Straight as a Promise
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Straight as a Promise
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Spring thaw means Chimo. 540 Syndicate Ave S. Mud season. I park the F-550, let the diesel cough itself quiet. Some things you let idle.
I got a list of lumber in my head. Two-by-fours for a partition wall. The kid at the yard doesn't know me, but that's fine. I don't need help. I need straight grain.
You run your hand along the board. Check the ends for cracking. Check the middle for strain. A crown on a stud is a curse on a house. One twisted two-by-four can throw a marriage a quarter-inch out of plumb. I've seen it.
I sort the rejects to the bone pile. That's for the DIY dummies who grab a warped one and blame their hubbies later. Not my problem. My problem is finding the one board that's straight as a promise.
Brenda says I'm crazy. Spending Saturdays like this. But she knows a crooked wall will never pass her kiss. So I take my time.
When I find it, I pop the chalk line. Click. Snap. That's the metronome for a year of framing. Sounds so good. I load it up slow.
The old work truck idles low. I pray to the saint of straight lumber that this season will be kind. 'Cause a house built out of plumb is a house that's hard to find.