home(t)raveling 4.0: semaine 173

mortier de chaux

et eau de pluie

à la place de l'étable qui s'écroule, on a désormais un toit-terrasse avec vue!

On est à l'automne 2020, les maçons viennent de finir le gros oeuvre du toit-terrasse qui remplace désormais l'ancienne étable (dont la couverture abîmée et la charpente pourrie menaçaient de s'effondrer). On a ainsi créé une surface plane d'une cinquantaine de mètres carrés, sur laquelle il faut maintenant poser une membrane pour collecter l'eau de pluie et la canalyser vers des cuves pour la récupérer et l'utiliser au jardin. On a d'abord envisagé une cuve enterrée, mais le coût de l'opération nous a découragés. Et puis une cuve enterrée, ça veut dire une pompe donc de l'électricité... Ensuite, on a pensé à exploiter le rez-de-chaussée du pigeonnier pour y stocker une/des cuve(s). C'est un espace sans vraie fonction pour l'instant et grâce à la dalle qu'on y a coulée sur du remblai, on est déjà à 50 ou 60cm au-dessus du jardin. Donc assez pour faire couler un filet d'eau! C'est super, mais il y a malgré tout deux contraintes à respecter avant de crier victoire:

1- on doit pouvoir faire passer la/les cuve(s) par la porte existante (90cm) sans avoir à casser le mur et,

2- on veut stocker un bon volume d'eau, tout en ayant la place de caser un escalier pour accéder à la terrasse.

le "pigeonnier", notre futur accès vers la terrasse.

En parlant d'escalier, justement... Faire un escalier, c'est un projet de menuiserie qui me fait envie depuis longtemps et l'occasion ici est trop belle. Comme on a récupéré de grosses pannes de la charpente démolie de l'étable, j'ai déjà deux très beaux limons. Reste à choisir des marches et à définir la hauteur, la profondeur et l'angle de notre escalier, qui sera plutôt une échelle de meunier, vue la place dont on dispose. On a eu l'occasion de constater ici et là qu'un escalier mal conçu est super inconfortable, pour ne pas dire directement dangereux. Donc on a cherché et trouvé des infos sur les inclinaisons possibles et sur la règle d'or en la matière: la Loi de Blondel. Mais on vous en parlera dans un post spécifique!

Pour l'heure, on va se mettre en jambes avec un peu de maçonnerie: voici le volume du pigeonnier sous la deuxième petite terrasse (le deuxième petit hourdis béton) qu'on y a fait faire par les maçons. À l'origine, il s'agissait là aussi plus d'une question de contreventement et de renforcement des constructions mitoyennes, que d'un souhait ou d'un choix esthétique. Mais on s'est vite rendu compte que cette double hauteur (rdc + 1er) dans un volume de 3m sur 3m environ, ça faisait une bonne trémie pour un escalier abrité, avec de la place pour un stockage "en haut", c'est à dire au-dessus des cuves. On a donc commencé par tracer au niveau une ligne à 1,80m du sol environ, pour pouvoir enlever quelques pierres et y maçonner une grosse poutre puis des chevrons - le tout de récup', évidemment! La poutre repose sur un appui juste à côté de la porte d'entrée donnant sur le jardin, qu'on a rebâti et remis à niveau pour l'occasion. Les chevrons sont disposés à 40-45cm d'entraxe environ ; les premiers sont traversants, avec un relais sur la poutre vers leur milieu ; les autres sont coupés à raz de la poutre pour ménager la trémie de l'escalier. Le tout donne un plancher en L assez grand pour stocker du mobilier et des affaires pour la terrasse pendant l'hiver ou quand il fera mauvais. "M'enfin, me dit-on fort justement ici, il ne fait JAMAIS mauvais en Ariège!" Allez, sans plus tarder, voici donc le bidule en images:

1- la première poutre (un bout de panne de récup' poncé et traité) en appui sur un rebord maçonné et dans un trou creusé dans le mur.

2- les chevrons posés dessus, alignés à niveau au demi-centimètre près: faut maçonner précis et le plancher absorbera les imperfections.

3- avant de reboucher et d'enduire, on a bien tout calé ; on avait décroûté le mur en pierre sur tout le rdc, on fera le premier plus tard...

