I know, I know, I kind of dropped a little bomb in the middle of the “Hey I’m going to buy some vacant land and build a garage on it” party yesterday. I have to start by thanking all of you for the support, laughs, words of encouragement, and– specifically Laura from Door Step Home– for calling this my Unexpected Adventure instead of my Have You Lost Your Ever-Loving Mind moment.

Which, by the way, my barometer regarding whether or not I have indeed lost my mind is if I can hear my dad’s head thunk on the desk from one state away when he reads this website. So when I texted him a pic of the house and said “thinking of buying this at an auction tonight” and he was all “BUY IT NOW” I knew I was in the clear as far as sanity-checks go.

How I Ended Up With A House (Probably)

If you’ve been following this site and some of my adventures for a while you know that I spent the last two years pouring a lot of my heart, effort, time, sweat, blood, and youth– oh my God, the gray hairs– into the Memorial House. It was supposed to be the home I would live in forever, and when that changed almost eight months ago, I have to be honest, I felt a little adrift. And exhausted. Not from the physical work, which is something that grounds and centers me, but from the emotional part of finding and creating a place for myself. That might not be something that resonates with everyone, but since I did a lot of bouncing around when I was a kid, the concept of “home” has become an important part of my sense of stability as an adult. (How’s that for a little random Wednesday morning amateur psychiatry? You all thought I was a one-trick-pony with the house-building stuff, but no… I do insightful revelations regarding childhood too.)

The truth is, at the beginning I just didn’t think I had it in me to find a new house that was supposed to be home, and I considered– and spent a lot of time looking at property– for something to flip (like this) so I could continue doing the work I love and have a house to live in without the commitment.

When I just couldn’t find a house to flip that fit the bill, I started to think a little less temporary. I wasn’t ready for the whole house-building thing again, but something smaller? I could do that. So I started on plans for the Hillside Cottage because I didn’t believe I was going to find just the right thing, and I’m not one to sit around and wait for “perfect” to fall in my lap when I can build it with my own two hands.

So here was a lesson for me… finding just the right land to build my future house on is just as difficult as designing a home itself. And right now, where I’m looking and for what I wanted, there weren’t a lot of options. I went so far as to track down a guy who owned a huge parcel of farm land that wasn’t for sale and tried to negotiate a 5-10 acre lot off of it from him. It was going to be expensive, and a little risky since I was only planning to build a glorified garage on the property which–while awesome–isn’t great for resale.

I started to think that if I really wanted property, maybe I should consider buying something with a crap foreclosure house on it for cheap and bulldoze the place if necessary to build my cottage. Not that I could ever bring myself to bulldoze a house (clearly, since the last time I literally built a house around a house) but still, it got me thinking. It also got me to change the settings on my real-estate search to include single-family homes on large lots.

And that’s what brought me to this house yesterday.

It popped up on my search and was vaguely on the way home from where I was looking for land, and I’ve always said I wanted to rehab an old brick farmhouse. I almost didn’t go… I mean, mentally I’m prepping to build an 800 square foot loft to live in for the next three years, what the hell am I going to do with 3000 square feet of 150 year old farm house?

I still don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know this: For the first time since leaving Memorial (and maybe even before that, since selling my first house) I feel like I’ve found something with the potential to turn into my home. I wasn’t actively looking for it– I’d decided it wasn’t going to come around and I’d just have to build the damn thing from the ground up, if that’s what I wanted– and then, there it was.

So it was random, yes, but really when you look at the whole story, not quite as crazy as it sounds.

Enough Blabbering About Your Feelings, What About The House?

What is a little crazy is that I basically put an offer in on a house that–other than a short stalker-ish session peeping in the windows–I’d never seen the inside of.

You might think I’m a bit of a house-buying daredevil, but here’s the truth. I made a little agreement with myself that the highest bid I would place is what I would be willing to pay for just the land and the barns, without the house even on the property. And the purchase price (including the house) ended up being about 50% less than what I would have paid for the same number of acres of vacant land from the farmer I met with earlier in the day.

I mean, it would have been fun to do a walk-through of the house and spend a few weeks agonizing over the should-I-or-shouldn’t-I of purchasing it, but the nice thing about the auction was that it crammed 21 days of stress into a 3 hour time period.

So, I walked into that house for the first time today with the expectation that it was worth nothing to me, and I would bulldoze the damn thing if necessary and still be happy with the property and barn.

