(Read Part 1 of How To Unfinish A Basement here.)
Step Four: Shortening The Walls
The lower portion of the walls had soaked up a lot of water. Mold and mildew were definitely present, so we had to remove some of the (no longer) dry wall. At each corner, we measured two feet up from the sub floor, using a chalk line to mark the height. Kate cut along each chalk line using a utility knife, and then we were able to punch the lower portion of each wall out, mostly using the hammer and our feet. We had shut off the power to the outlets before starting, for safety, and Dad had removed the baseboard heaters. Behind the external walls, we encountered sodden, nasty-looking insulation (think gray instead of pink) so we pulled it out (with gloves on), bagged it up, and added it to the trash heap. Continue reading “How To Unfinish A Basement (Part 2)”
Our house was a steal of a deal any way you slice it. Homes in rural Nova Scotia tend not to break the bank unless they are outlandishly sized or on really large lots. Our little bungalow on its half acre came at a great price, and one key selling point was its large, newly renovated basement. The upstairs was dated to say the least, and would (eventually) need new flooring, trim, paint, etc. The basement, though, looked pretty good. It had freshly painted walls, new doors, and lovely laminate flooring. It was live-in ready.
We never got to live in it. It completely flooded before we managed to move in. And even as we forced ourselves to see the silver lining of not having lost any of our possessions to water damage, it was still a hard pill to swallow that the finished basement we had only seen once was already gone. Continue reading “How To Unfinish A Basement (Part 1)”
Kate and I arrived in Nova Scotia on a Thursday. We had driven our way across a large portion of our nation, and in the middle of December, no less. The weather had been largely on our side. We had some cold days, sure, but they were clear, and we had bare roads (or close to bare roads) the whole way… almost.
With approximately 50 km left to go in a 4,874 km journey, we hit snow. Our tiny, adorable vehicle carved its way through thick layers of white, fighting to hold her own against the wind. We traveled at approximately half speed, four-ways flashing, and we squinted to read the exit signs as we passed. Our entire cross-Canada trek had consisted of about fifty solid hours of winter driving, and this last leg was by far the most excruciating.
That experience set the tone for everything that followed. Continue reading “The Waiting Game”