Les étapes suivantes, sans surprise, ont été d'enduire au mortier de chaux seulement la portion de rez-de-chausséee qui sera inaccessible après (oui, vraiment, on priorise à ce point!), puis de poser un premier plancher en OSB3 de 22mm. On prévoit de décrouter et reboucher puis enduire ou jointoyer le reste du rdc et l'étage plus tard. Et enfin, quand on aura fini de salir, on posera sur l'OSB un parquet de finition en bois de récup', histoire que ce soit plus joli. Mais on n'en est pas encore là! Une fois le plancher en place, on a préparé les deux limons du futur escalier, non sans avoir installé la première cuve: 3000 L pour commencer, avec la place pour ajouter 2000 L de plus à gauche de l'escalier... et avant de l'installer hein, of course! D'ailleurs, une fois la cuve en position, il a fallu qu'on se dépêche de percer dans le mur du pigeonnier l'évacuation de la terrasse, en calculant bien pour qu'elle affleure à la hauteur finale de la membrane imperméable (sous peine d'être inutile sinon). Allez hop! C'est parti pour la location express d'une carotteuse pour percer à Ø100mm dans un mur en pierre de 70 cm d'épaisseur avec des galets en granit super durs. Et là, ô joie absolue: la carotteuse pèse un âne mort, le prix de la location fait très mal, mais pas autant que le couple de torsion sur le dos et les bras. Et beaucoup moins que quand elle se bloque brusquement sur une pierre trop dure et que la poignée vient vous défoncer un genou ou une côte! Je connais peu de jobs aussi ingrats que celui-ci, vraiment.

premier plancher en OSB3 ; sortie provisoire d'eau de pluie en mode bypass ; cuve 3000L installée et limons du futur escalier en préparation.

le résultat: un trou parfaitement cylindrique ; l'outil: un casse-rein lourd et néfaste ; le sous-produit: des carottes de pierre assez surprenantes!

Difficile de dire notre joie après avoir raccordé la cuve à l'évacuation de la terrasse et d'avoir ouï, à peine quelques heures plus tard, le doux bruit de la pluie et de son écho tout au fond des 3 mètres cubes. On s'est d'ailleurs aperçu trop tard qu'on avait oublié de raccorder le robinet: on a maintenant, après quelques jours de crachin crypto-breton, une cuve pleine et un bouchon qu'on ne peut enlever pour y installer le robinet, sous peine de prendre 3000L sur les godasses! Un tuyau et un peu de siphonnage à l'ancienne devraient nous tirer d'affaire dès que le beau temps sera revenu. Et les canards auront de l'eau propre dans la mare pendant une bonne partie de l'hiver. On ne s'attardera pas sur les finitions de la terrasse: c'est assez long et plutôt délicat, mais on préfère vous laisser avec deux photos éloquentes (et ramenées du futur proche pour pouvoir conclure ce post en 2020) qu'avec de longs discours. Sur la deuxième image, vous apprécierez d'ailleurs la couleur ocre laissée par la kalima, le vent du sud chargé de sable saharien, qui recouvrira une partie de l'Espagne et de la France jusqu'aux Alpes peu avant le printemps prochain... :)

les dalles grises sur leurs plots réglables: un travail délicat et fastidieux mais un résultat qui en vaut la peine ; et les dalles devenues ocres!

Voilà pour aujourd'hui. On reviendra "bientôt" avec la fabrication de l'échelle de meunier et plus d'images du pigeonnier fini et fonctionnel. Et avec tous les autres projets de la liste d'attente infinie d'home(t)raveling!

On vous embrasse,

À bientôt!

Wallis

Tonga

Futuna

home(t)raveling: 12 months are 52 weeks are 365 days are 8760 insane hours!

#1 planet Earth, as seen from "our" little village, on an average summer night.

It took us a whole year to get here, from there: from this crazy (but not un-wellthoughtof) decision to commit to those lovely old stones wrapped in ivy and call them home. One hell of a long, intense, dirty, sweaty, dusty, draining yet overall extremely rewarding and enjoyable year. Mostly a privilege, a gift, a life-treat, a dream come true. But also, although very sporadically, a stamina sucker, an absolute nightmare, a gumption trap: euphemistically speaking, an absolute pain in the a--!

Who would have said just two years ago, running away from Johnny Hallyday* so hard we frenetically got on successive buses, trains and ferries until we eventually hit some Japanese shore? Not us, that's for sure.

Who would have said exactly four years ago, cruising like there were no tomorrows through seemingly endless hemp-and-poppy fields (forever) onboard the TRANSITion? Believe it or not, not us!

But, hey, it's been a wild and beautiful ride. And there's a clear trend that it's only getting better all the time, a little better all the time (not, this one! or you sing it yourselves...). Now let's face it: the summer solstice and this first lap around the home(t)ralendar caught us a bit out of schedule: we "failed to meet the deadline" - as we freelancers hate to hear (or admit) - but we got some shit done! Just have a look below if you need to refresh your memory... And of course, we keep on working harder, better, faster, stronger (yeah!). Because, you know: these two bedrooms and bathroom aren't going to build themselves, are they? Right. And at the same time, it's not a race and it's not about getting anywhere. It was indeed this blog's opening mantra, almost five years ago: "Everyday is a journey and the journey itself is home". Remember (to let it under your skin)? Like everything else, it's about doing it with love.

