Finally, the roof is complete. Looking forward to the spring rains. :-)
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Gravel Road to the Past
An essay by my daughter about a year ago.
Background: For years, decades even, Dad has been searching for a plot of land on which to plant trees. We finally found one that was almost too good to be true – nine acres, less than a mile away, backing up to Seneca Creek State Park. What we discovered was not only nine acres of majestic poplars and splendid ferns, but also the eclectic, antiquated community of which it was a part.
My family lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Twenty years ago, it was still a small town, but since then urban sprawl has plagued it. Now, the town has a population of more than 150,000 people, and is full of high-density housing and commercial areas. Only one tiny neighborhood, unknown to even those who live near it, remains a remnant of the past.
Marmary is a small, unassuming gravel road community of 20 houses, tucked in between a highway, suburban sprawl and the state forest. A tiny street, it is easy to miss, and indeed it seems as though the rest of the world has forgotten it and let time stand still there. I never knew about the enchanting place until I went there for the first time to look at the property. Now, we visit it at least once a week.
About a mile away from our house, we turn right and are soon jolted awake by the gravel road strewn with dips and bumps. Dad backs skillfully into a narrow place between the trees and briar bushes and then we exit. Only the faint dull roar of Great Seneca Highway gives any indication that we are in one of the biggest metropolises in the U.S. Otherwise, it seems as though we are in any quaint, faded rural American neighborhood.
We get out of the car and walk up along the southern edge of the property. The remains of an old pasture fence are only slightly visible, hidden under brush and fallen logs. Old bricks and old lawn mowers are piled up side by side along the border we share with neighbors, remnants of a time when garbage pickup was unheard of. Farther down we pass a house that has been condemned since the floor caved in. The backyard still has a swing set and poles for hanging laundry, but no occupants. The next lot down has no house. The owner bulldozed his house, thinking that he would be able to build a new one. It ends up that under the zoning laws, he didn’t have enough land to build a house, so he was stuck with a half acre of grass and a pile of rubble from the house. What did he do? He dug a hole in the backyard and buried it. Yep, buried the entire house and covered it up. We laughed when we heard about it the first time, and just about couldn’t believe it. This sort of thing just never happens in busy, hurried Gaithersburg! Of course the neighbors complained, and the city bureaucrats forced him to dig it up and haul it away. Possibly even more absurd than burying his house, just ten years ago the man had no flush toilet – he used an outhouse on the corner of his property. Imagine people still using outhouses in our sophisticated city!
The next house down is Nancy’s. She’s the “Mayor” of Marmary; she knows everything that’s going on in the neighborhood. She’s a widow with an attitude, outspoken but still very nice. Not too long ago, she was disturbed to find an arrow stuck in her fence. It seemed as if we had a hunter on our hands. Nancy told us the name of the man’s grandmother, who lived on a street bordering the other edge of the property.
Dad called her up to see what was going on with her grandson. She affirmed that he was hunting the whitetail deer so common on the property (“Oh, you mean the arrow with the three razors on the tip? That’s the one!”). She told Dad she’d ask him to stop. When asked if she hunted too, she said, “No, I don’t anymore, I just help to field dress it!” An eighty five year old woman still hard at work providing meat for the table! And the intrigue of this community deepens.
Walking north, towards the lake, we pass an old archery target, bales of hay leaned against a tree. And then we come to one of the major problems of the place. Decades ago, neighbors probably assumed the land had no owner, and used it as their personal dumping ground. So far we have cleaned out at least four lawn mowers, four car batteries, many other appliances, car parts, fencing sections, siding and cinder blocks, among other things. We have unearthed trash about two feet from the mud in a ten-foot by six-foot space where two swales meet. In other areas of the property, we discovered an oil tank, a V-8 engine block, a cast iron bathtub, and a pile of car tires. We have yet to deal with those. It’s hard work removing the rubbish, but worth it to clean the place up, because it really is a beautiful piece of land. It is old-growth forest, mostly tulip poplar trees with a smattering of majestic oaks and sycamores. Some tower over 100 feet with no low branches. Smaller trees are scattered around, and there is a lot of undergrowth. There are many unwelcome briars and thorn bushes, but also acres of beautiful big ferns, which we love. Trails, evidently used by people who think they are still on parkland, crisscross the forest. Disused hunting posts can be found here and there throughout the land.
