Cottage for Sale, Must Be Moved (10 page)

BOOK: Cottage for Sale, Must Be Moved
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She interrupted him. “Are you saying you will widen it?”

“No, no,” he assured her, “we just want to make sure the drainage will be right.”

“Well,” she said, “all I know is that every time a road gets repaved in this town, it seems to turn into a superhighway!” He conceded that the department does often take the opportunity to widen a road when they repave, but reminded her they would have to indicate their intention on the application. “My point exactly,” she said. “So the road will stay the same width?” She asked one more time, and she looked at this man as if she were his mother—or his grandmother—as if he would go to bed without dinner if he hedged his reply.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, “This road will stay exactly the same width.”

Now this same woman is ready with a question for me. “The foundation,” she says, “why do you need a full foundation for the cottage?”

Ed had warned me on this one. “They may not want the full basement. They may even require pilings instead of a foundation.”

“Pilings?”

“Sunken concrete and wood, the way we’ll do the deck. You’ve seen it on beach houses.” Yes, I have, and I do not want pilings. I want a basement. I will gain no storage space in the little cottage, and I have only my bedroom closet in my house. My backyard shed is so packed that I have to rearrange it every season, moving the more-required items from back to front. Even when I keep up with this plan, I inevitably need an old client file, a paintbrush, or a piece of leftover lumber for some small project in the middle of gardening season. This means relocating all shed contents onto the backyard until I reach the item I need. Yes, I want a basement, and I have plans for it.

And there is another reason I want a full basement. I want the cottage to support a full second floor. Not that I am planning one in the immediate future, but I want the option. It is the four-foot cinderblock foundation on my original house that makes going up, my first preference in expansion options, impossible to contemplate.

I decide to lean on my contractors as a first line of defense. “My builder recommended a full basement,” I begin.

She interrupts me. “I did a similar-size addition on my house. A four-foot basement was fine structurally, no problem at all.”

I take this in. “Yes,” I say, “I’m sure a crawl-space basement would work, but it’s the crawl space on my main house that has caused me trouble. You see, there isn’t room for my furnace or hot water heater under the house, so they are in a closet off my kitchen. My space, even with the addition, will be small. I’d love to move that furnace to the basement, and for health reasons, too. I’m asthmatic. It isn’t really a great thing to have a gas boiler in my living space. Anyway, the contractors I’ve talked with have told me it would be a much easier and cheaper proposition to move the furnace, the water heater, and all the plumbing that will go along with that if I put a full foundation under the cottage.”

There is silence from the board when I finish that little speech. Everyone sitting on that dais—indeed everyone on Cape Cod—knows that plumbers charge a disproportionately larger sum of money if they have to crawl on their bellies to do their work. It strikes me, too, that my addition, my whole house, could probably fit inside the living rooms of some of these esteemed ladies and gentlemen of the Commission. I bet not a one of them has a furnace in their kitchen closet. I’m a good person. I mean well. I don’t intend to build a strip mall. Can’t they just say yes?

Mr. Van Buren takes note of the silence and asks if there are any further questions from the commissioners. There are none. They ask him for the department recommendation, which he has provided on every case this evening that was not continued or otherwise delayed. “I’ll be glad to give the department’s recommendation on this,” he says, glancing down at the paperwork he has prepared. He settles back into his chair, puts down his pen, and looks right at me, smiling oddly.

“Of course, this case cannot fail to remind the commissioners of another, similar case that came before the Commission a little more than a year ago. It was an old house in Osterville,” he says, “and they also had to file with us and we gave them an approval. In that case, the house was lifted up by the crane, too.” He pauses for a breath, looks right at me again. “And it fell completely apart in midair.”

He smiles a devilish grin, and before I can wonder why he is recounting this tale to me at this moment, in front of the Commission and on local-access television, the members of the Commission jump in. The older gentleman who’d asked about the hallway: “Mr. Van Buren, please don’t frighten the applicant!”

And in the same moment, the spry woman who had objected earlier to my foundation: “That was a case of poor engineering—and a very old house! That certainly won’t happen to this young lady!” They peer down at me from their positions on the dais to see if I have been adversely affected by Mr. Van Buren’s indiscretion.