BEFORE: ladies and gentlemen, please be welcome! come in and take the 'day 1' tour: kitchen, wallpapers, entrance corridor and living-room!

DURING: ladies and gentlemen, put your protective clothing on and get your armpits wet! we'll get to the bones, put some fresh flesh and skin.

AFTER: ladies and gentlemen, Wallis & Futuna are proud to introduce the ground floor, aka the hemp-and-lime salon, aka, the living space.

So, yes: one whole year working, enjoying, suffering and - you know - learning in the making. Even though you have no clue what you're doing. Even though it looks like you're lost. Wisdom passes through you just as water passes through some limestone crack. And eventually, just like calcite crystallizes at the tip of a stalactite, understanding drips and forms new shapes at the tip of your understanding of the world surrounding you. You can't actually resist this slow process of accretion. It is happening, every minute of every day. Even in the darkest cave, with nobody to witness it. You live, you learn. Amazing Alanis Morrissette who said it clear back then in the mid-eighties (and nobobdy seemed to realize). This past friday, for instance, over some random small talk with a perfect stranger at the bakery, we learnt that it was indispensable to specifically waterproof our bathroom walls. The conversation went something like this, transcribed in the spirit of Benjamin Hoff:

the waterproofed shower corner, sink area and floor junctions.

- What? -erproofing? But it's all green 'waterproof' plasterboard we used, we said in sheer worry.
- Green only means it's more expensive, heavier and resists a bit more than regular. Still is paper and plaster. Still dissolves and rots with moist, the random stranger replied.
- But we're tiling with stoneware tiles and waterproof grouting, we tried.
- Tiles and grouting are intrinsically porous. Deal with it, he sentenced.
- But we were told..., we cried.
- Grow up, kids. Stop believing stuff, he yelled.
- B-b-but..., we tuttered.
- Nope, he cut.

At that point, Piglet fainted and Pooh said:
- Oh, I see. We'll have two croissants and one baguette, please, Ma'am.

www (Wu-Wei Wisdom) conclusion: "Drama and paradigm shifts are not worth spoiling one's breakfast."

- The end -

 ____

So later that morning, we went to our favourite PointP dealer and asked for the bathroom waterproofing "purple kit". "Purple kit, pu-urple kit", a dude sang in the back. A bunch of construction workers nodded in approbation: you guys know whatchadoin', they silently said closing their eyes slowly and repeatedly, in cat-like motions. Everybody seemed to know exactly what this was all about, what the waterproofing purple kit was and what it was for - but us. That's what happens when you hang around building supplies stores by mid-morning. We bought the stuff, came back home and opened the purple kit. There was evening and there was morning. And on the second day, [we] read the SPC and [we] saw that it was good. We followed the instructions with a brush and soon after that, we had a waterproofed Arch, ready for a purple rain-flood. It (un)fortunately never came. But [we] saw that was good too, indeed, because our saviour and friend S. showed up the day after that to give us a hand with the tiling. Here's how it went until now (needless to say the walls will be tiled or painted depending on their exposure to water**):

the waterprrof-sealed shower corner ; the very-multi-skilled S. at work ; the floor half-tiled and... the floor tout à fait tiled!

In June, just on time to close this opening year, we also got contacted (again) by Monsieur the Maire and his crew. They had this crazy project to expropriate part of the garden in order to build a new car park on it. Apparently (according to them), it was very much needed, as the neighbours regularly passed out, suffered severe cramps or acute dehydration upon walking from their respective car to the door of their respective house. "This village needs an extra car park just as the sow needs the boar", Monsieur the Maire said. And the choir of angels his deputies to sing a cold and a broken Halleluiah. So, we did our best, it wasn't much. We negociated and resisted. We couldn't feel so we tried to touch. And all these things. We ended up with a broken throne, a new hair cut and a fifty-fifty deal: they'd only take a smaller sample of the garden, they'd pay a very symbolic amount of money for it, they'd build a decent 6-spot car park where a beautiful hazelnut tree used to spread its branches and hazelnuts. And around the 15th:

the (roaring) noise and the (cold steel) fury of progress and civilization digging their truth across our garden, courtesy of the Mairie!