And I know the outstanding question on everyone’s mind right now is, “Is that the rumble of a bulldozer engine I hear in the distance?” The answer is, I don’t know yet. Until I’ve got confirmation on the water and heat working properly, all bets are off.

But, do you see this?

It’s essentially a three car garage plus workspace with a loft up above. It’s got gaping holes in the walls, yes, but I could easily tear this structure down (or even just down to the studs) build the Hillside cottage right on this foundation if necessary, and I’d still be ahead of if I’d bought completely vacant land.

So yes, I bought a house. But really what I bought was property that happens to have a house on it, and the semantics really do make a better case for my sanity. If all goes well I’ll be able to share pictures of the inside of the house (and barns), along with the final determination about the bulldozer by the end of the week.

Also, I totally need a name for this place, and I’m running on less than five hours of sleep, so if anyone is feeling particularly brilliant, drop me some name suggestions in the comments. The most clever thing I can come up with at the moment is the Sidetrack House– referencing both my extra-short attention span which landed me the house in the first place, and the fact that it will be a front row seat to witnessing the Train Wreck of AWESOME for the next couple of years. (You’ll have to search that reference out of yesterdays comments, but it’s well worth the laugh.)

No. Not property to build my Hillside Cottage on, but an actual house. A 150 year old brick farmhouse, to be exact. With one bigass barn, a falling-down garage, and another perfect little barn for some donkeys.

Did you just fall out of your chair? Because I did.

I’d like to tell you what just happened here, but I’m not even sure myself. I woke up 24 hours ago with the intention of meeting with a guy about some property to build my cottage on. Which I did, realizing it wouldn’t work out almost immediately. And then, since I was out and about I did a little more driving around and found an old brick farm-house up for auction with 6 acres of property (the perfect amount) and all kinds of barns.

Like this one…

And this one…

And this monster…

And here’s what happened: I drove into the driveway, and I felt like I was home.

I’ve probably spent 7 hours a week for the last month driving around in my car trying to find “the place.” The place I was supposed to build my garage from scratch, and later build my house. There’s actually a post in my drafts folder right now called “Feels like home?” with pictures of the dozens of properties I’ve looked at and rejected that I could never quite bring myself to post.

And then on a whim I ended up here:

At a house that was 5 hours away from being sold at an online auction. MY house.

So, after two hours of intense bidding (thank you, Katy from the Turtle House for being my text-buddy through the whole ordeal), I’m officially the high bidder on this house.

And I haven’t even been inside it. How’s that for crazy?

I have no idea how the next week is going to play out with financing and finding out all the fun things that are wrong with this place, but I have to tell you that right now, I don’t care. I found my home. If I have to rebuild the damn thing brick for brick, right now I feel like I made the right decision. And you never know… the inside might be so bad that I have to build the Hillside Cottage in the back while I renovate all 3000 square feet of house.

Or I may just live in one of my extraordinary barns for a while.

Either way, it’s going to be an adventure.

UPDATED: I can’t even begin to tell you the miles of red tape I’m going to need to untangle in the next forty-eight hours to actually be in a position to close on this house, but it’s going to be epic. EPIC. If you have any good-house vibes to spare, send them this way!

If these plans look a little rumpled it’s definitely not because I’ve been sleeping snuggled up to them for the last week. I swear.

I actually hauled my old dining room table to the middle of the living room so that I would have a place to keep the plans out so I can peruse them at my leisure. And sometimes bat my eyelashes at them when I walk by.

A full set of complete plans means it’s time to get down to the serious business of picking stuff. Or even better, building stuff.

I’m hoping to spend next week hammering out the details of the exterior and most of the interior spaces. A job I hope will be much easier since I basically just got done picking out all of the important parts of the Memorial House, so I have a good baseline for what I like.

Here are some inspiration photos I’m using to help make my final determinations on the look and feel of the place:

Exteriors

What’s appealing to me right at the moment are these adorable white-washed stucco cottages.

Although the darker, rustic, timberframe look always tugs at my heartstrings, too.

Interior Entryway

I’m 110% sure I’ll be using a brick veneer on the floor in the entryway and half bath downstairs.

I’m usually not a herringbone fan either, but that kitchen may have sold me on it.

Kitchen

For upstairs, I’m pretty sold on wood floors, white walls, and black doors.

Still not sure on the kitchen cabinetry, although I’m leaning towards white on the bottom and wood on the top.