I move closer to the mike. “Well,” and here I pause a little dramatically, myself, “I dearly hope that will not be the fate of my cottage.”

I don’t think he meant to do so, but I believe Mr. Van Buren, in raising the specter of the lost house in Osterville, has brought the full force of his volunteer commissioners onto the side of this beleaguered, earnest homeowner. He felt it too, along with the satisfaction of telling his tale.

“It seems clear that the Commission will favor this proposal,” he says, moving back to his paperwork, picking up his pen. “The department recommendation on this case considers the drive already in the nondisturbance zone, which changes the complexion of this request. Also, I would like to mention that the proposal is very thorough, and the applicant has made every attempt to minimize disturbance to the Bordering Vegetative Wetland. Therefore we recommend approval with no special conditions.” He looks at me. “In terms of revegetation,” and at this point, he makes direct eye contact with me, “we feel you have done an excellent job in maintaining the natural surroundings for many years. We won’t place any special conditions on you, but trust that you will replant accordingly.”

This is a big deal. I was so afraid they’d question the removal of one of the spruce, ask me to squeeze the cottage between the trees. That’s why Scotty is here, to wax rhapsodic about the baby beech tree that will thrive when the spruce and those few small oaks are out of its way. But they didn’t ask. They trusted me. Though I think Mr. Van Buren is one odd duck with a pretty sick sense of humor, I feel thrilled that he trusts me to revegetate responsibly! I assure him that the natural setting is as much a benefit to me, to my peace of mind, as it is to the wetland and the wildlife.

He nodded, a benediction.

The commissioners agree with his recommendation, motions are made and seconded, and it is over. The hearing, the night. Dave thanks them as do I, and I walk back to collect Tina, trying to maintain an air of detached pleasure. I do not yell Yippee.

“What you said about wanting to move the furnace from the kitchen into the cellar was a stroke of genius,” Nick marvels when we get outside of the room. There is real admiration in his voice.

“It’s only the truth.”

“Impressive,” he says.

We walk to the parking lot together, the winning team. “They didn’t ask a single question about the trees,” I say.

“I was just as happy not to have to speak,” Scotty chimes in.

“But I appreciate your coming all the same,” I say to him, “and you too, Nick. It really helped to know I had expert allies in the room.” They shrug this off. I thank Dave for all his hard work, and compliment him for saying only what was required, just as he’d promised he would. “There is no way I could have made it through these three months without all your help and guidance,” I say. I can’t tell if he takes in how much I appreciate his hard work, his insight into the most important issues, his planning and support. I suppose this is just another Conservation evening for Erika’s dad.

“No problem,” he says. “I’m glad it worked out.”

Tina and I go out for Indian food to celebrate. We order wine.

“To the cottage!” Tina toasts.

“To the house and cottage together!” I reply.

“To the Conservation Commission.”

“To the lady commissioner who wants the roads to stay the same width!”

“Yes, yes, to her, definitely.”

We drink.

“She was great,” Tina says. “Don’t you just want to be her?” she asks me as the appetizers are delivered.

“Yes—maybe—but not just yet,” I say as I scoop a pakora onto my friend’s plate.

making way

“IT’S A GO,”
I tell John the morning after the hearing. I explain there is a ten-day appeal period, but we aren’t expecting any opposition. We can proceed at our own risk, and I’m in favor of moving forward as soon as we can. The closer we get to the tourist season, the harder it will be to maneuver a cottage on the back roads of Cape Cod. This fact is not lost on the public servants who will approve the required moving permits. The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to obtain permission to tie up traffic in the four towns that separate the cottage from my house.

“You’ll need your building permits before we can excavate,” John reminds me.

I have the drawings ready, but I need some help with the forms. I don’t know how to fill in the blanks on the cutaway drawing provided by the Building Department. Size of wall studs, size of floor and ceiling joists? How do I know these answers without x-raying the cottage? John says he’ll come over on Saturday to help me out. If Conservation gives me my Order of Conditions on Monday, I can march right over to the Building Department. I need the order before I can get the permit.