At least it went fast and they did it with a firm hand. Our neighbours' cat supervised the whole operation and after a week, we had a new wall with a fancy fence, a very neat 6-park and a pile of super cool salvaged wall-stones in a corner of the garden - for later. Not so bad in the end. We'll plant more (fruit-) trees than they cut, and edible plants, and botanicals, and a couple of ducks. Screw progress, civilization and the people who refuse to walk 100 meters from their houses to their cars... Anyway. Let's conclude on a positive note: this first anniversary also pretty much fell with the summer solstice, that is to say, with our dear U.'s birthday, who had just left his busy and vibrant Barcelona to visit us for a short climbing retreat in the Ariège. And since any reason/excuse to celebrate is a good one, and we could easily come up with several, we decided to throw a merry, multi-purpose and impromptu petite fête. Hurray!

our luxury brewer G. and his astonishing brew-duction ; the subtle and moving sounds of Duo Hïka, for their unofficial debut at the hangar...

A bunch of friends came with yummy food on the evening of the 23rd; we all gathered around the compulsory Saint-Jean bonfire; U. turned older doing what he enjoys most: meeting new people and chatting over a drink; Wallis baked some boníssimes coques catalanes with peppers, garlic and anchoves; J.-M. took the art of BBQ-ing one step further; Mr. G., our very finest brewer, brought a comprehensive sample of the very finest BdQ beers; and Mr. S., our very finest tiling coach (see above), who happens to be an exquisite musician, made us the pleasure and honor to come present a few songs of his new project together with amazing singer Karolina: "Duo Hïka, songs of love, loss and longing". Impossible to dream of a lovelier, nicer, more beautiful conclusion and celebration for this first home(t)raveling year! The live footages we shot are way too shaky (blame it on the genuine emotion and intense goosebumps all over our bodies), so we share this one song with you here. Visit their website, fall in love with them, check their next gigs (in both the Toulouse/Ariège area and Barcelona) and go hear them live!

Alright. We just have enough room left to give a huge and heartfelt "thank you!" to all the friends who came and helped, who gave energy, gave ideas, gave inspiration and gave a hand. Both that night and any other time during this whole intense year, for an hour or for two weeks (i sí, bitxo, aixo ès per tu: gràcies, gràcies i gràcies! T'estimem mil!). Thanks for your time, love and advice, for sharing your skills, craft, knowledge and/or tools. Thanks to you all for your support and for this beautiful Saint-Jean's eve. With our batteries reloaded, we're ready for another year, for a brand new season of home(t)raveling, for a housefull of adventures and surprises. And this is thanks to you all, folks!

We'll be back soon.

with a lot more
and we love you,

F & W

____________________________

* About Johnny Hallyday (may he R.I.P) in Pamiers: on July, 14th, 2016, the oldest and most famous French song-writer,composer, performer, Harley Davidson rider and rock-and-roller ever, came and gave a live show for the French national bank holiday at the local stadium in Pamiers, Ariège - causing us to run away as far as we possibly could... and look where it took us!

#2 an average summer night, as seen from planet Earth nearby "our" little village.

** to be absolutely honest about the purple waterproof sealing coat: there's quite a bunch of friends, family and acquaintances who visited the would-be-bathroom before the walls got tiled or painted. And a few of them (only the nicest) put a horror face for a second before making up too big a smile and saying too loud something like "Ooooh! That is indeed a nice colour you picked for the bathroom!", "It suits the tiles real well, you guys do have an eye for home design!" or "Waow! It's... really... different. Would have picked the exact same colour myself". After an awkward silence we had the power to make excruciatingly long, we could give 'em some relief  saying "Cut the crap, it's okay, it's getting covered tomorrow"

home(t)raveling: weeks 27 and 28

Last call for plasterers! It was early January, the year was young and fresh - not to say freakin' cold and wet. 'Happy new yearrrr', rrrrang our phone one morning!

mixer, hose, buckets and wheelbarrow: the backyard in state of emergency again.

Apparently (judging by they urge to get back to work) Magic T. and Supa' K., our two skilled masons, had enjoyed their holidays but badly needed to get some stuff done. Or did they pity us and our precarious conditions so much they felt compelled to help improve them? Who knows? The post-Xmas is also a tough time of the year and a little money might have come handy... Anyway, they called to proudly announce, on a 3-day notice and with no room for negotiation, that they'd come and do the sand-n-lime finish on the livingroom's hemp-n-lime plaster. Which sure was great news. Honestly. Only that, prior to their visit we needed to take out the bed, the desk, computer and other everyday utilities. Which meant we'd have to spend a few days and nights away from the stove! But even more importantly, prior to their visit we needed to mount small wooden frames around the doors and windows, so they could come do the final wall buttering smooth and even. Which meant cutting long thin slats from our pile of old oak pieces. Then sand it all, oil it all twice and finally nail it all into position. Three days! Better get out of bed dude, and get to work at once!

