The front porch certainly had seen happier days by the time we moved into Comstock House. Part of the floor was rotted and needed urgent replacement, the stone lions had crushed the stair side platforms (original 1905 redwood, too), almost all treads were split, and the entire step assembly was pitching forward away from the house. And, as we found out, that wasn't the bad news.
Our original restoration plan for the stairs was to simply replace the treads and risers, believing the supporting structure was still sound. The treads felt firm, except for a little sponge on the split boards. But once we looked closer, it became apparent that the steps could have collapsed at any moment. The side walls had no foundation at all and were simply sitting on dirt, with one of those walls haphazardly braced by a pair of 1x6 planks nailed to the back (a beer can was also found in the dirt next to this fine workmanship). While the base of the stringers rested unbolted on three sturdy concrete piers, the stringers themselves were rotting because they were unsealed raw pine. Except for a few puny nails connecting the top of the stringers to a floor joist - which itself was crumbling with dry rot - the entire structure was free-standing. Had any of the stringers failed, the whole mess would have lurched and collapsed to one side or the other, like a puff on a house of cards.
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RIGHT: No foundation under the steps, except for the front piers
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RIGHT: Pressure-treated stringers are bolted into the new foundation
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Aside from a debate about period-proper handrails, construction was uneventful. Architect Mark Parry created a foundation plan where new concrete was poured around the old footings (which are two feet deep). A sill bolted into the new concrete provides support to the pressure-treated stringers, which are placed between the piers. The stairs now feel sturdy and should last for decades.There's still some work to be done. The cedar steps need another coat of paint, and the caps on the side walls will have to be refinished (again), a project that will come up in a later post.
The back stairs were a lesser headache. Those steps were still firm, and might have lasted another ten years or more; the immediate concerns were instead the railings, which were becoming more wobbly each year on both sets of stairs. We already had made emergency repairs to prevent collapse of the kitchen railing when we moved into the house in 2006, and since then I had used consolidant to fill holes and major cracks.
None of that construction dated back to origins of the house; both entrances were apparently rebuilt at the same time, c1960. Some of the details matched the blueprints, other parts not so much. The railing on both landings retained architect Brainerd Jones' hallmark "Union Jack X," but the house side of it was attached directly to the building, not to a half post, as indicated. The caps on the backyard posts were square and flat, not rounded; the handrail was likewise a flat 2x4, where the blueprints suggest a curve. Yet the kitchen posts had arched tops, and that handrail seemed to follow the drawings with what was called at the time a "toad's back" (AKA toadback, toad-back) curve to the top, making it inviting to hold. Why were they different? Were they rebuilt by different carpenters at different times? Small mysteries.
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RIGHT: Detail of kitchen railing
Although both stringers and decks were still in reasonable shape, it was decided to replace everything at once, using modern materials such as pressure-treated wood for the supporting structures. Moving the stringers adjacent to the house closer to the center also allowed a gap between the treads and the wall to prevent water from pooling on the steps.
Contractor David Jessen performed his usual magic in restoring the design shown in the blueprints. Once more the landing rail terminates into a half-post attached to the house; the tops of the posts are again curved on all four sides. At our request he placed the newel post on the second step instead of on the ground, as shown in the drawing. We believe this is how it was originally built, providing a "swing around" that's also found on the interior staircases.
None of material from those stairs was worth salvage, but we were able to refashion original redwood left over from the rebuild of the front porch balustrade in a few parts. The half-posts on both back porches are old wood, as is the kitchen porch top rail and the backyard porch newel post.
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RIGHT: The kitchen steps after oil treatment
In theory, the north side of Comstock House should have been easier to shingle than the south. Yes, more shingles would be required because there's more square footage to cover; there's no chimney or porch cut-out to break up the wall on this side. But that also would mean, in theory, that the project should go faster because there would be less time-consuming work on chimney flashing and trimming all those end shingles into custom shapes to fit. It looked like a more straightforward job overall. In theory.
