So. Here we are in the South, generally a mild climate where spending the night in an unheated bunkhouse (it’s new name as it is more accurate than “pole barn”) is not a big deal. Except when it gets cold, cold like in the twenties.

You know it is cold when you wake up every five minutes, search the sky for signs of daybreak, grope for your watch, hoping the hands of time have accelerated their creep across the clock face (not easy with a digital watch).

I had a bunk bed surrounded by R19 insulation. I had a sleeping bag that was rated to about 10 degrees. I had a blanket (albeit thin). I had a second blanket (thinner). I had a second sleeping bag. I had pocket warmers tucked into my down booties to keep my toes warm.

I had cold.

Although there was ice on the outdoor sink there was none on the lake. I guess I should not complain. No snow. No driveway to shovel. So why am I whining? Lived in the South too long I guess. Just a Southern wimp. Also, am somewhat fond of my current fingers, toes, and nose and prefer to hang on to them just as they are.

But I digress…

Determined to help secure the bunkhouse from uninvited vermin and other winter guests, I work on boarding up and filling, with expanding foam, all the nooks, crannies, gaps, slits, holes, crevices, and seams, that I can. Oh, and the ceiling too.

You may ask, “What do you have to do about the ceiling?” – a valid question. A word of explanation is in order. The prior ceiling was thick plastic stapled directly to the roof trusses. Because of the aforementioned nooks, crannies, gaps, slits, holes, crevices, and seams, there have been many former inhabitants of the bunkhouse. Sort of a sanctuary for birds, mice, rats, wasps, etc. Maybe an occasional snake or crocodile. Fairly sure no sharks.

Remember the line from Toy Story, “There’s a snake in my boot!” that Woody uttered when you pulled his string? I don’t want to utter the expression “There’s a snake in my sleeping bag” or “There’s a rat in my sleeping bag” or even “There’s a mouse in my house.”

In the past, all of the above guests had built their nests inside the bunkhouse, up in the rafters and maintained their own collection of forest memorabilia. Much of this had pooled in the center of the plastic ceiling and as it weighed down the plastic, the plastic pulled loose from the staples. Basically a big plastic bag full of not particularly nice stuff hanging down into the room. So I methodically slit the bag, emptied the contents bit by bit, stick by stick, dropping by disgusting dropping until one day, Voila! no more plastic bag (and sadly, ceiling).

Now I must put a new plastic sheet to cut down on the intermittent breezes and to form a “vapor barrier” for my eventual installation of sheet rock. “Sheet rock” – that’s a bit of a misnomer. Mostly 4′ x 8′, they are a plasterboard of gypsum between paper. Ever hang a picture with a nail in the wall (and have the nail promptly fall out?) – that is sheet rock.

Armed with a 20′ x 30′ piece of plastic purchased at my favorite bbs (Big Box Store) I set to work. Since my bunkhouse is 15′ x 20′, all I have to do is cut off 15′ of the one side which will give me a 20′ x (now) 15′. Beautiful. Ah, the value of planning and that high school geometry class!

Now, how does one person staple a large 15′ x 20′ piece of plastic to a ceiling 9 + feet off the floor.? This question is too easy – one doesn’t. A wise person waits. A wise person calls a friend. A wise person might even cut it into smaller strips and staple them separately.

I am not a wise person.

Armed with my trusty “third arm helper”  type device, I tackle the folded plastic lying in a heap on the floor. Unbeknown to me, humiliated by its reduction in size administered by my handy utility knife,  it was planning its revenge.

Sensing the passive resistant type of hostility the plastic was emitting, I knew I needed another tool. I built a “boom” comprised of two pieces of 1″ x 2″ x 8′ furring strips nailed together so that it had a wingspan of just under 15 feet. The plan was to get under the plastic with the boom, lift it up, lock it into place against the ceiling, and climb the ladder, staple it, move it and repeat.

Easy.

Wait, did I say easy? It doesn’t even sound easy when I describe the process. This might be a challenge and may take longer than the hour I allocated for the struggle.

Hitching up my sagging pants (forgot the darn belt today), I gathered my strength, warmed my hands and began.

I spread the plastic out width-wise, started to unfold it, and then wrestled a section up and over my boom. Propping my “third hand” under the boom, I proceeded to raise the contraption to the ceiling.

There are plans on paper and then there are plans put through the crucible of reality. Sadly, I ran immediately into a small glitch. As I raised the boom, I noticed that the plastic was hanging unevenly, one end having much less plastic than the other. As I gently pulled the plastic on the short end, I quickly learned a number of things: (1) the “third hand” had a “foot” and a platform on a swivel. Although handy for adjusting to odd angles, not a stable arrangement; (2) a two inch wide piece boom fifteen feet long holding about 10 pounds of draped plastic is also not a stable arrangement; (3) the pain caused by  a piece of 1″ x 2″ x 15 piece of wood hitting you in the head is, on the scale of 1 to 10, only about a 3.

Rearranging the plastic, now draped over me (is that plastic chuckling?), I hoist the arrangement again, more slowly this time. Slowly. Slowly.

Not slowly enough. Again it comes crashing down. Working alone, covered in plastic, I start to remember the warnings on dry cleaning bags – “Suffocation Danger. Keep away from small children, animals, and candidates for the Darwin Award”.

Freeing myself from the draped plastic and believing that the third time is a charm, I once again arrange the plastic, hoist the beam and get it all the way to the ceiling! Pinning it firmly to the joists, I check to see that it is properly aligned (it is!) and start stapling.

I love cool tools. I bought this really neat stapler that worked like a hammer. You just “wham” whatever you want to staple and its momentum drives the staple into whatever you just whammed. Fast. Wham! Wham! Staples flying though the thin resistance of the defeated plastic, firmly attaching it to my ceiling. Making it do what I wanted. Wham! Wham! Wham!

WHAM! – right into my finger! Man that hurt.  Maybe that wasn’t such a cool tool after all. 😦

Reverting back to the older stapler that you squeeeeeze and then it “pops” a staple out, I return to work. I glance at the clock. 8:00! What! Oh no. It is already an hour longer than I thought the whole project would take and I just got started.

Slowly, ever so slowly, staple, staple, lift, staple, staple, lift – I work my way across the ceiling. 9:00. I continue. Finally, almost done. Now for the last little bit of plastic. Up to this point, the plastic was nice and square to the wall and ceiling, nice and smooth across the ceiling, a little extra on each side for stapling – a fine job with just a little more to do.

At this point, at the very end of the job, the plastic makes its move. The sheet is somehow too narrow on the very last few inches. I can’t pull it, I can’t adjust it, I can’t do anything except staple up the remaining plastic and leave about a 4″ hole in the corner of the ceiling for any of the local critters to re-enter the bunkhouse. Right above my bunk bed. The plastic was a better planner than I.

10:00. Remembering “there’s a snake in my boot”, I leave simultaneously victorious and defeated.

Your exhausted, cold, lumpy headed author,

Frank