Bunker Mentality–
A.V. Walters–
We’re building. It’s a small footprint, our cabin at the edge of the woods. We picked the site for its view across the valley, and so that we’d get sheltering shade in the summer. We are months behind schedule. If I were the type, I’d be getting close to panicky. On our walks, I note that we’re seeing the occasional flash of early color in the trees
Initially, we had weather delays—frost well into May, administrative delays—title and permitting problems and then, a comedy of errors on the foundation.
This county requires that building plans be prepared by an architect or a licensed “building designer.” Since we’d already drawn up our plans, we went with the building designer method—to check for technical and structural details, and to make the plans look professional. We informed the designer that there was a slope to the property—but he wasn’t concerned—I guess he figured it wasn’t his department.
When the approvals were finally complete, we hired a local mason to build the foundation. Though Rick is a builder, there are very good reasons to hire out parts of the job to those with greater experience. Most of our building proficiency is from California, where foundations are usually poured concrete (with lots of rebar reinforcement.) California has earthquakes, and they take their foundations seriously. Michigan foundations are often built with concrete block—especially for smaller buildings like our little cabin. It’s heavy work and we are not young.
The plans called for a crawlspace—just enough of a foundation to meet the frost requirements for local code. It’s a cabin, nestled into the gently sloping hillside, with a cozy, low profile. We knew we might have some adjustments because of the slope. We consulted with the mason. He didn’t see a problem, maybe a couple of extra courses of block. He instructed Rick on exactly how he wanted the excavation to be done. Rick did the digging, per instructions, with the Kubota. As he did so, it started to look like the back-side of the hole was a lot deeper than the mason had described.
On the mason’s return, he too, was surprised by the depth of the hole. He accused Rick of not digging level and true. Measurement proved that it was almost perfect, (a little less than a half inch off, across a forty-foot run.) The mason shrugged. He’d have to go at least an extra two courses of block—and he submitted a revised bid. We nodded. The price seemed fair. After all, what do we know from masonry?
A day or so later, he advised that the wall sill wasn’t high enough, to address issues of drainage and slope, he’d have to go yet higher. This crawlspace was exceeding crawl (except in timing.) We’d gone past duck walk to homo-erectus—though still not a legal height basement. I ran down to the County permits department to advise of the change. The clerk asked me why we didn’t just go all the way, for a full basement. Oh no, it’s just a little cabin. That would be thousands of dollars more and we didn’t really need a basement. It’s a cabin—and with the extra height, we’d be giving up on that snuggled-into-the-hillside look.
It was a Friday night. I went into town for milk and beer. I ran into our buddy, Linus, from up the road. He was picking up a pizza. Linus works at one of the cherry farms, but used to be in heavy-equipment and construction. During cherry harvest he works long days—and pizza-to-go is part of the equation.
“How’s it going with the foundation?”
“Well, it’s a lot deeper than we thought. We’re up to ten courses.”
He nodded. “So you’ll be pouring a floor, then?”
I shook my head. “No, we’ll still keep it to a crawl space—now, it’s just a tall one.”
“No, you’ll be pouring a floor… a four-inch slab.” It wasn’t a question.
I looked up at him. “We really weren’t planning on a full basement, it’s too high.”
“I doesn’t matter. At ten courses, you pour a floor for stability.” He was nodding his head with certainty. He doesn’t talk much, and, for him, this was pushy.
“Yeah? You think so?”
“Four inches—no less.” His pizza was up. He nodded at me, “Tell Rick I said so.”
The weekend was a running debate. We had to have a serious discussion with the mason. Could this be true? Why hadn’t he said anything? Rick reconfigured the plans for a full basement, just in case. If you have to pour a floor, you might just as well go the full twelve courses for a legal basement. And, if you’re putting in a full basement on a slope, you should put in a door on the downslope for a walkout, and, yeah, maybe a window, for light. We tried to imagine our little cabin, perched up on an eight-foot high, block foundation. A bunker. An eyesore! “Don’t worry,” Rick assured me, “If we have to go this route, we’ll bury as much as we can. We’ll landscape it.”
Monday morning was telling. Rick put it direct to the mason. “A friend said we should be pouring a four-inch, slab floor—for structural reasons—any truth to that?”
The mason didn’t meet his eyes. He scuffed his boot in the sand. After a long silence, he offered, “Well, it is a good idea.” Why hadn’t he said anything before? That made the decision. I zipped up to the county offices with Rick’s revised plans. The clerk nodded.
“You won’t regret it, a basement is really handy.” She smiled, a little smug. But, she’d been right.
For the next couple of days we watched as the courses of concrete block grew, towering above us. We looked for the bright side. You can always use extra storage… right? Rick could have a shop downstairs. We could move the laundry down there, too. And, we told ourselves, the added height gave us a hell of a view from the front porch. The foundation price was now double the original bid. We sighed and wrote progress payments.
During the foundation work the mason’s little daughter took ill. Really ill. She was hospitalized for over a week. Though we only lost one “official” day of work, the family’s trials cost in “attention” time. Who could blame him? If I had a little one at risk, I’d be glued to her. These are the important things in life. We were happy to accommodate.
We did have a little tiff over the details of the floor. We wanted a vapor barrier under the slab. The mason didn’t want to deal with it. We insisted. It wasn’t the norm, he said. He got more than a little grumpy about it. In the end, we’re the owners—we insisted and prevailed.
