to bore through to the water table with a man-operated auger and then insert the pipe, or to drive the latter down with a heavy sledge hammer. In either case, water is but a few feet below ground and a shallow-well pump, which can raise water twenty-two feet by suction, will be adequate.

There are two types of well to be considered with less favorable subsoil formations—the shallow and the artesian. With the former (known to country people as a dug well) a shaft from six to ten feet across is dug with pick and shovel until adequate water is reached. Then the shaft is lined with stone laid without cement or mortar up to a few feet from the top. This allows water from the surrounding area to seep into the well where it is retained until it is drawn upward by the pump. It is obvious that a well of this type cannot be built through ledge or solid rock. In fact, unusually large boulders sometimes force diggers to abandon a shaft and start afresh. An old house with two or three of these shallow wells on the premises serves notice on the prospective buyer that repeated and probably unsuccessful attempts have been made to find a well that does not go dry.

Dug wells are seldom deeper than fifty feet; the majority are but little beyond twenty-two feet, the suction limit for a shallow-well pump. As is obvious from their construction, they depend on the water in the upper layers of the subsoil and so are more readily affected by dry weather. Although not drought-proof like the artesian, a dug well, which costs much less, can be an excellent water source and supply amazingly large quantities of water.

We have lived for ten years in a house served by a shallow well credited with being never failing and it has faithfully lived up to its reputation, even through the driest of seasons. Once, however, it made real trouble. Over it stood a picturesque latticed well house. On one of the beams a pair of robins nested annually. In the middle of the third summer the water developed a queer flavor. It steadily grew stronger until one night the steam arising from a hot bath caused the pajama-clad head of the house to seize a flashlight and move hastily to the well house. One beam of light disclosed the horrid truth. Floating in the water far below were two very dead fledglings.

The next day a well cleaner collected twenty-five dollars for removing the birds and pumping out the well. He also gave some excellent advice which was followed promptly. The well house, picturesque though it was, gave way to a substantial masonry curbing equipped with a stout wire cover. The peace of mind so gained has more than offset the trifling expense. No longer need one peer fearfully down a twenty-five foot shaft when a pet cat fails to show up for a meal, or shoo away from the spot the over-inquisitive offspring of visiting friends.

The drilled well, against which there is no possible argument save that of cost, is made by boring a hole in the ground with a powerful apparatus until sufficient subterranean water is reached. There are two methods, the chop and the core drill. With the former, a cutting tool exactly like the drill used to drive holes in rocks for blasting, only larger, cuts a circular hole downward. The boom of the drilling rig as it raises and drops the drill provides the necessary impact. With the core method, as its name implies, a hollow boring drill cuts its way aided by steel shot and a flow of water forced through the pipe that rotates the cutting tool.

With either method the results are the same. Sooner or later the drill will reach an underground water course of sufficient size to give an ample flow. As such drilling is done on a charge of three to five dollars a foot, the owner, of course, hopes for sooner. Except where there is an underlying stratum of sand or gravel beneath hard pan, the drill has to go through rock. How far depends on the kind. Sandstone is the best water producer; limestone yields very hard water. Again, drilling through till (a heterogeneous mixture of clay, gravel, and boulders) may or may not locate water readily depending on how densely it is packed. The rocks known as gneiss and schist are readily bored and are considered fair water bearers.

Granite is bad news. It means slow work and a deep and expensive well. It is one of the hardest rocks with little water content. The only hope is that the drill will strike a vein flowing through a fissure. Whether it will be at fifty or 500 feet is a pure matter of luck. A dry well at 100 feet may become a gusher at 105 delivering twenty gallons to the minute, or it may stay dry for another two to five hundred feet.

Tales of well drilling are many and varied. Good pure water has been found at fifteen feet. In New Hampshire there is a well 900 feet deep that gushes so powerfully that it is capped and still flows at forty pounds pressure. It supplies an elaborate country place and a large stock farm. It is performances like these that indicate the water is there if one will just keep on drilling and paying until it is reached.

Where to locate a well is very much a matter of guess. Even in the Sahara Desert there is water. How far down is the question. For generations much faith was placed in diviners. They were supposedly endowed with some occult talent that enabled them to pick a sure spot for water. They were known for miles around and were summoned when a new homestead was under consideration. With a forked hazel wand held in both hands, such an one would pace solemnly around until the stick gave a convulsive twist downward. This indicated that water was directly beneath. The spot would be reverently marked; the diviner would depart and the well diggers who had followed his performance with proper awe would begin work. As the ceremony failed to stipulate just how far down the precious liquid was, a successful well was presumably the result. The prowess of the well diviner is acclaimed even today by some people, although scientific investigation has proved that his services are worth just about as much as those of a witch doctor.

After the country home owner has attended to the little matter of a well, be it old or new, dug or drilled, the next step is installing a pump. If the water level is less than twenty feet below ground, a shallow-well pump will be perfectly adequate and as it is much less expensive than the more elaborate deep-well pump, we recommend its use if possible. Most plumbers invariably advise the deep-well pump, especially for driven wells. They do this in all honesty and with no ulterior motive. There is always a bare chance that the water level may drop below the suction limit of the shallow pump under abnormal pressure. If it does, an irate customer can descend on the luckless installer of the less expensive pump and cause general unpleasantness if not loss of custom.

The difference between these two kinds of pump, aside from price, is that with a shallow-well one, suction is produced in the cylinder of the pump itself, while the deep-well pump has its plunger and cylinder at the bottom of the well. Water is forced up the pipe by the up and down movement of the plunger within the cylinder. This plunger is connected to a geared wheel by the well-rod that extends downward from well-head to cylinder in the center of the same pipe through which the water is forced upward. Because of its design, a deep-well pump must always be located directly above the well itself. With a suction pump, on the other hand, the pipe from well to pump may bend and turn to suit conditions. These should be as few as possible since each right-angle bend of the pipe reduces the pump's suction power one foot.