Suddenly, they were here. They parked their van in the garden as agreed: at 08:00 sharp. Well, actually it was more like 09:15. No no no, we even had a second coffee while waiting for them: around 09:45. Not even this early: the mixer was broken and the sand too heavy. At 10:25: suddenly, they were here! The backyard changed in an instant and (again) tarps and plastic sheets unfolded all over the place. The huge mixer started grumbling. Swallowing buckets of water, bags of lime, shovelfuls of sand, it sounded like a hungry blackhole* and wouldn't stop in two days.

the finish frames: on the tuned kitchen window (w. double-glaze), on the door to the hall, on the still-to-be-tuned living-room window.

As they did during their first visit, K. and T. worked fast, very fast. Like very scary fast. Almost fast and furious, only that they weren't furious at anybody, only furious to get the job done. So fast, actually, that K. was gone before we even knew it: the sun was shining, he had his own house to build and apparently considered it a priority on top of everything else. So, shortly after 12, he wasn't here anymore, leaving T. alone to his art. Even though he was a bit pissed, he kept smiling as usual, got to work on the first wall, the north one - and managed to get a nice piece done over the afternoon. They came and started to work early-ish the next day, as fast as always, like the world was going to collapse soon or they expected a surprise inspection anytime...

the North wall, as finished by T. on the fisrt evening: smoooooth!

They also were reluctant to stop, pause, eat or even wait for us to think, make decisions and answer their questions! Very very soon, it all was over: they were packing and ready to leave. The job was done. Well, done-ish. Beautifully done, but done-ish. There were still a few minor problems here and there, mostly around the sockets and switches. "There's plenty of mix left in a bucket" - they said from the garden while loading the van. "Seal it with plastic film and when the electrician comes, tell him to work around the sockets before rewiring" - they said from the van while starting the engine. "He's used to it" - they shouted over the coughing engine while exiting the garden. "By the way, you absolutely can't turn the stove on during the next week, or it'll crack badly!" - they yelled from the street while turning round the corner. And gone they were, again.

Only that this time, it looked like it'd be the last. We sang (when your builder leaves you all alone - what else would we sing?) and dealt with it (what else could we do?). The next few days and nights were tough. Impossible to turn the stove on. No way to heat the whole place. Advised to keep the windows opened downstairs 24 hours a day, to help a "natural, slow and smooth drying", we were de facto forced to sleep upstairs***. And, of course, still with not one but two giant holes in the bathroom ceiling, to make sure not even this tiny little space and tiny little moment of our days would become warm upon showering... Tough. Our mental strengh was challenged, we argued and made silly plans to abandon the place for some tropical destination, we went to visit friends and family (including a short trip to Barcelona and another one to Clermont-Ferrand). And were finally relieved to leave to our beloved Basque country.

the West wall getting dry: kitchen on the left, main door in the center, living-room on the right ; selected details of the sand-and-lime finish.

And yes: that was all - and more than enough - for the winter, folks!** We'll see you in spring for more adventures and a brand new season of home(t)raveling!

Take care

and keep warm!Love to all,

F & W

____________________________

* Ah, of course (and thanks for asking!): "What would be the sound of a hungry blackhole in the vacuum of outerspace?" Well, you'll see, this blog never claimed to be scientifically accurate and should never be considered, under no circumstance, to be a reference in Astrophysics. Voilà!

** to be absolutely honest and accurate: we'd need to mention a 5-day visit back home at the end of February, as a way to take a short break from our vet assignements and to come check whether the house was still there and the roof hadn't collapsed under the weight of the snow. We got there on a Tuesday and by Thursday were both struck by a deadly flu. Not man's flu. Not a flu-ish cold. Rather the Spanish flu, the Grandmaster Killa' Flu , the "high fever + mortal headache + pain in the bones + fire and ice" flu.The flu. Good Lord! We're getting old enough to get our vaccine every autumn...

*** in case you were wondering: "sleeping upstairs" means that: a huge and super cold "two-rooms-without-a-wall" space, a tent and our "office". and while it's really easy to heats downstairs with the wood stove, any calory of heat that we allowed up so far, has gone straight to the 2nd floor and through the roof, which is not insulated at all. Should be better once we finish the rooms here, fit some double-glaze on the windows and insulate both the wall to the barn and the roof on the second floor. Hopefully, it'll happen some time this year and we should be much more prepared to face the next/our second winter!