I promised I’d share some of the roofing tips I learned while spending a week on dad’s roof.
So here you go:
I know how important it is to get photos and of the people you love… and 
with the people you love... even if they are sometimes reticent. 
This last one was especially hard. So I had to get tough and make them pretend they liked each other. You can see it was a real challenge.
Yes I did! I used chipotle marshmallows from Bobbette & Belle to make s'mores!
When Matt, Sarah and Allyson discussed making Chipotle Marshmallows for Matt’s twisted Tacos de Mole dish at the last Secret Pickle Supper Club, I couldn’t get the thought of using them for S’mores out of my head.
These Chipotle Marshmallows aren’t readily available. They were a custom flavour Sarah & Allyson, from Bobbette & Belle, made for the Pastry Pickle
So when I saw a little pile of marshmallows left over after the dinner I snagged a small stash of them for marketing and experimentation purposes… i.e. playing with food with friends.
The proportions were off in the s’more since I needed thinner chocolate or bigger marshmallows (or both). But they were still damned tasty!
On the off chance you don’t know how to make a S’more, here’s the recipe:
The first roof I helped roof was on my god-father, Ferdinand Vigneau's camp. I was 3 or 4. Walking across the roof of Ferd's camp, carrying nails to my father and waving at the very infrequent passers-by at the bottom of the Moss Glen Road, I felt so useful, capable and empowered. (yes, I know it sounds so neo-fem, but it's the best word to describe how I remember feeling standing on the end one pudgy hand clamped around those galvenized roofing nails and the other waving.)
The last roof I helped roof was on our house on the island 25 years ago. I was young, light, strong and spry. I lifted, hauled, hammered, clambered,lept and balanced like a parkour roofer. It was an incredible feeling to be so high up, balanced and balancing on the peaks and fixing such an important structure.
I was on that roof again today. Less spry, less light, much less flexible. All the hauling was done (thank you Molly, Jason, Sandy, Mary Jo, Gerry & Dad). Molly & Jason had gotten a good start on the roof and given us a good refresher before Gerry and I took up the hammers.
That said, it felt amazing to be back up there!
And we've gotten a solid chunk of work done! 19rows (albeit very short rows) the first day, before my knees called it quits. And another 6 today before the rain started
Slow and steady keeps the house dry!
We've been working on cleaning up our house on the island and that means there has been a lot of stuff that needed to be disposed of. Our house, now named The Boathouse was the place where all the kids hung out back in the day when there were big parties here - the Annual Tea Party being one of them. We'd cover the second floor with sleeping bags and have an evening filled with ghost stories and giggles. Imagine a summer camp run by hippies with a single bunk house for all the kids. (Of course I've never been to summer camp, so I'm guessing.)
The Boathouse, formally known as Robert's Cottage and later Clark & Sue's, ended up being used more as a storehouse than anything else. There were stacks of old baskets, wicker and woven leather sandals from our old basket shop in the market (think Pier One merged with a head shop). Empty bottles from years of home brewing wine, beer and even root beer. Straw and hay bedding from when the house was used as a lambing shed. Bits and pieces from at least 10 bicycles... sails, plywood, paddles, bits of this, bits of that. The stuff that accumulates over 35 years on an island.
The problem is a lot of it is unusable - broken wicker, moldy bedding, wet boxes filled with wetter cardboard... so was time for a fire!
Now there was a lot of loose talk about a big bonfire, but when you live on a small island it is much safer, and by extension, much smarter, to have controlled fires during the day and when the wind is low. An out of control fire when you can't call the fire department, and have no where to run but the middle of a river, is a dangerous thing.
So we burned, slow and steady, a bunch of my past. And it felt good.
We burnt a little more history when Gerry used dad's whisky to flambée dinner.
It was one of those days when you reach into the cooler to pull out a roast of beef to barbecue and pull out a pork roast. And what do you do when you pull out a pork roast? Make Pulled Pork of course!
So the rub got assembled:
The Aardvark is a handmade wood and canvas kayak. (Not made by me). Unfortunately canvas splits when it's too dry and too tight. Canvas rots when it's too wet too long. And we think snow got into her when she was stored right side up in the boathouse.
So, I decided to try to fix it with ... you guessed it... duct tape! I'd see the guys on MythBuster do it. So it must work. Right? (see what I mean) Hell, they not only fixed a boat, they constructed one from duct tape, including a sail.
Well, mostly water proof.
I wasn't able to remove the wood stripping on the bottom of the boat without introducing way more problems, so I duct taped over them. Which meant I didn't make a perfect seal along the rib where the canvas had cracked and split.
However, I was able to take the kayak out for a 10 minute paddle in calm weather and it only leaked a little.
Next step, since the canvas has to come off anyway - cover the whole frame with duct tape!!! These patches took 2 full rolls to complete so I figure I need 2-4 cases to do the whole kayak properly.
Now to find a sponsor.
Anyone know someone at 3M who'll sponsor me with two or three cases of Scotch® Tough Duct Tape for the next step of this project?
The end of vacation blues have started to encroach on our fun. You know, the point on your holiday when you realize you have crossed the half way point and you start the countdown. Counting the number of days, sleeps + hours until you won't be here anymore? Then you start getting a little snappy for no good reason? Reactting to and over-interpretting everything being said by the loved ones you will be leaving?
Of course you, gentle reader, wouldn't do that and have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm speaking for myself.
And I hate it.
So instead of dwelling on that silliness we hit the river, crossing early with the morning calm to snag some supplies from the store. Then we lingered on our way back, floating on the river and chatting as our kayaks slowly drifted in what was approximately the right direction.
Then we ripped things apart. Old. rotting and dangerous things which we will be replacing with new, safe and shiny things... but that's tomorrow.
Today, there's nothing better for a case of the blues than a little enforced serenity followed by wanton distruction of property... with raspberries on top.
I can't quite decide whether it's warm enough to go into the water for my daily swim. The sun keeps popping out so it's possible that it will warm me up after what Gerry has taken to calling the scrotum-shrinkingly good time of swimming in this river in late September. And of course I could always run back to the house where the fire is already on... but that seems so wimpy.
Not going in at all seems equally wimpy, but that wind is so biting and this fleece is so warm and dry.
And the Great Canadian Myth that - it's warm once you're in - is rarely true here. Especially in September.
Ah well, if you don't hear from me agan you know the siren call of this cold river has claimed another warm body.
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