Sealing the Foundation of a Colonial Maine Homestead With Balsam Fir Bows

Sealing the Foundation of a Colonial Maine Homestead With Balsam Fir Bows

            This is an annual domestic activity.  It is not a task.

            “Really?”

            The lethargic of the seated homeowners and their passive

            Pathetic energies merge with their misappropriated sound stance that they;

            Doing nothing

            Therefore know what a task is and

            This (sealing the foundation of a colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows)

            Is one.

            “Really?”

            That’s done.  Or is it?

            No.  Restating:

            MOST PEOPLE... “need the exercise” (so spoken), avoid physical activities and title such actions as this (sealing the foundation of a Colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows) as ‘work’ “to be avoided”; this annual task (sealing the foundation of a Colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows).

            “Are we done with this now?”

            NO:  Your still just sitting there in front of the lost titled “boob tube”.

            I, in the Maine November air, am “out in the woods”  We have forty acres of “woods” (“forest land”).  I am looking, as annually, for Balsam Fir tree “blow downs”; large and larger trees that have recently “BLOWN DOWN”.  Preferably blown down since the first of the month (November).  There is always at least one.  And I find it.

            I want a dream tree; forty five feet tall once standing on a high rock ledge “overlooking” towards the sea.  A ‘been there for decades’ thick top bushy mess of dense packed wonderfully smelling long, long, long wind worn mashed thickness of tiptop leafage that came crashing down some windy night.  And nobody saw this.

            But I, hunting for it, find it in the November afternoon light and...

            “It’s mine”.

            I actually found two smaller (shorter) ones this fall.  That is not uncommon.  But... it means I have ‘enough’ ‘bows’ to do ‘everything’(seal the foundation of a Colonial Maine homestead with Balsam Fir bows).  “And more”

            “And more” includes covering small Rhododendrons from being eaten by the winter’s starving deer, covering the heather bed on their exposed rock ledge, covering the Pachysandra along the front door’s path and... making a wreath to hang on that front door.

All of this from blown down Balsam leafage ‘hauled’ from the forest?  Just giddy and dizzy I am from the pungent airs wrapping my clothing.  “Almost pitch covered” that smell.  “Isn’t that so?”.  So armed, literally, with the fragrance it becomes my seasonal utopia; my estuary of air chasing my every action.

            The action is the ‘work’ and ‘task’ I noted earlier.  Yes:  I smell like that from doing something and that something is hauling cart loads of thick Balsam Fir bows... for days.  Oh yes that IS a peril that wishes the holiday’s away?  Yes is it not:  To smell strongly of Balsam Fir for late November days... as I “work”.

            I have always been ‘the Balsam Fir’.  And never anything else including the “fake Christmas tree’.  A lot (all?) of ‘that stuff’ has come along in my lifetime.  I missed it; these innovative adoptions that wantonly foist the November / December holidays with “PINE BOWS” of the ‘all sorts’.  I have never bought a Christmas Tree.

            My parents did; along the roadside with the white light bulbs.  I remember that very clearly.  Always the same and always “a Balsam Fir”.  That last was ‘done’, not spoken of.  My father’s eye for a ‘good tree’ was savage.  No overruling or second suggestion was ever needed; Balsam Fir is New England Wasp.

            My family, in our Christmas Tree lifetime, cut ours ‘in the woods’.  No “this one no this one” stuff.  We cut a young Balsam Fir that just ‘touches’ the (1750) Colonial Maine homestead’s ceiling (82”) without considering the old “not level” floor of Colonial boards.  Our “tree” just goes “up”.  The real action is around the outside foundation line of the house.  We... “ho, ho, ho”, decorate that.  Carefully... but not obsessively.

            While somewhere along the way a wreath is made for the front door, the real outside Balsam Fir bows sleigh ride starts at the coldest corner; the northeast, and covers the whole homestead’s foundation line; the line where cut stone (field quarried granite) contacts the ‘old wood’ (sills) of the actual old wooden box of ‘house’.  “Around the house we go”... what?  We work in both direction from the corner to reach its far point sunny friend corner at the full opposite of the ‘cold corner’.  Carefully and considerately done this takes ‘days’ of ‘an hour or so here and there’.  Unless an early fall blizzard is coming “TONIGHT” there is “no hurry”.  Relax and enjoy this task... this work.  Have you seen what other people do with their time on earth?  One is much better off with ‘foundation level’ Balsam Fir bows.

            Originally I laid old rough cut pine boards against the foundation line and then buried those under Balsam bows.  The intention is to prepare the foundation line to ‘catch’ and ‘capture’ the snow.  This crusts and freezes in place so ‘seals’ the line “from the wind” (and cold).  Today... and the last decades... large sheets of plastic have appeared in neglect and ‘don’t want’ at household clean out sales.  These, acquired for ‘pittance’ I cut into four foot wide (sort of) strips and tack them with small shingle nails along the foundation line.  I then support these placements with scraps of pine poles and ... in actual fact... 1830’s handmade bricks “made right here” I was given when a neighbor took down an old chimney of an 1830 addition “butted onto his cape”.  They are my collection.  I show them around the foundation when they are not in actual use (for this annual foundation sealing).

            Just for the record I will notice that this ‘old handmade brick’ is “quite nice”.  Handling them each season increases ones sense of what an ‘old brick’ may be... could be... can be... and... can be a part of ones aesthetic AND Colonial New England aesthetic should one choose to include ‘old bricks’ in ones life... style.  They do not sell them at box stores and one... must keep the eye out if one becomes an ‘old brick hunter’.  They are around but are rare in piles. Most are found in small gathers and, of course, the “OH!” discovery of a  “very old” lone lost brick... one promptly purloins. That may make one giddy with delight.

            As the plastic with the pole pieces and brick are placed along the foundation, the Balsam bows follow behind being placed to fully cover this plastic shield.  The more and the thicker, denser the Balsam bows the more abundant the cover and... the more ‘full contact’ the bow man has with the stink and smell of these ...wonderful holiday wonders; the Balsam Fir bow. I find myself puttering and dawdling in the November sun with the bushy bundles.  I use a pitch fork to place the bows.  A pitchfork is my friend for it removes a lot of ‘bending over’.  Upright one always feels in command of the task... the work... in progress. 

Before I know it I am done;

Rounding the far corner

            In the sun.

            I stand back and admire the fair job; the horrid holiday task, now a ‘completed work’.  The task was a special moment of my ‘each fall’.