(RIGHT: Jim Scotchler unwraps the third of three shingle palettes that have been used to date. Each palette contains 13 squares, and each square is intended to cover 100 square feet. Actual coverage is less due to defects - shingles too narrow or uneven - and because we are strictly using the old standards where there is only 4½ inches of shingle exposed)
Before any work could begin, we had to evict our squatters. Honeybees had lived in a portion of the north wall for as long as forty years, and getting rid of them required tearing open the sheathing. We moved our scaffolding from the south side of the house to the corner with the bees, and made a date with beekeeper and "structural extraction" expert Coral Pawka to round 'em up and move 'em out. The tale of this adventure is told in a previous post (don't miss the video).
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We have some concerns that the bees may try to return to the location of their old home in the spring, even though all the honeycomb is gone (we hope), their former residence between wall studs is now packed with insulation, and every possible entrance way is sealed (we hope). We likewise expect that the new shingles will deter the woodpecker that did so much damage over the windows in the servant's bedroom and attic.
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We postponed the eviction as long as possible, but it was finally time to ask the bees to leave - politely, of course.
The first time we visited Comstock House in 2006 we observed that there was a thriving colony of bees buzzing around a cranny in the north wall. This was not of great concern; we planned to have the building tented and fumigated before we moved in, and the exterminators vowed there would be no creeping, crawling, gnawing, boring, or flying survivors of their lethal visit.
But those fumigators hadn't encountered our hearty honeybees. About six weeks later, an afternoon came when the north side was again black with a swarm. I asked my old neighbors at BeeKind in Sebastopol for help, and their "structural extraction" expert, Coral Pawka, made the first of his many visits. It was first hoped that the new activity represented scavengers from other colonies seeking to steal remaining free honey. But traffic continued; Coral placed a screen over the entrance (you can see the staples in the closeup below and video) to no avail; the bees still tunneled under, around, and ultimately in. There was no denying that The Bees were back.
BELOW: Coral Pawka removing the first honeycomb, June 26, 2009 (Photo: David Bacigalupi)
Bees rarely were spotted in the living areas of the house, so we were resigned that as long as they didn't bother us, we wouldn't bother them. Since there was still a honeycomb in the wall of unknown size, it was a good thing that a new generation of bees were homesteading it; in old house restoration forums, horror stories abound of deserted, oooozing honeycombs discovered rotting inside walls and causing mold problems. But the colony was large enough in 2009 to throw a swarm in March and another in May. Combined with the need to soon start reshingling the upper floors of the north wall, we were left with no choice but to evict our squatters.
The operation took about ninety minutes (condensed down to four minutes in our video) and was done by Coral Pawka. After smoking the entry hole, he ripped off the shingles quickly; sounds of cracking wood and the squeak of pulling nails apparently make bees uneasy -- yet actually pulling off the boards and exposing their world to the outside has a calming effect, because it relieves them of having to ventilate the hive by fanning the honey with their wings. Oh, the things we've unexpectedly learned.
This was a disorderly, "messy" comb that was a decade old or more, as shown by the deep brown brood comb. It was a popular location; besides our fumigation three years earlier, Martha Comstock Keegan says that her mother had someone come by to remove bees from that wall a few times in the 1970s or 1980s (although what those beekeepers did is unknown; clearly, the shingles, sidewall, and interior plaster had never been removed before now).
The final tally was approximately 4,500 bees; Coral Pawka, who, except for his bee hat, seemed better attired for a day at the beach, says he suffered only a handful of stings.
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LEFT: Bees at the hive entrance before start of removal (Photo: David Bacigalupi)
RIGHT: The same location after the hive was removed. Note that the back of the lath and plaster wall are shiny with residual honey.
Finishing the porch project meant that the largest job in the entire Comstock House restoration had to begin: reshingling the entire house.
(RIGHT: Jim Scotchler nails the first shingle, October 27, 2008)
I was anxious about starting the shingling phase, I confess. Despite months of research into shingle preservation treatments, the winning product was a dark horse that came up for consideration late, and I was using a custom formulation, to boot. My only real-world testing was spraying the treated shingles with chlorinated water for ten weeks during a hot summer. Would the stain hold up through winter storms, or would it wash off? Turn black in a few years? And what about those eastern white cedar shingles from Canada, eh? That wood was green, not kiln-dried ("they've been sitting in the yard for awhile, though," assured the helpful Oregon distributor); would they shrink or warp? My 4AM cold sweats were that we would spend ten$ of thousand$ on reshingling, then be faced with the sickening decision of whether to tear off everything and start again.