Or crazy rustic on the wood…

The “peninsula” will definitely be something big and heavy like this.

And there will be color!

Living

There are definitely going to be some built-ins, although you guys convinced me out of doing the twin-bed-built-in-couch and getting a futon that can pull out to a double bed for guests instead.

I definitely planned a space for a nook-desk as well.

And for the washer/dryer to look like built-in cabinetry, instead of having closet doors I will never close. Something like this:

But with a butcher block top and awesome backsplash, like this:

Full Bath

I’m actually tempted just to completely replicate the Rustic Beachy Bath from Memorial, because I totally never got to enjoy it. Although there won’t be a spot for those awesome standing stone pebbles.

Although I’m definitely going to have to tile the floor so I can install more under-floor heating (another thing I never got to enjoy to it’s fullest extent.)

Since it’s a smaller bathroom, I may build something like this for the vanity:

Bedroom

The bedroom isn’t huge, and I’ve already started collecting the things I’ll need like my farm-table vanity, and the Pipe Dream bed (that I’m starting on this weekend).

(Also, sorry for any whacked-out formatting on this page. Love pinterest, hate their embed code.)

Next week I’ll be getting into specific materials, colors, hardware, and appliances for each room.

Here’s how I kicked off the week. I already had a jump-start on feeling awesome with the successful Moonshine Lamp project that I knocked out over the weekend and I decided to continue on that theme and make this a “power week.” You know, serious productivity, no distractions, and a lot of getting shit done. I started out Monday by getting a head start on my chores and hauling my huge country garbage bin out to the road first thing in the morning, instead of doing it last minute as I was rushing off to work.

I threw a coat on over my pajamas and felt good, empowered, ahead of the game, I may have flexed my muscles a bit and felt a little like superwoman as I walked outside… right up until I happily slammed the door behind me and, thanks to my automatically locking door, stranded myself out in thirty-degree weather, in my pajamas, in the middle of nowhere, without my keys.

So awesome.

And I have to tell you, I stood just outside the door with my hand on the knob, mouth open in disbelief, and spent a good ninety seconds trying to process what to do next. The pervasive thought going through my mind was, “If only I had my phone…” Except, if only I had my phone what? Who was I going to call? I live 30 minutes from any family, no one has a key to my house, and all the Twitter updates in the world weren’t going to be able to wish the door back open for me. (Why I wasn’t saying, “If only I had my keys…” is still a mystery to me.)

So I hauled the garbage out to the road, did a few calisthenics to keep any important parts of my body from freezing off, formulated a plan B (break a window) and plan C (start jogging down the road in my hot pink polka dotted flannel pants and flag down the local farmer on his combine… to what end, I have no idea) and then started searching for a key I thought I’d hidden somewhere on the property in case this ever happened, but, of course, had no clear idea of where I actually hid it.

Somewhere in that 25 minutes of general insanity it occurred to me that I’ve been through some big life changes in the last six months, but up until this point I’d never actually taken the time to think through the implications of being single and somewhat isolated from the general public. For the last 5 years there has always been a partner to call on, or a close neighbor or family member just down the road, and to be honest, I got used to having that safety net.

The truth is, while there are plenty of friends and family members who would be there for me if I needed it, the only way I feel completely comfortable is being self sufficient. (From the girl who insisted on installing 14-foot long pieces of siding on the house all by herself, this is a shock, right?) And while I’ve been getting by on luck, it’s time to be a little more planful about my future life as a single girl living out in the country. So here’s my short list of must-haves I’ll be incorporating into Hillside Cottage for safety, comfort, and general quality of life.

1. Impossible To Get Locked Out Unless You Lose Your Actual Brain Door Hardware– At this point I’d say we don’t need any more context on why this is a good idea.

2. Door Entry Alert Chimes- I’m not a fan of of big security systems that require activation, deactivation, and potentially awkward explanations to local law enforcement. It doesn’t make me feel safer, and the truth is that even as a single woman, I’m not worried about being able to defend my home– perhaps you’ve heard, I’ve got good aim with a hammer. Okay, and I keep some heavy artillery around as a backup in case I miss. Regardless, I don’t need a full blown alarm system on my house, but since the main living space for Hillside Cottage is upstairs I have a feeling I could start straining my ears at the first sign of a noise on the main floor to determine whether or not to go on high alert. Some simple entry alert chimes will take the guesswork out of it.