Dad and I enjoy just walking around and getting in touch with nature in our own little piece of heaven. But eventually we have to go. I have homework to do, and the sun is dipping below the horizon, shrouding the densely wooded property in darkness. The car climbs the bumpy hill leading out of the neighborhood, and we pop out right next to Great Seneca Highway onto a smooth, paved road. Dad always says upon exiting, “100 years ago, or 100 miles away – take your pick.” I’m always sad when we go back to the real world.
Background: For years, decades even, Dad has been searching for a plot of land on which to plant trees. We finally found one that was almost too good to be true – nine acres, less than a mile away, backing up to Seneca Creek State Park. What we discovered was not only nine acres of majestic poplars and splendid ferns, but also the eclectic, antiquated community of which it was a part.
My family lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Twenty years ago, it was still a small town, but since then urban sprawl has plagued it. Now, the town has a population of more than 150,000 people, and is full of high-density housing and commercial areas. Only one tiny neighborhood, unknown to even those who live near it, remains a remnant of the past.
Marmary is a small, unassuming gravel road community of 20 houses, tucked in between a highway, suburban sprawl and the state forest. A tiny street, it is easy to miss, and indeed it seems as though the rest of the world has forgotten it and let time stand still there. I never knew about the enchanting place until I went there for the first time to look at the property. Now, we visit it at least once a week.
About a mile away from our house, we turn right and are soon jolted awake by the gravel road strewn with dips and bumps. Dad backs skillfully into a narrow place between the trees and briar bushes and then we exit. Only the faint dull roar of Great Seneca Highway gives any indication that we are in one of the biggest metropolises in the U.S. Otherwise, it seems as though we are in any quaint, faded rural American neighborhood.
We get out of the car and walk up along the southern edge of the property. The remains of an old pasture fence are only slightly visible, hidden under brush and fallen logs. Old bricks and old lawn mowers are piled up side by side along the border we share with neighbors, remnants of a time when garbage pickup was unheard of. Farther down we pass a house that has been condemned since the floor caved in. The backyard still has a swing set and poles for hanging laundry, but no occupants. The next lot down has no house. The owner bulldozed his house, thinking that he would be able to build a new one. It ends up that under the zoning laws, he didn’t have enough land to build a house, so he was stuck with a half acre of grass and a pile of rubble from the house. What did he do? He dug a hole in the backyard and buried it. Yep, buried the entire house and covered it up. We laughed when we heard about it the first time, and just about couldn’t believe it. This sort of thing just never happens in busy, hurried Gaithersburg! Of course the neighbors complained, and the city bureaucrats forced him to dig it up and haul it away. Possibly even more absurd than burying his house, just ten years ago the man had no flush toilet – he used an outhouse on the corner of his property. Imagine people still using outhouses in our sophisticated city!
The next house down is Nancy’s. She’s the “Mayor” of Marmary; she knows everything that’s going on in the neighborhood. She’s a widow with an attitude, outspoken but still very nice. Not too long ago, she was disturbed to find an arrow stuck in her fence. It seemed as if we had a hunter on our hands. Nancy told us the name of the man’s grandmother, who lived on a street bordering the other edge of the property.
Dad called her up to see what was going on with her grandson. She affirmed that he was hunting the whitetail deer so common on the property (“Oh, you mean the arrow with the three razors on the tip? That’s the one!”). She told Dad she’d ask him to stop. When asked if she hunted too, she said, “No, I don’t anymore, I just help to field dress it!” An eighty five year old woman still hard at work providing meat for the table! And the intrigue of this community deepens.