Also, my hopes of finding someone competent - or even willing - to lay the shingles were fading. One candidate showed up three weeks past our scheduled meet; another said he'd only take the job if I switched to Shakertown prefabricated panels ("ya can't tell the difference!" he barked); and another insisted that eastern white cedar shingles - which he'd never seen before - were just too flimsy to last more than a few years. Why yes, San Francisco Bay Area winters are far more severe than any wimpy New England nor'easter.
If I hadn't met James Scotchler, reshingling would have been limited in 2008 to replacing the shingles torn off the southeast corner during porch repairs. But Jim and I immediately hit it off, and we spent an hour lost in conversation about nails, weaving corners, the lamentable trend towards greater shingle exposure to save a few bucks, and more. He is indisputably the perfect man for this job, and it was our greatest good fortune that he was available.
Jim works with a simple set of hand tools that would all be familiar to the workmen who originally shingled Comstock House. Clockwise from left: A pry bar and hammer for removal of old shingles and nails; a measuring tape; a nail stripper (called a nail turner when it was patented in 1895) which hangs around his neck and dangles nails out a slot in the bottom; a block plane; a shingling hatchet with the type of gauge patented in 1875 to easily check the height of shingle exposure; a simple knife; a roofing speed square similar to the 1898 model. Not shown are the double-dipped zinc "Stormguard" nails made by Maze Nails, which Jim believes are the finest available today.
As his very first task, Jim Scotchler used a water level to set a precise level around the entire house, including corners. (You could spend upwards of $1,000 on a laser system to do the same thing, of course.) Using a cylinder filled with water to a certain height as his base measurement, Jim attached flexible plastic tubing that would show him that precise level found in the container anywhere around the house, assuring that the shingle courses would always line up. In the sequence below, he is shown preparing to set the level on a free-standing front porch column, using the previously established level on the nearby wall.
Each new shingle is first hand-dipped in a custom preservative mix by myself and allowed to dry for at least a day. Pictured below is an early version of the "shingle farm," where inverted wet shingles drip 'n' dry against a low fence of chicken wire. Thanks to efficiency suggestions from Jim and David Jessen (contractor and once a pro shake shaker), I was soon able to dip 3x this many shingles in the same amount of time.
As the worn shingles came off in demolition, three epochs became apparent. There were still some survivors from the original 1905 construction in out-of-the-way places, such as under the nook on the south side of the porch, those shingles dated by a mill stamp discussed in a separate Restora Obscura post. All three porches apparently were rebuilt at some time (c1950?) with the skirts and surrounding walls recovered. And finally, there was significant reshingling on the south side that probably followed repairs made after the 1969 earthquake. This shingling was done with varying degrees of skill, but even the better work shows they were unclear about their fundamental mission. The objective isn't just applying shingles to walls prettily - really the easy part - the goal is to protect the house with an absolutely impermeable wood skin.
The difference between James Scotchler's craftsmanship and his predecessors is best demonstrated with his care in weaving the shingles around corners of the house, seen at right. Shingles are interlaced, with alternating edges and finish nails as insurance against cupping. These corners are as tightly sealed as any flat stretch. By contrast, earlier shinglers worked straight up the current wall with no concern about the corners, so gaps appeared as the shingles warped. Water got in, via rain and the old poorly-aimed sprinkler system, which actually hit the house. Worse, bugs of all sorts found these gaps to be welcoming doorways.
A similar contrast can be found on the northeast inside corners. Jim's shingles are butted tightly against a 1x1 inch redwood strip; the old work shows no effort to seal the intersection.
The worst of the worst was found on the south wall at the second story level, where a layer of shingles was thrown on top of the original layer. The top shingles were also applied without care, with exposure depth varying between 4-6 inches and poor nailing. It not only looked funky, but was infested with wasps who found plenty of space for nest building between the layers.