3. Tractor/Mower – Well seriously, every country girl needs a tractor. More importantly, however, is the ability to plow myself out from under a foot of snow if winter around here starts acting like actual winter. Right now my big plan is to four-wheel-drive my way out of it, or just hole up in my house until spring.

This sub-compact tractor from Kubota can work as a mower, backhoe, loader, or post hole digger with the right attachments. I totally need one.

4. Generator - I’ve also been rolling the dice  when it comes to maintaining power in my rental. At least twice last year the power went out for 2 or more days, and I was in a much less rural area then. So getting a generator (and figuring how to hook it up to my panel) is high on the priority list, even though it’s hard to fork over the cash when it’s 50 degrees outside in February. Plus there are probably some other items on my Storm-slash-alien survival list that I need to start hoarding in the basement like a crazy person.

5. Bottle-less Water- This is more of an annoyance than a necessary-so-I-don’t-freeze-to-death item, but since all of my paper goods get burned, and my compostables go to the garden, my only recyclables are the dozens of plastic water bottles I go through a week. Dealing with hauling them to the recycling center was never actually my job before, but I can tell you this… it’s a pain in the butt. And even with a bigass softener on the house, the water where I’m at still has the distinct flavor of rusted nails. Or blood, if you’re feeling a little vampire-ish. So in an effort to save the environment and not end up buried in plastic water bottles, I think I need one of these:

And will go well with my favorite glass water bottles:

6. Remotely Accessible Thermostat – I once left my house in the middle of January for a long weekend in Vegas and while I did not come back married to a stranger, I did come back to a house whose interior temperature was somewhere around 12-degrees. When the water in your toilet bowl is frozen solid, you know there’s a problem. And since there isn’t anyone to check on the house for me when I’m away, one of these thermostats that can be monitored and controlled via iPhone is not just a cool trick, but an absolute necessity.

Okay, and it’s kind of a cool trick.

7. Independent Car Battery Jumper- I actually love my big SUV specifically because I’ve owned it for the better part of a decade with no mechanical problems (which includes the time I accidentally drove it into a ditch, where it laid on its side until AAA came, and then once all four wheels were on the ground, drove off just like new). I’m not sure if you can use a tractor to jump start a car battery, but if not, it probably couldn’t hurt me to have one of these around… at least until I give in and buy myself a vintage pickup to take up the third spot in my garage.

I feel pretty confident with these additions to my already enormous tool collection, I’ll be set to take on anything life throws at me– whether or not I’m stranded outside in the snow in my hot pink pajamas.

What tools and equipment do you keep on hand for self-sufficiency?

When I decided to rent an old farm house with a bunch of falling down buildings on the property there was a general debate going on in my family about whether or not I’d a.) lost my mind, or b.) become a full-blown hillbilly. Which, duh, I own donkeys. The question kind of answers itself. Especially when I find things these old moonshine jugs in one of my garages and am all, “Hey, I think those will look great in my living room.”

What? I washed them first. And, you know, added a little wiring…

This counts for at least one vote in the non-crazy category, right? Because I have to say, for minimal effort– not including scrubbing years worth of grime off the jugs– these Moonshine Lamps were a pretty quick, easy DIY project.

I started with a little research on lamp-parts. You can buy lamp kits online or at most hardware stores. Instead of going with a kit I decided to buy the parts piecemeal so I would have a little more flexibility with how I put it all together.

Here’s what I used:

• 2 big filthy glass jugs
• 2 lamp cords with outlet plugs
• 2 detachable lamp “harps” to hold the shades
• 2 light sockets
• A set of threaded “nipples” (hey, I didn’t package the things)
• Corks special ordered to fit the jugs from here
• Ceramic drill bit

After figuring out all the pieces and parts that I needed my first (and really, only) challenge of this project was drilling a hole in the glass jugs for the cord to enter. Luckily I had seven more bottles hanging out in the garage if this didn’t work, but– as with everything– when you have the right tools things go pretty smoothly.

I set the jug in the sink on a kitchen towel and let some cold water trickle over it, then I rested the ceramic bit on the glass and started drilling.

Note: I said “rested” not “pushed”. Drilling through glass or ceramic is a patience game. I never used more pressure than the weight of the drill, and once the bit broke through the glass and I was just widening the hole, I even lifted some pressure off. It took about 2 minutes of drilling to make a hole this size.

I didn’t push my luck and drill any more than was necessary for the cord to fit.

