A Roof Over Our Heads, Part 2

After we get the roofing panels up to the home site, we are presumably ready to put up the roof. On the sixth weekend of my time in Hawai'i, and I've finally (almost) figured out how to pronounce the name of this island and state: the "w" is almost a "v", so it all sounds like Ha-vai-ee, we are again beset by transportation problems.

The Dodge is still out of commission. As for the 1981 Datsun pickup, the fuel pump has to be connected manually to the battery before starting it up, and then disconnected when you turn it off. Otherwise all the gas will pump out of the fuel tank and into the engine, flooding it. As you might have guessed, eventually the fuel pump was left on one day and not only did it run out of gas, and flood the entire engine, but the battery died, too. So that set us back pretty good. Dan had to work an extra day on Friday anyway; he spent Saturday getting the truck running again, and by Sunday we decided to scrap the weekend and go do something fun to celebrate our birthdays, which are nine days apart. We take the Datsun, which after having the engine cleaned of twenty-nine years of gunk and buildup with an extended engine bath runs like a spring chicken, down to the South part of the island and swim in the ocean at Punalu and hike around on lava rocks. This is the first time I leave the Hilo area in six weeks, and it is a good day. But as the seventh weekend approaches, we know it is time to finally get the roof up.

Dan tending to a minor breakdown of said Datsun, with Joe standing guard:




I drive up to the property one day during the week, and confront the chaotic piles of roofing panels. To prepare for the process, I inspect each of the forty plus panels, separate the decent panels out, hit the rust spots with a wire brush and spray rust fixer on them (by the way, as ambient inhalation chemical buzzes go, rust fixer has to be one of the worst), and brush out any bubbling or chipping of the paint. I spend all day, and make modest progress.

Dan and I run errands to Hilo on Friday, have a good old-fashioned argument of the kind that can be expected when brothers work together for almost two months, and arrive at the work site with time to drop off materials and wire brush a few more panels before it gets dark.

We return Saturday morning, with a good list of tasks that must be accomplished before we put the roof on. It looks like rain, which will make climbing around on rafters and purlings very difficult and potentially dangerous.

The first thing is to take off the tarps that have been protecting the structure for over two weeks.




As I said, there are a number of tasks which will be more difficult or impossible to do once the roof is on. We must trim the ends of the rafters so they're perpendicular to the ground, which will allow the gutters to hang straight. This is challenging at the top of a twenty-foot ladder.






We have three more purlings to put on, at the top and bottom.








As we're up there at the top of the roof line, the overcast skies begin to sprinkle. We plead with the skies to wait, that we need to work up there and it's not a good time for rain, which promptly stops.

Next up is blocking between the tops of the walls and the purlings. This will solidify the structure and keep birds out. We take 2 x 6 pieces cut to fit, and hammer them into place, then nail from the top and bottom.






For some reason, I really like how this blocking looks. Maybe it's because this was the first whole task I did by myself, or maybe it's the fact that this is one of the first things we're doing to enclose the structure, divide it from the outside world.




We do an opposite row of blocking at the top. This is what the structure looks like with both rows of blocking and all the purlings.




The skies are still threatening rain, and we've experienced various minor precipitations. But each time we earnestly beseech the heavens to spare us, and each time it lets up.

We have one more important task before putting on the roof. We need to strap the rafters and purlings to the walls. This metal strapping, also known as hurricane straps, will serve to tie it all together. The idea is that if a hurricane or major storm comes through, if it wants to take the roof it's will have to take the walls too.

We take one end of the strapping and nail it to the side of the bottom wall.




Then we run it in as straight a line as we can diagonally across the roof, and nail it down the side of the top wall.







When we get the strapping pulled tight, we nail it in everywhere it crosses a purling.



And then we repeat the whole process with the other corners, to make an "x" across the rafters.




We are prepared to put a roof on, but it's getting dark, and there's no point to start now. Somehow, and we are grateful, the forecast rain held off all day.

The next morning it is raining. There are big thunderhead clouds lurking about, and the background color of the other clouds is way up the gray scale. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. It's Sunday, so if we can't get the roof up today, we have to wait another week.

We drive up the mountain in a moderate rain. The ground is wet, which means that so are the rafters. We don't say much on the drive, but as we get close to the site I start beseeching the powers in charge of the weather, asking for more of their good will. Dan suggests that as a Jewish man, what I'm saying is blasphemy, that the whole idea of the religion is that there's only one god in charge of the weather, and everything else. He adds that he knows there are other powers out there, but only one that matters. So as we arrive, I address my request directly to the god of my forefathers. As I'm putting my work shoes on, the sun comes out and the rain stops. There is an expanding pocket of blue directly above us, surrounded by a sea of grey. It is a good feeling.

We sort through the roofing panels, to decide which ones to use first. The black spots are where I've treated them for rust.




The ends of the roofing panels are in many cases, jagged and rusty. Dan takes a Saws-all and trims them down.




It looks like they come out smooth but the ends are actually razor sharp.




We carry them one by one up to the house.




And it's time to put the roof on. Our process is as such: Dan gets up on the roof, and I carry a panel over to him, raise it up as high as I can, and then he pulls it up and I climb the ladder (after running far away to make sure a 16 foot razor sharp panel doesn't fall on me) while Dan gets the panel into place.










Our pocket of blue sky by this point has disappeared, and the sky is misting again. We plead for dry roof. The day before it had been casual conversation with animistic rain spirits, but today has been distinctly more biblical. I hold down the panel while Dan fastens it to the purling with special roofing screws, which cost almost 50 cents each.




We're going to overlap these panels as we go across, and as we won't be able to paint the covered-up areas, we paint them with a thick elastomeric roofing paint after screwing them in. Ideally this paint will help seal the panels together.




The panels are overlapped by three ridges, to minimize the chance that water will leak through. Note the raindrops. I'm telling you, it was supposed to rain all day up there.




For the third panel, we use an eight footer to allow space for a skylight.




Mostly due to budgetary concerns, Dan went with PVC clear plastic, which is primarily meant for greenhouses. It's a very thin plastic sheeting a little thinner than a plastic soda bottle. After five panels and a skylight:




We work our way across, making sure that they line up straight.




After we've finished the first row, furnished with two skylights, we pause to figure out what's next. Dan has two more 12 foot clear PVC panels, and he has to decide where he wants his light. The sun even comes out.




I go up to the roof to eat my lunch of pork manapua. Dan cuts some smaller pieces which will surround the upper skylights.




Joe enjoys the warmth of the panels in the sun, and takes a dog-nap.



Dan decides to put the square skylights above the straight ones. We surround them with the smaller cut panels, and place, screw down, and paint our way across the roof.






There are a few close calls. At one point I step on a panel that's not fastened, and for a second I am surfing my way down the roof. But I fall to a kneeling position, and my weight is enough to stop me. Our muddy shoes, mixed with the occasional raindrop, get very slick on the metal roof. But we are careful and keep it together. We place a second square skylight (made square by cutting the 12 foot panel in half and overlapping the two small pieces) and then we're just a few panels from being done.






Miraculously, the rain has held off all day. We get the last long panels up to the top corner, fasten and paint them, and we are left with about five minutes before it gets dark, to survey our work and get down while we can still see.




I return a couple days later on my own, to caulk the roof. Since this is used roofing, there are many small holes where the previous screws were fastened. Various views of the whole roof:










We've done it. After seven weeks, we have a roof over our heads, and the structure (with the help of a few tarps for the sides) is protected from the elements.