To our surprise, Jim discovered that the west wall of the back room still had its original shingles - in the sheathing there were no nails hammered in, or holes from nails pulled. Ultra-worn shingles had been also found on the south wall (left, below), but that was somewhat expected because that side is heavily weathered by both sun and rain. In both locations, there were a few top courses that were more like cardboard thread, with only a few wood fibers remaining. In the photo to the right, a sheet of paper was delicately slipped behind the fragile remains of what was once a shingle one-third of an inch (about 8mm) thick.
Below: Stripping and reshingling the attic level was the greatest challenge. Once the old shingles and paper was removed, light flooded into the attic as not in a hundred years.
As work began on reassembling the porch balustrade, we realized there were pieces from two different jigsaw puzzles that we were trying to fit together.
In puzzle box #1 was the design of the porch we had demolished a few months before. There were six balusters on the front (east side, on the left in the photo), and four on the south. At the corner, the top railings joined at a 45° angle. But nothing matched; the east top railing was clearly original -- thick, old redwood. Above the four balusters on the south were two boards glued together to match that thickness (once we took it apart, we discovered that there was also plywood used to shim it up to matching height). And finally, there was a long wall, where there was no effort to match the top railing with the height, color, or style of the wood elsewhere -- see detail inset photo.
My original plan was this: I would restore 13 balusters (see part II), the bottom railings, and that top railing on the east. Since none of the top railings on the south were original -- or even salvageable -- I asked Berry's Sawmill in Cazadero to mill a plank 18 feet long (and weighing over 250 pounds). This, I thought, would give me one loooonnng interrupted top railing of new redwood for the entire south side. Over the corner, it would join at 45° with the (restored) top railing. Under that I would attach seven balusters and calculate the width needed for a wall long enough to meet the posts at the appropriate point.
Ah, the best laid plans...
As before, it was architect and preservation expert Mark Parry who set me wise. He first pointed out that the blueprints showed 12 balusters on the south side, not the 7 (or so) I was planning to use. To me, the blueprints couldn't be trusted on details like this; the blueprints also showed ten balusters on another section, but there were nine instead. There were also examples where windows became doors, exterior elevations didn't match the floor plans, and so on. Surely Brainerd Jones was just doodling in enough balusters to fill the picture, I thought. And besides, it was moot; two of the pudgy little columns were damaged, so we didn't even have enough to put 12 on that side.
Contractor David Jessen also began raising questions about the bottom railing. What was I planning to do on the south side? The existing bottom rail was only long enough for six balusters. (See part I -- although four columns were visible, two more were found hidden inside the corner!) Did I have any more century-old redwood rails laying around the place? Exactly how big did I want the shingled corner box, and how would the bottom rails attach to it?
With the pile of unresolved issues growing, Mark, David, and I met in early October to discuss options. We magnified the online copy of the blueprints to highest resolution, then unrolled the actual original paper. Mark pointed out details that I had completely missed -- that there was a cap on the corner box, and a matching reveal on the wall section. By no means was the top railing supposed to be one long slab of wood.
Still the cynic, I. Was there any evidence that the railing was actually built like that? There was no square cap on the corner that recently existed, which would've meant that the top railings were once joined to the corner flat, and not at a 45° angle. And besides (I continued to argue), all of the top railings, including the badly-made ones that were thrown away, were exactly 11 ¼ inches wide -- there was no evidence that wider pieces once capped the corner and the wall section. Then David's recent question came back to me: Did I have any more century-old redwood laying around the place? Why, yes -- yes, I did, in fact.
In the corner of the garage where we found the extra balusters there was also an unusual thick plank of old redwood leaning against the wall. At 80 inches long and 13 ¾ inches wide, its dimensions didn't match anything else around the house. Because one end was cut at 45° angle, I wondered if it was the original south top railing that met over the corner. But there was no sign that balusters were ever connected to its underside, so the original purpose remained a mystery. Now it came to me that I was looking at it upside-down -- if the pointy-end faced west instead of east, it would probably match the angle where the porch meets the house. The three of us carted the board from the garage and laid it on the porch floor, its angle towards the house wall. It fit perfectly. Here was the oversized cap for the south porch wall. The blueprints were indeed accurate, as architect Mark Parry predicted.
We now saw clearly how the puzzle was supposed to fit together. And sadly, we decided that it was best that new top and bottom railings be constructed for both sides, as well as the missing corner cap. Back to Berry's Sawmill for more wood.