Slow and steady with very light pressure is the key (which I totally learned from this experience.) After I successfully drilled the holes then I went back and washed the jugs inside and out, then started playing with some of the wiring while they dried.

Here’s the basic assembly for the wiring:

Cord runs through nipple, connects to socket. Nipple runs through cork, holds harp, and is attached to socket. Easy enough.

The first thing was to get a hole through the cork stopper for the nipple to screw into. When I was looking at lamp kits most of them came with a black stopper to hold the nipple and socket in place, but not only was the stopper the wrong size for the opening of these bottles, I also wanted something a little more natural looking. Instead, I measured the bottle openings and ordered a couple different sizes of cork stoppers online.

Cork isn’t the easiest material to drill cleanly so I used a bit a few times smaller than the hole I needed, and I made sure I had some extras on hand which turned out to be a good call. Not such a good call? Drilling into cork right in the middle of the kitchen floor. As someone who views vacuuming with the same degree of excitement as having a splinter shoved under my fingernail, you’d think I would be more cautious about where I make my messes. You would be wrong.

In the end I had two corks fitted with nipples, and a small pile of cork-bits for the cat to roll around in and track through the entire house in the 15 minutes (okay fine, 45 minutes) it took me to get the shopvac out.

I thought I might have to use some silicone to keep the nipple in place, but it was actually a pretty snug fit without any adhesive. I may revisit that later, depending on how everything holds up.

The next thing I tackled was the light socket. Most sockets have the word “press” embossed on them somewhere, and when you squeeze the socket you can pop the bottom off and get at the guts of the wiring.

So here’s something new I learned about wiring during this project: If you look at a standard lamp cord, one of the wires will have an intent or colored stripe on the plastic sheathing of the “cord”… this is the neutral wire (attached to the bigger outlet prong). When everything goes together, this attaches to the silver screw. The other wire attaches to the gold screw, and then you’re in business.

Here’s a look at everything as I assembled it:

Cord through the jug, then the stopper, then the base of the harp, then the bottom of the socket. Then and only then do you start attaching the wires.

I may or may not have gotten excited about getting things to light up and forgot to put the base of the harp on the first time around, but I got there eventually.

And the moment of truth:

All that’s left is adding a lamp shade.

Unfortunately I bought the one kind of shade that doesn’t work with this style of harp, so this is just a mock-up of how it will look eventually, but you get the idea.  All in all the lamp cost about $25 to put together, not including the shade.

I love the glass, but I’m thinking it might need to be dressed up a bit with a fun label like this:

{The work of Simon Walker found via Found, Flea & Free}

But for now, I’m just happy to have a little extra light.

If all goes well– and, as someone who almost just lost the tip of a finger to a kitchen utensil (the irony of that is not lost on me, by the way) I can attest that occasionally all does not go well– but assuming the best relating to fingertips and floor plans for the rest of this week, by Friday I’ll have a full set of complete plans in my slightly bandaged hand.

For those of you who don’t know, I often threaten to lose a finger to one of my big power tools but very rarely try to make good on the promise through sheer stupidity. Today was an exception.* Relating to the more important topic of this post, however, I started working with my favorite architect on the plans for my new little cottage about two months ago, and we’ve just about hit the finish line for the first phase of this project. Here’s a quick recap of the process:

• I started out with a few ideas, general size, list of requirements, and inspiration photos, which I talked over with my architect back in November.

• The first version of the floor plan (and some rough sketches of the elevation) were ready to look at just before Thanksgiving. I spent a few weeks looking over them, got some other opinions, and came up with a short list of changes.

• The plans were refined, and a set of floor plans and elevations was ready for final tweaking, which included just a few small changes.

Which brings us to today, about eight weeks later, where I’ll soon have a full set of plans (which will include things like the foundation plan, roof plan and structure details) that can be used for cost estimates, lumber takeoffs, cabinet plans, and making scale cutouts of my furniture to play a grownup version of dollhouse with. Oh yeah, and building the thing.

I can tell you my fingers are itching to pick up hammer and get to work, but there’s quite a bit more planning and prep (and that one pesky detail about finding a place to build it) before the sawdust starts flying. The biggest decision I have to make at this point is how much work I’ll be doing on the cottage, and who will be helping me with the rest.

With  the DIY House Addition on Memorial the idea was to do as much of the construction myself as possible. There were a couple of things going for me with that project, like the ability to live on site (albeit in a garage), the fact that the utilities were already hooked up, and, of course, I happened to have live-in help with the heavy lifting.