I call Tom Howes with the good news, which he promises to pass along to Mr. Hayden. Mid-April, we think, we’ll have a cottage on the way. I ask about the other cottages, all lined up on their blocks. None of them has moved yet, and this comforts me. I am not the only cottage-mover who is keeping him waiting. After I hang up with Tom, I try Ed in Florida. I share my good news with his answering machine, encouraging him to come home soon so he won’t miss the excitement.

Tina is still talking about the clam people when I drop her at the bus in Hyannis. She has an eager, playful intellect, and when she is introduced to a new idea, Tina runs with it. The machinations of Town Hall are on her radar now, and the clam people have come to live in her mind. Or rather the concept of the clam people, the fact that clam people exist; defenders of shellfish have enlarged Tina’s perception of the world. “Come back soon, and I’ll take you to another hearing.” We laugh as we hug good-bye.

Ten minutes later, I am pulling into my driveway. Scotty’s red pickup truck is parked low on the circle. He probably wants to talk about the trees we’ll be taking down. Scotty never calls ahead; he just shows up. Maybe this is because we are almost neighbors, or more likely because we know each other through Barbara, who has always referred to him by his little-boy name. The Barbara connection bolsters what might otherwise be a strictly business acquaintance. We feel at ease with each other. In the same way I call him Scotty because that’s how Barbara introduced him to me, he knocks on my door at odd hours without a warning call. Though prepared to find him on my doorstep when I come around the circle, I am not prepared for the sound of chainsaws, the four men scattered around my side yard, and the golden retriever circling them as they work. I have not been gone more than an hour, but already the old spruce is down; I can smell its sap when I get out of the car. I wanted to see that one go, to say good-bye in some appropriate way, to thank the tree for its long and faithful service, and I feel sorry it has been taken without ceremony.

Egypt greets me at the door and does not hesitate to let me know he is unhappy. His territory is changing before his eyes, and worse, there is a dog loose in the yard. We watch through the big windows in the living room, Egypt hunkered down into a four-legged squat and disbelieving when I try to convince him this is change for the better. I’ve been worried all along how my aging kitty will take to this project. He came to me because he wasn’t happy in a series of earlier homes, and it took him about ten months to settle in full time. Even though he’s stuck around for almost eleven years now, Egypt holds the potential to pack his bags and go should he be displeased. Or so I imagine. He’s strong-willed and supersensitive, a hyperthyroid cat who requires medication twice a day. Any decision I make involves consideration of Egypt’s response, and he has a way of making his opinions clear. He’s not happy today, this surprise inaugural day of the house-moving. “A cottage is coming,” I tell him. “You’ll like it.” He gives me a look that conveys his disbelief before he jumps down from the windowsill and leads me into the kitchen where he sits facing his empty food dish, suggesting with his back to me that it would be a good idea to feed him. Now.*

*
CRUEL APRIL IS KIND
on Saturday, sunny and warm enough to sit outside at the picnic table to review the requirements for the building permit. John, the star student in a class where he knows all the answers, fills in the blanks. Rafters 2 × 8; ceiling supports 2 × 6; wall studs 2 × 4; floor joists 2 × 8. All 16 on center. He’s not positive about the thickness of the foundation walls and the size of the footings required. “We usually come in after the foundation,” he explains.

“I can find that out,” I assure him, and he fills out the rest of the forms, including an estimate of costs.

They want building costs, and all we’re building is that connecting hallway. We puzzle over the formulas, which allocate a certain amount for windows, doors, and walls, interior versus exterior, house construction versus deck. John comes up with a number: $15,000. Close to the numbers on the back of my envelope. I do some more addition in my head: The hallway plus the cottage plus the cottage-moving will come in around $22,000. Add a couple of thousand for engineering, another $1,500 for tree removal, and that’s $25,500. I’ve applied for a home equity line of credit for $20,000. And I’ve got just about $6,000 in the bank. As long as I stay busy with work, I’ll be all right.

BOOK: Cottage for Sale, Must Be Moved
11.81Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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