(Below: constructing the new wall from pressure-treated plywood, as well as the new corner support)
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A ripple of other plan changes followed. If we were now accepting the blueprints as gospel, then all seventeen balusters needed to be pressed into service, not just the 13 I was expecting to use. Two that I had deemed unusable because of damage and had been using for glue and preservative tests now had to be restripped with hustle. David would create new end-blocks for the balusters with the worst knocked-off corners, as he pointed out that visitors would see the damaged sections more than any color difference of new wood. Philosophically I was uneasy that we were slipping away from preservation and into restoration, but I know David's advice was absolutely the best, in this situation. He also created a corner cap of appropriate size by gluing together two pieces of otherwise construction-grade redwood that is absolutely remarkable craftsmanship.
Except for repainting the damn floor, the porch saga is over. We considered an awning over this corner, but can't see a way to install one over these irregular angles. We'll watch what happens with the rains this winter, and might revisit the issue. But for now, the work is completed, and decades of mistakes undone; once again you can see a view of Comstock House that looks exactly as it did in 1905.
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Porch floor painting is not a usual restoration topic (nor very interesting), so here's the executive summary: We did it, we were happy with it, then Really Bad Things happened to it.
First, the pre-prep: Scrape, scrape, scrape. All old paint that wasn't firmly attached had to be removed, and damaged wood should be cleaned up for repair. The tools needed are a metal (or firm plastic) scraper, a heat gun, a vacuum cleaner (or blower), and patience. Lots.
(At right: Candice using the vacuum to pick up paint chips)
None of the porch flooring dates back to the 1904-1905 construction of Comstock House, so keeping the existing wood wasn't a preservation effort; we could have ripped it all up to lay down new 1x4 tongue and groove Douglas Fir, as we did with the southeast corner. But except for two spots badly needing repair, the existing floor appeared in fine shape so there was no need for the extra work (not to mention, expense) of replacing it all. We wondered if that was the best decision, however, once work began and found that these sections had already been repaired once before, and with poor workmanship that made some of the problems worse. This meant that our fixes were probably going to be the last these poor old boards could take, so it was especially important to get the job right the first time.
A heat gun was the weapon of choice for this project because chemical stripper could seep into the gaps between boards and be impossible to completely clean up. Heat guns are wonderful tools, but caution can't be emphasized enough; besides the risk of burning yourself (or igniting your house), there's no telling what toxic molecules could be in the miasma of stink that wafts up from old paint melting under the focused heat. Always use a respirator and treat the heat gun with the care you would use with any other power tool -- just because it doesn't have sharp spinning blades doesn't mean it won't kill or incapacitate you.
The oil-base paint scraped up easily after it was softened with heat, but in the larger gaps between boards we found putty earlier had been used to level the floor before painting. Much of that putty had worked loose around the edges, allowing water to pool in these little valleys once the paint was chipped off. Putty is infamous for breaking free any time wood shifts position even slightly, much less when it's at the top of the front steps with constant foot traffic and vibration from the street.
With the cracked paint and putty wedges removed, we were left with a sorry-looking floor. My first thought was to fill those big gaps between the boards with a modern silicon sealer that would remain flexible. But the surface of these damaged areas still had to be leveled, as well as needing "buttered" transitions between old paint and scraped wood. Ultimately I filled the gaps AND leveled the floor using Restor-It epoxy. I'll write more about this excellent product in the future; we're now using it by the gallon on wood, and even concrete, repair.
Below is a before-and-after comparison of the damaged area in front of the stairs.
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At left below shows the porch after epoxy and with the old paint scuffed up with an orbital sander for better adhesion. The sander was also used to feather transitions between the old paint and wood or epoxy. On the right is the porch primed with Zinser's Bullseye 1-2-3. It will never look this clean again.
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Once the primer was down, the porch was blocked off for two weeks. Four days drying for the primer, then two coats of paint (Kelly-Moore French Sonnet KM3490-1 gloss, for my own future ref). It looked terrific. It looked REALLY terrific.