The story for Hillside Cottage is a bit different. Unless I decide to take crazy to a whole new level and live in my car for a few months (not entirely implausible) I won’t be able to stay on site. And with a much shorter timeline– my lease is up in four months– I don’t have the luxury of juggling the building after hours and on the weekends like I did with Memorial. Which means I’m going to have to do the one thing I hate most: Ask for help.

Well, let’s be honest here… pay for help. With Memorial I essentially acted as the general contractor for the subs we used, and while I’m considering doing the same for Hillside Cottage, it’s probably going to go a lot faster if I get someone to manage the details. So I’ve started the process of finding a builder who– god willing– I won’t be tempted to hit over the head with a shovel and bury in the back yard in the next six months.

While I haven’t had any outstanding contractor experiences yet (which explains why I decided to get my own builders license) I have learned a lot along the way, so here’s what I’m doing to make sure I get the best fit for my project:

1. Asking around. First on my list of people to talk to are contractors other people have used and had good experiences with. As it turns out, however, not a lot of people have built a house without some drama. I also went outside the box on this one and contacted the building inspector and one of the guys who taught my builders licensure classes in the area for recommendations– if you want to know who does good work and who doesn’t, the guy who inspects all the buildings is the person to ask.
2. Getting multiple quotes (and multiple types of quotes). With one exception we had good experiences with everyone who worked on Memorial, but for things like the rough framing and HVAC, we we under a time crunch and didn’t get multiple quotes. Big mistake. Not only am I asking for detailed quotes from multiple builders, I’m asking to have them itemized so I know what projects it makes the most money sense for me to tackle myself.
3. Asking for references– and going to see the work. I absolutely will not hire anyone to build me a house without seeing the type of work they’ve done for other people first hand. Its not just about trust, it’s about the fact that we might have different definitions of the word “good.”
4. Checking them out. I don’t solely rely on reviews posted on the internet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t do a good number of google searches on anyone I’m thinking about working with. An actual good old fashioned type-their-name-in-google search is a good way to go, as is checking them out on the BBB website, Angie’s List, and verifying that they are actually licensed. For more information about rules regarding people who build houses, check out this post.

While I do have some lamps and a bed to build, for the next two weeks my focus is going to be getting a piece of property under contract and searching out the right builder. Then it’s full steam ahead with material take-offs and building stuff for the new place.

Do any of you have good/bad contractor experiences to share or any insight on how to find the best builder?

*Also, for any of you who are actually worried about my finger (hi mom!) despite the copious amounts of blood it basically turned out to be a really bad puncture. 17 hours later I can tell you I’m not going to loose the finger, but I have lost all feeling on half of my finger tip… here’s hoping that comes back to me in the next couple of days or the number of typos on this website is going to quadruple.

I actually feel like I should start out this post by apologizing for the pictures it contains. Actually, if you’ve eaten recently, or are thinking about eating in the next, oh, eternity, you might want to skip this one. Unless, of course, you have a sink that is draining poorly and a strong constitution, in which case, read on.

This is one of those pesky little issues I’ve been meaning to deal with in the Farm House Rental since I moved in. The one bathroom sink wasn’t draining at all, which made things like brushing my teeth and washing my face a huge chore.

Still, I had a pretty good idea about what I was going to find when I started dismantling things, and it took me the better part of two months to work myself up to this. Back when I was in college, my rather less DIY-prone roommate once had to use a plunger to unclog a toilet– I happened to catch a glimpse of her heading into the bathroom carrying the plunger out in front of her like a sword and wearing a rain poncho, chem lab goggles, rubber gloves that came up to her elbows, and a bandana across her face like an old-school train robber. Which, about the time I was partially wedged in this mess…

Seemed like not such a bad idea.

Here’s a pretty good idea of what goes on under the usual bathroom sink. I’m by no means a plumber or plumbing expert, but I’ve installed enough bathroom sinks now to guess that either somewhere in the bend of the P-trap, or possibly where the stopper and pivot rod connect, something was keeping the water from going down.

I tried removing the actual P-trap, but like many things in this house (the hot water washing machine hose, and anode rod in the hot water tank, for example) the damn thing was rusted on so tight that no amount of leverage and swearing from my 5’3″ frame was going to get it off. Well, I mean, I own a hammer, I could have gotten it off, but it seemed likely I would break some things in the process.