With the block work and floor complete, the only remaining thing was to insert the rebar and pour concrete into the wall cores. We were anxious for completion—because then the project would be ours again. With us at the helm, we could make up for some lost time. Rick asked the mason about the rebar placement. Given his California roots, Rick was concerned about what looked to be sparse reinforcement. After all, we’d doubled the wall height, so for structural reasons, now was not the time to go light on strength.
The mason threw a fit. Was Rick questioning his professional integrity? He was almost yelling now. The mason went to his truck and took out his copy of the Michigan Code Book. He shook it in Rick’s face. “It’s all in here. I don’t go by California code. I go by Michigan rules. We don’t have earthquakes here!” He threw the book back into the cab of his truck and left for the day.
Tired of being at a disadvantage, Rick came home, went online, and purchased his own copy of the Michigan Code book. But, in the meantime, we had little choice but to trust the mason. He came the next day for the “final pour.” It was a relief. After our inspection, scheduled for the following Monday, we’d finally be able to start our building process. I paid the mason.
Well, “we” failed the inspection. California, Michigan, it doesn’t matter. The code is pretty much the same, no matter, and the amount of rebar in our foundation didn’t meet code. (So much for “professional integrity.”)
I emailed the mason. He called, livid, like it was our fault—accused us of pissing-off the building inspector. We told him to speak to the Inspector, himself. Apparently, that conversation set him straight. We didn’t even have to say that he should read his own Code Book, instead of shaking it in our faces. He was whipped and compliant.
It took another week to get it finished. The inspector told him exactly what he expected in reinforcement—even more than what code would have required, but by this time, the mason was cowed and obedient. We helped with the final pour. Now we have the strongest foundation in the county, a literal bunker. If there’s ever a tornado or a hurricane, we know where to go. Oh yeah, and turns out the vapor barrier, we fought over, is Code, too!
The foundation took a little over a month. Not too bad, considering all the changes and hiccoughs. It’ll be nice to have a basement, and there’ll be that incredible view from the front porch.
Ugg. I feel for you. Building our house here was one of the most stressful things I’ve ever had to deal with. We had a personable and seemingly expert contractor who turned out to be dishonest and on the verge of bankruptcy. We were lucky to get the house built at all and it took much longer than we’d planned for. Hopefully you’ll be happily settled in someday soon and this mess will be a distant and fading memory.
For what it’s worth, we have a basement and it is extremely helpful to us. We use it to store root vegetables, animal feed and (of course) our overflow of books. We process all of our orders down there. I’m very glad we have it even though I didn’t think we needed it when we built the house.
When we built our barn the contractor (a different one) eyeballed the slope and said very little grading would be necessary. He was wrong. By the time it was level the building pad looked like a small mountain. I was livid. This will look terrible, I told him. He was apologetic but what could he do at that point. We went ahead with it and as it turns out it looks fine. Not at all the eyesore I feared. In fact, if I was building again I’d want it the way it looks now. I’m hoping you have that experience too.
All best wishes. Someday soon you’ll be having a glass of wine on your front porch and all those stressful days will be behind you. 🙂
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Thank you for the pep talk. I’m not too stressed out about it, mostly because now we get to start with the building. It’s always much better if you can roll up your sleeves and do something! I have a long history is issues with contractors, partly because they don’t like to deal uppity women, and because early in my career I did construction defects litigation. I flat out know too much.
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I have to say, reading this in my leather office chair, surrounded by well-built walls and floors, it was riveting. Couldn’t stop even to refill my coffee. I even chuckled a few times–with you. I used to build in California (so I understand your comment about uppity women, probably even relate to it) and have read our entire Uniform Building Code. I actually enjoyed it–I think you’ll get into Michigan’s because it will all be so relevant.
I don’t get the builder–how could he not comply with the code? I assume it’s specific, not subjective. Codes usually are.
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Jacqui, I’m beginning to think your past is as checkered as mine! In his defense, the mason was under a lot of family stress. I suppose he just didn’t make the mental (and structural) steps from a low crawlspace to a full basement. For my part, I thought my days of owning my own set of code books was in my past. I tried to stay out of it, after it became clear that the mason and his worker REALLY objected to taking comments or instruction from me. In the future, I’m just going to say my piece (peace) and let the chips fall where they may. On that very last day, we got a delivery driver who was new. On the pour he missed and filled a good bit of the new basement with fresh concrete! Rick and I just picked up our shovels and went in to fix it. What was supposed to be a spectator sport turned into three hours of hard labor. Still, we got it all up and out. The mason was working alone that day; there’s no way he could have managed both the pour and the mess. We shudder to think what the result would have been, had we not been there.
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Wow, what a great story. I marvel at your courage and calm.
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I hardly find courage in the mix. But I do a great calm.
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Good grief, Alta – what a story. Like Jacqui, I sat back and read this with a coffee in my hand. A very riveting story indeed. Your friend Linus reminds me of the fellows I deal with at the farm every day, real salt-of-the-earth types. I also dealt with people like the mason when the RUC was being erected and they’re very frustrating indeed. I’m so glad you’ll now have a view from your porch. I’m looking forward to the next installment, but hope it’s not as edge-of-seat like this one. May things go smoothly for you from now on 😉
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At least, for the most part, from here on in, if there are troubles, it’ll be because of us! We are working hard everyday, resulting in sore muscles, bruises, and steady progress. Welcome back!
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