Walking north, towards the lake, we pass an old archery target, bales of hay leaned against a tree. And then we come to one of the major problems of the place. Decades ago, neighbors probably assumed the land had no owner, and used it as their personal dumping ground. So far we have cleaned out at least four lawn mowers, four car batteries, many other appliances, car parts, fencing sections, siding and cinder blocks, among other things. We have unearthed trash about two feet from the mud in a ten-foot by six-foot space where two swales meet. In other areas of the property, we discovered an oil tank, a V-8 engine block, a cast iron bathtub, and a pile of car tires. We have yet to deal with those. It’s hard work removing the rubbish, but worth it to clean the place up, because it really is a beautiful piece of land. It is old-growth forest, mostly tulip poplar trees with a smattering of majestic oaks and sycamores. Some tower over 100 feet with no low branches. Smaller trees are scattered around, and there is a lot of undergrowth. There are many unwelcome briars and thorn bushes, but also acres of beautiful big ferns, which we love. Trails, evidently used by people who think they are still on parkland, crisscross the forest. Disused hunting posts can be found here and there throughout the land.
Dad and I enjoy just walking around and getting in touch with nature in our own little piece of heaven. But eventually we have to go. I have homework to do, and the sun is dipping below the horizon, shrouding the densely wooded property in darkness. The car climbs the bumpy hill leading out of the neighborhood, and we pop out right next to Great Seneca Highway onto a smooth, paved road. Dad always says upon exiting, “100 years ago, or 100 miles away – take your pick.” I’m always sad when we go back to the real world.
Many people don’t understand why we bought the land. But one look at this beautiful slice
of nature, one of the last of its kind in our area, and the choice becomes clear. One
last chance to hang on to the way life used to be, while the sprawl and urbanization that we cal
l “progress” swallows up both vacant land and country culture. A place to just sit and think about life, to take a break from the rat race, to enjoy the pure and simple beauty of a forest complac
ent yet brimming with life. Many people have forgotten that places like Marmary Road exist…but it is our job to remember.
Friday, February 13, 2009
A warm week, at last!
Thawing ground; minivan stuck in mud Saturday - 4 people to push out
Learned lesson - Monday hauled shingles in back pack, 200 yards from Marmary, 2 bundles at a time
Tuesday - hauled shingles from Marmary
Wed - smartened up - got the Little Tykes wagon with the big plastic wheels, hauled 3 bundles at at time (!)
Thursday - Little Tykes saves the day again
80% finished with the shingles
(Yes, a whole week and I haven't finished a tiny 300 square foot roof? Well, I had planned to take most of the week off, but it turned out to be the busiest week at work that I've had in 20 years at this job. So I had to squeeze in a couple of hours each day while putting in 10 hours a day at work. Bad timing - arggghh!)
(Yes, a whole week and I haven't finished a tiny 300 square foot roof? Well, I had planned to take most of the week off, but it turned out to be the busiest week at work that I've had in 20 years at this job. So I had to squeeze in a couple of hours each day while putting in 10 hours a day at work. Bad timing - arggghh!)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
One side roofed !
No, that's not an 80's rock band.
One side of the cabin roof now has magnificent recycled rubber simulated slate shingles.
It's been a gorgeous weekend. Sunny and 50's or 60's both days. First warm days in a couple of months. Still some ice on the ground, but perfect for shingling.
Unfortunately, the frozen ground was thawing and the road was terrible to drive on. Got stuck in the muck on Saturday. Nancy and Andrew and Carly's boyfriend and I pushed while Carly was behind the wheel. Should have unloaded all the shingles - for some reason I only unloaded two bundles before leaving the scene. what was I thinking???
Meaning today, not willing to face the mud again, I had to haul the shingles, two bundles at a time in a backpack. The loop road in the park is closed fo the winter, so I hiked them over from Marmary, a couple hundred yards through the woods.
My original plan was to shingle the smaller south slope of the roof Saturday, and do the north side Sunday. As it is, I only got the small side done - When you don't know what you are doing, it takes a while to figure it out!! But, the rest of the roof should go pretty quickly.
And take a look at this - they really do look like slate. What slate shingles are doing on an agricultural shed is another question entirely. But it's sustainable, recycled, and should last for 50 years.
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