Instead I focused on this little problem area. In a proper setup, the pivot rod there goes through one of the holes in the clevis, which is what makes the stopper open and close when you pull on the rod behind the faucet. Clearly that’s not what I had going on here…

In order to remove the stopper I had to remove the pivot rod by unscrewing the little plastic nut that holds it in place.

Then, brace yourself, I got this…

Ugh. Ugh. I can’t even…

That’s a mixture of hair, grossness, and pure evil.

Then I pulled the stopper out of the sink and I really think the only thing that kept me from vomiting was that I knew I was going to write this post and have to admit it if I did.

It would have been better (for cleaning purposes, but worse for curbing my desire to take a bath in straight bleach) if I could have pulled the trap and drain apart and cleaned everything that way, but instead I settled for digging out the clog with a long screwdriver.

There was about three times this much gunk when it was all said and done, but I seriously couldn’t bring myself to look at or take pictures of it. (I’m actually writing this entire post in code view, specifically so I don’t have to look at it now.)

After I thought I’d reasonably cleared out the drain I shoved a paper towel in the hole where the pivot rod was and then ran the water for a minute to make sure it was draining fine without the stopper in place. (It was, thankfully.) Then I soaked all of the sink parts in an bleach bath for 30 minutes.

In the meantime, I literally cleaned every square inch of the bathroom first with bleach, then with a swiffer, then with my steam mop. That right there should tell you how grossed out I was by this, because half the time it’s a battle for me just to pick my clothes up off the floor, and here I was all channeling Mr. Clean.

Once everything was clean and ready to be reassembled, I started by putting the stopper back in the drain, with the hole at the bottom of the stopper lined up with the hole for the pivot rod. Then the pivot rod went back in (through the clevis, this time) and I tested everything out to make sure it worked.

Would you look at that…

And, no water left standing in the sink.

I am still really grossed out by this (and you may think I’m over reacting, but holy hell… this isn’t my house, and that wasn’t my gunk clogging up the sink) but I am also really glad I finally got this taken care of. And I really can’t wait to have Hillside cottage with it’s brand new bathrooms built.

Anyone else have tips for tackling a clogged drain?

Honestly, if I were a better person, I would be picking up the random piles of laundry strewn about the house instead of trying to take pictures of myself lifting my fifty pound miter saw up over my head. By the way, this is as far as I got…

Yeah, that was the shot they chose not to use in this months issue of The Family Handyman, and I can’t imagine why. You don’t find that grimace-trying-to-be-a-smile appealing?

Seriously, out of probably over 50 shots, that was the second best option. The first being this one, which I have to admit, looks way more poised than I felt at that moment.

I think I slumped over the saw just after taking this picture and played dead for 10 minutes until I could feel my arms again. So graceful.

Anyway, in perusing the articles in this months issue, I have to say I’m pretty excited about the box-closet-organization project featured on the cover and the article on pro tips for installing stone veneer, since I’ve been meaning to try my hand at that for years now.

However, my next big project will be something off of my current Project List. I’ve recently cleared a couple off, and here’s what it looks like right now:

1. Chicken Coop Coffee Table – Done!
2. Paint end tables
3. Pipe Dream Bed
4. Paint (or build) new vanity – Or, find one at a junk store you absolutely must have. Done!
5. Finish tool boxes

I’m replacing one of those with my moonshine-bottles-turned-lamps project that I have almost all of the parts for (but which I’ve been avoiding because cleaning old glass bottles is remarkably like doing dishes and gives me a twitch in my right eye). Whether or not I dive into the big pipe dream bed project or something else this weekend remains to be seen.

Also, if the power of positive thinking has any effect on things like searching for property to build a little cottage on, I could use some good vibes from everyone right now. After driving around for five hours one day last week I believe I found just the right piece of land, which, of course, was not for sale. But I’m hoping that a.) I found the developer that actually owns it, b.) he responds to my email, and c.) he’s willing to sell at a reasonable price.

Fingers crossed.

First of all, I am admittedly not a chicken expert (yet) but I’m pretty sure this isn’t actually a “coop”. It’s probably more of a chicken-packing-crate or something, but that just doesn’t have the same ring to it. One thing I feel comfortable stating unequivocally however, is that its intended purpose was not storing books and hot beverages (the chicken poop covering it was a big hint) but look what happens when you go and give a girl power tools.

