Cabin_ Two Brothers, a Dream, and Five Acres in Maine - Lou Ureneck [28]
At this time of day, around ten a.m., the sun was over the farthest end of the pond. The sun’s arc, I guessed, would drop below the westerly hill behind the cabin at sunset. I pictured the cabin in a variety of positions on the site, turning it in my mind; taking a few steps, I imagined myself standing on the porch at each position. How would the sun touch the cabin through the day and through the year, and what would I see from my aerie among the trees? I looked right and left, down to the ground and up to the sky. I gave all of this considerable thought and felt good about the possibilities. After a half hour or so of these land-sun-cabin speculations, I arrived at the angle at which I thought the cabin should face the downhill slope, which would put the morning sun in the kitchen window four seasons of the year. I liked a cheerful morning kitchen. The cabin would look obliquely down the hillside, at an angle of about forty-five degrees to its descent, so that its front would face east by northeast. Of course, this would mean a porch full of snow after a December nor’easter, but this was what the land presented. There were lots of variables that were in my control, but the position of the knob and the direction of the wind were not among them. These were limits within which I had to work. I was partial to an eastern exposure anyway, and was already enjoying the warmth of the May sun and the thought of myself busy in the sunlit kitchen.
I kicked a heel mark in the ground that represented the center of the cabin. This was the spot. “Only if we are capable of dwelling,” wrote the German philosopher Martin Heidegger, “only then can we build.” I felt that I had already begun to dwell on the hillside. I knew I would be back for a reconsideration and to become better acquainted with it, in all its rocks and folds, but for now this would be the cabin’s location. Of all the cabin decisions I would make, this would be the most important. I walked back to the big rock where Paul and the group waited for me. They were silent and resting in the sun.
“So what do you think?” Paul said.
“I like it,” I said. “Let’s put it there.”
In June, I began my search for used windows and other salvaged building materials. Windows would be an expensive component of my project if I bought them new. A small double-hung window on the low end runs to two hundred dollars, and I needed at least sixteen of them, some of them big. It would be easy to spend ten thousand dollars on new windows. I didn’t have that kind of money. I needed to keep the cost of the project low, and I liked the look of old windows anyway. I went to the Internet and found this item among the old doors, kegs of nails, and odd lots of shingles and lumber that were for sale.
Used Windows with Frames and Door—$5 (Westport Point, MA) Fourteen used wood windows and one door, with frames. Mullions 6x6 separate panes and larger. $5 each. Double hung. Lots of window sizes. Ideal for sheds and outbuildings. Good condition.
I called the owner, encountered a diffident old voice that said they were still available, and drove down to have a look. They were stored at a house on a country road near the beach. They definitely were used, but I liked the old mullions and six-over-six and eight-over-six lights. They would be hard to match in a new window, and they would be way too expensive if I tried. The old windows also had screens. It was still early to take possession of them because I had nowhere to store them yet, but I was concerned that someone else might snap them up. Paul advised against getting them. “You don’t have anywhere to put them,” he said. I drove down a week later