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!