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The Raising of the Onstad Deckola, 2024
🕑 Added 2024-03-25 22:45:35 +0000 UTCThe evening before my parents, Lauren, and I descended upon Hayden's farm to build a new pergola out of the old fort, I sensed complications arising. Everyone in the group, it seemed, had their own carpentry background — some professional, but most autodidact — and the gutters of Babel soon overran with incompatible visions for the simple structure. (Please advance to Slide No. 2, in which you will observe Hayden's phone-sketch of his desired installation.)
Regrouping in our private chambers that night, Lauren and I reflected upon the threat that even the most loving and well-meaning group of people poses to the simplest of goals, and talked through a fairly foolproof blueprint. It contained little space for misinterpretation or hurt feelings, but maximal space for a cute little patio set and a flowering clematis. We loaded the family vehicle the next morning, drove happily to the farm, and set out our tools and materials.
(I will omit the tale of our stop at the Bob's Red Mill headquarters, store, and cafe, as that is a story unto itself, but suffice it to say that my father was finally able to try his favorite oatmeal as prepared in the hall of the master himself.)
Once at the farm, another challenge quickly arose, of course. Enter into the project's dynamic the inexorable nature of generations, each naturally trying to teach those beneath it its hard-won wisdom — while the generation below rolls its eyes and wonders how the former ever wound up with so much as matching shoes on — and you will witness afresh the seized bolt that fastens the wheel of our shared human experience: "man plans, god laughs."
Over a dozen inaccurately-placed holes were dug for the structure's six footings (many by me). My ever-supportive mother tried to stick a pry-block beneath a crowbar I was using to remove a nail — in mid-yank — and nearly got brained when the bar flew free. A conversation about the decline of the Craftsman tool company threatened to spill over into personal territory. Despite all this, though, progress, somehow, ground forward.
I would like to have taken a more active role in the actual carpentry. However, soon realizing that the best use of me was not the pergola itself, but rather the architecting of a day that would be a happy multigenerational memory for my kid — and not a memory of how dysfunctional, traumatic, and even acutely concussive days with family can be — I took a breather, walked 'round a tree a few times, and returned to the job site determined to harmonize the players.
Enter Fenway the farm dog.
As we Doozers carried boards and tools around like five Roombas in a screensaver, Fenway appeared at the top of the hill, barking in his characteristic (moronic, ceaseless) way.
Fenway is a very large black Lab, and in his senescence he has developed a little case of doggie Alzheimer's. So bark, bark, bark he came, bounding down the hill with his lopey, ungainly body, rear feet at times above his head, tail swinging like the blade of a wounded helicopter. A full three hundred yards he noisily travelled before stopping like a military drone and urinating directly onto the side of my mother's beloved purple leather Coach purse. He then ran all the way back from where he had come, barking all the while.
Fenway's comedic relief had the magic of relaxing everyone (except mom, but particularly dad) into a form of cooperation, and before long we had the deck graded, the posts squared, and the beams leveled. It was time for the family photo (I regret that the one included with this piece excludes Lauren, who, by any measure, should have been seated at center, like old Isambard Brunel) and trip to Black Bear Diner. Black Bear Diner is one of the few restaurants where my parents know all of the saturated fat and sodium numbers of each dish, so there is always plenty of fun conversation. Soon the table groaned beneath grapefruit-sized biscuits and chicken-fried steaks, good-natured ribbing was evenly distributed, and dad waved away my offer to help split the check. All was as it should be.
Yesterday, two weeks after my folks left, I drove back to the farm. In a steady gray Oregon drizzle — the sort that beads on wool — Hayden learned how to cut with the circular saw, drill a pilot hole, and use the impact driver. We added decorative lattice and trim, and made plans for more. We identified a rafter in the barn where he can hang a silk for aerial gymnastics, another of the daisy-chained projects that center our visits. We then had our traditional chewy-hashbrowns lunch and chat at Shari's (this time: the politics of riding clinics).
Back at the farm, our visit drawing to a close, he gave me a better-than-usual hug, and went inside to enjoy some of his birthday tea. I drove the hour home, double- and triple-checking with myself for the assurance I'd been a good dad. There are many years to make up for, but we are all, miraculously, present for the amends.
Comments
C C
I feel much better about this, I just knew you would have that covered. Should have trusted my instincts.
Chris Onstad
(Also, I was taking this particular load about ten blocks through a quiet neighborhood)
Chris Onstad
Man we don’t go nowhere with a clown load like that, we lash and snap and pray twice and uninstall the radio and sell the phone back to the store
C C
All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and the spirit of Ramses Luther Smuckles possessed me when I saw the cargo in the back of that vehicle and one puny sun bleached bungie hanging from another bungie connected to god knows where. Probably a wiper blade or a bumper sticker about not minding your own business. Please tell me you own cargo straps that are located just out of the frame and this picture was taken right before you secured your load.
Sho
This was a nice read. For me, while the work sucked in the moment (as I am a lazy fellow), I cherish the memories of working with my family on carpentry projects. The only thing sadly missing from this piece is a photo of Fenway.
Nicholas Williams
When will you formally introduce us to your Great Uncle Skellen Bonesmaann?
Julie (HiDeeHoGal)
Blue passionflower, orange honeysuckle (native to PNW), woodbine (a type of wild clematis), morning glory, and clockvine. Roses and wisterias and jasmines are nice climbers/danglers but tend to grow slowly. The real monster climbers like kudzu and Virginia creeper I don't recommend for obvious reasons. Hope this helps.
Chris Onstad
Would you mind naming a couple that will establish / climb really fast here? I am setting up some privacy screens. Thanks!
Julie (HiDeeHoGal)
The blue ones are definitely pretty and the most common cultivar you can buy. If it doesn't establish there are a ton of rapidly growing climbers that would work in that zone.
Mrbimbin
Really enjoyable read :)
Chris Onstad
Hm. All I know about clematis is there was one at the old house and it grew like a demon. I don't like waiting around for plants. It was either white or blue, and that was fine with me. Maybe it was a carnation. I'm not great at plants, but I like planting them.
Julie (HiDeeHoGal)
The structure turned out nicely. Native clematis or a more showy cultivar?
Chris Onstad
If you're looking for simple...we did not take that approach. The documentation would look kind of like several overlays of Family Circuses where Jeffy gets electrocuted by robot dogs.
Stavro
Great photos and a surprisingly delightful read! Not sure why I expected a more simple play by play, but it was very pleasant to instead get a lovely narrative. Thonstad