As for motive power, electricity has distinct advantages over all other means. The switch operated by pressure starts the pump when the supply of water in the storage tank drops below a certain level, and also stops it when the proper volume has been reached. (Ten pounds to start the pump and forty or fifty to stop it are the usual adjustments.) A nice little refinement here is the installation of a third faucet at either kitchen or pantry sink, piped direct to the pump. Turn this and fresh water flows from the well itself, thus consoling any sentimentalist with visions of a dripping moss-covered bucket. Also water so drawn seldom needs to be iced. In summer if there are signs of a thunder storm it is wise to open this same faucet. It starts the pump and that automatically continues until the storage tank is full. Then, if electric service is cut off by the storm, the household will have ample water until the damage has been repaired.

If the country home owner happens to live beyond reach of an electric light system, he can put in his own plant, use a gasoline engine for motive power or even a hand pump. A gasoline engine should, of course, be located in an outbuilding and the exhaust pipe must extend into open air because of the deadly fumes of carbon monoxide gas. The hand pump is, of course, the simplest and there are several excellent ones to be had. They are not as practical as they sound, however.

When we first bought our own country place we installed a very good one as there was then no electricity in the locality. It worked excellently—when any one could be found to man it. Handy men hired for odd jobs around the grounds took it on for a set sum per time. The labor turnover was unprecedented. One by one they either resigned within a week or somehow managed to "forget all about that pumping job." Members of the family pressed into service straightway became ardent water savers, and guests who volunteered gallantly somehow never, never came again. Yet it was not an exhausting or complicated task. It was simply so monotonous that it wore down the most phlegmatic nature. So the rural householder will do well to remember that, after all, this is a machine age and govern himself accordingly.

As for the storage tank, the modern practice is to place it under ground or in the cellar. The old custom of putting it in the attic had distinct disadvantages when an overflow or a leak occurred and either stained the ceilings or sent them crashing down on furniture and possibly occupants of the rooms below.

The best water system, however, cannot cope with faucets thoughtlessly left running. Even the largest tank will eventually become empty and then there will be water for no one until the pump has replenished the supply. "Waste not, want not" is an excellent motto for dwellers in the country, especially where water is concerned.



SEWAGE SAFETY



CHAPTER X

SEWAGE SAFETY

Among the problems which his miniature municipality brings to the country house owner is the unromantic but necessary one of sewage disposal. In a suburban area it is merely a matter of connecting the house to the street main and paying higher taxes. With the country house, each owner must cope with the question for himself. He cannot leave it to chance or delude himself that any old system will serve. Some hot August day when his house is filled with guests, the makeshift disposal system will suddenly cease to function and an otherwise tactful guest will ask whether that queer smell is just part of the regular country air or what.

Of course, nobody thinks of disposing of household waste by piping it to a brook or letting it flow down a sandy side hill some distance from the house. Those were the methods of the ignorant and unscientific past. The means of disposal recommended by sanitary experts are those in which the wastes undergo a bacterial fermentation which finally renders the sewage odorless and harmless. It can be accomplished by a septic tank or a tight cesspool. The latter with its two chambers is really a variety of the septic tank itself. The first vault is built of stone or brick laid in mortar and covered with a coat of waterproof cement. With both supply and overflow pipes below the normal level of the liquids, beneficial fermentation takes place in this compartment before the liquids pass over into the second chamber from which they gradually seep into the ground. Such an installation calls for more excavation and construction than a septic tank and, since it accomplishes nothing that cannot be done with the latter, is only used where there is not enough ground area for the disposal fields of a septic tank.

The latter is an air-tight cylindrical or oblong container placed below ground, in which raw sewage purifies itself by the inherent bacteria. The first stage takes place within the tank and the second in the porous pipes that constitute the disposal fields. From the moment household wastes enter the tank, fermentation begins its work of reducing them from noisome sewage to harmless water. Both intake and outlet pipes extend below the level of the contents, with a baffle plate across the center which prevents direct outward flow. The heavy solids sink to the bottom and anaerobic bacteria, which develop only where there is no oxygen, breed rapidly and break these up so that they rise to the top and provide the ever present scum which excludes all air and stimulates fermentation of the entire content. Meanwhile, liquid from the tank is flowing into the disposal fields, which are porous land tile laid in shallow trenches and covered with earth and sod. Here some air is present and aerobic bacteria (those which thrive where there is oxygen) develop and complete the process of transforming the wastes into clear water.

Installing such a system is neither expensive nor complicated. The tank itself should be large enough to hold the sewage of a household for twenty-four hours. It can be bought ready to install, or built of brick or concrete. Ready-made tanks are to be had of steel, concrete, or vitrified tile. We installed one of steel (which is the cheapest) some ten years ago and have found it most satisfactory. When it was delivered, two husky truck-men placed it at the edge of the pit prepared for it by the waiting plumber. They exhibited some curiosity and the plumber explained briefly about the bacteria and its action.

"You mean one of these here bugs is into it already?" asked one of them as he applied an awe-struck eye to the aperture in the top. He apparently expected to find an insect akin to a full-size cockroach running around inside, and either decided the light was poor or that the plumber was a first-class liar, for he went off shaking his head doubtfully.

The size of tank and length of disposal field is entirely a matter of size of household. On an average, the daily volume can be reckoned on the basis of fifty gallons per person and, for every fifty gallons of tank capacity, there should be thirty feet of disposal field. Thus, for a family of eight, a tank of five hundred gallons' capacity connected with a disposal field of three hundred feet will be ample, allowing for guests as well.