Other than the part where I basically got to second base with this behemoth on the car ride back from the resale shop, this was a pretty easy project. Almost embarrassingly easy when you consider how long it took me to actually get it done.

Here’s how it started…

I used a stiff brush on the chicken poop. (Talk about things you never thought you’d admit in public. My life is so glamorous.) And then I hit the top of the coop with the orbital sander and some 100 grit to get rid of any potential splinters, but not enough to take away the nice aged look.

Here’s a pro-tip: scouring poop off of old wood is infinitely more bearable if you’re also inhaling copious amounts of spray-paint fumes at the same time. Just sayin.

After several experiments in aging, I finished off the casters with a coat of gold on the brackets and a mist of flat black over it.

While they dried, I also tackled scraping and cleaning the inside of the coop, and tacking some loose parts back in place.

Then, because I knew I wanted easy access to store things inside the coop, I decided to remove the wood dowels from the back side. It was a perfect job for my Sonicrafter.

Once the wheels were dry I bolted them in place…

And there you have it. Chicken coop turned coffee table.

Let me just say this. Once you attach four bigass steel casters to something, it becomes infinitely harder to carry up a flight of rickety basement stairs. This is now the heaviest piece of furniture I own. But well worth that five seconds where I thought for sure I was going to do a header down onto the basement floor.

I love the way it looks, even though I think it will “go” a lot better in Hillside Cottage (you know, once I finally find property and build it) than it does in the rental. And since my obsession with collecting books is second only to my obsession with collecting tools, the extra storage is awesome. (Plus, as you can see, using my new old drill as a paperweight allows me to indulge in both obsessions in one 6 sq ft space.)

Either way, for less than $40, I’m pretty sure this is my favorite coffee table ever. Even if it was once covered in chicken poop.

I really feel like this one should be called “the little girl who heaved a table onto her back, ran across two lanes of traffic and a parking lot, and shoved it into her SUV while half of Ann Arbor stopped dead in their tracks to gape at her” that could. Because I totally did.

Side note: For those of us who don’t have the wingspan to just grab either side of a table and pick it up by ourselves, the best thing you can do is bend the top half of your body down until you look like a sideways L, crouch-crawl under the table, and then stand up with the table on your back and two of the legs resting on your shoulders. You’ll look like an idiot, but it makes moving the table by yourself fifty times easier.

And in this case it was well worth the loss of my dignity…

If you recall a few days ago I shared some of the updates to my temporary bedroom, and it looked something like this.

That old table was bothering me so I was planning to give it a coat of paint, but after the great Junk Hunt this weekend I started to get other ideas.

Actually, what happened was that I started obsessing about this table.

When I first posted about it Sarah from Renewed Upon a Dream mentioned that she had just been to that store and the table was still there. Then I started picturing the dozens of people flocking to town specifically to find a little green $30 table, and I broke out into a cold sweat and had to call the store then and there to put it on hold. Seriously.

Then Katy and I went on the Junk Hunt Part 2: Speed Round (see what she got here) to pick up our treasures, which resulted in the afore mentioned human game of frogger.

All so I could have a new… um, well I don’t know exactly what you call this. I want to call it a vanity, but this baby is a vanity, right? So I guess we can just refer to my new little table as the five square feet in this house where I actually act like a girl.

See?

Physical proof that I do indeed brush my hair, though you wouldn’t know it by any of the 8,453 pictures of me posted on this website.

(And yes, that is my rustic wood wall art you spy reflected in the mirror.)

So the little table needs a little work. Clearly it’s missing the front drawer, and I think I’m going to reattach the first plank of the top of the table with hinges and build a cubby underneath for a larger storage space.

Then I might put a few hooks here for the three necklaces I own. Or maybe my tape measure. Whatever.

And then I plan to hang a little wire basket off the other side to store miscellaneous hair torture devices like that bright pink straighter.

So, the first thing that kept me from buying that table right of the bat was that I love the little machinist stool I bought to use with my vanity, but it looks better “unscrewed” to a greater height, so I wanted a taller table to use with it. But, then I decided all I need to do is buy a matching stool (or two?) and use them at my bar space in the cottage kitchen.

Then I can paint the old table (or something) and use it in the small entryway by the half bath downstairs.

See how brilliantly I justified that purchase in less than 24 hours? Yeah. It’s a gift.

But all jokes aside, I am thrilled with this little beat-up table. Now I just need a new little stool to go with it. I sense a Junk Hunt Part 3 not too far out on the horizon.