But about six weeks later, I noticed a small bubble on the southeast corner during the peak heat of the day. Then another, larger this time, also in mid-afternoon. And another. By the time contractor David Jessen returned to complete work on the railing, paint and primer were easily lifted up from the ends of the boards. "It's like picking at scabs," he mused laconically, "if you like that sort of thing," peeling off another fist-sized sheet.
I deeply feared that soon the whole porch would soon erupt into a mass of similar boils. The mailman would kick up clouds of off-white paint on his way to the mailbox; the cat would forge a smaller trail of exposed wood on her route between the front door and the sunny corner.
Everyone had a different explanation for why this was happening. The Benjamin Moore dealer who sold me the primer blamed the paint; the Kelly-Moore dealer who sold me the paint said no primer should've been used. (Can anyone explain why are all paint stores must be named "Moore?") I also asked the knowledgeable paint people at Friedman's Hardware where I had purchased the preservative used to treat the floor boards five months earlier; none of them had heard of such a problem, but implied that it was probably was my fault for stupidly not buying their brand of porch floor paint.
I experimented and observed. Was it the otherwise-reliable Zinser primer that failed? Following Kelly-Moore directions, I diluted their paint by 20 percent as a primer, and painted that over a peeled-up section. A few weeks later, that wasn't sticking to the wood either. I also found that there was no sign of any problems whatsoever on the old flooring -- the only paint coming up was on the porch corner where there was new wood. The primary suspect was now the two good coats of Green's Clear wood preservative that I had applied to the boards before the floor was installed.
Reading again the can of Green's Clear, the directions stated, "PAINTABLE WITH OIL BASED PAINT WITHIN 48 HOURS" (emphasis mine). Would that I could -- alkyd-based exterior paint is no longer legally sold in California. Zinser 1-2-3, however, boasts that it's "great for hard-to-stick surfaces" of all kinds. Could it stick to wood treated with Green's Clear? Apparently not.
I e-mailed Green Products Co. and explained my problem. Their response was that I should strip the paint and primer, then scrub the wood with TSP, followed by a solvent-based primer -- in other words, remove as much of their product as possible from the surface.
There's rich irony that Green Products, manufactured in Richmond, California, makes a product that really can't be used as directed in the same state. At the very least, the company should have warned buyers that their wood preservatives absolutely cannot be used with the allowed latex-based products. As I will spend the first rain-free weeks of summer scraping up the paint and primer on the corner of the porch, then scrubbing the surface down with TSP, then coating it with Preserva-wood, then more fresh paint, you can bet I'll dwell long and hard on how I'll never use a product of theirs again.
With the porch floor completed, the next big job was restoring the balusters (the little columns in the porch railing). I expected the job to take six weeks, two months at most; but as the calendar drifted into the tenth week, I began to realize that I had greatly underestimated the project. It ultimately took over five months to prepare the posts for installation.
My first mistake was jumping into the project without a clear idea of what actually was to be done, a misstep dissected in part four of this series. Regarding the balusters, I didn't even know how many I had; on the porch that was just demolished, there were 6 on the east corner and 4 on the south side. Another five were in the garage, still attached to part of the sawed-off railing. That added up to fifteen -- but I planned to restore only 13 of them because two had badly damaged corners. Then during demolition, two more balusters turned up hidden inside the corner post (see part I). Now our little family had grown to 17.
The difficulty in removing the paint was also an unexpected problem. I knew that serious work would be required; in the past I've stripped furniture, doors, and windows using both a heat gun and chemical goo. The latter is messy and dangerous, requiring a respirator, rubber gloves, and goggles -- an uncomfortable way to sweat off a few pounds on a hot summer day -- but it's what you have to do if the wood beneath is irreplaceable. As Candice says, "stripping is an act of love." (Methinks our Google search hits just jumped a thousandfold...)
To strip the balusters, I used a plastic mortar mixing tray -- essentially, a big cat litterbox. Because the balusters are narrower in the middle, I wrapped two paper towel rolls in heavy aluminum foil, then covered the tray and rolls with more foil. (Two sheets had to be crimped together to make the foil wide enough.) This gave me a perfect form to hold a baluster. Over that I poured enough Jalisco stripper to cover about one side of the wood and let it cook away for about 40 minutes, turning it over at the midpoint to coat the other half.
To remove the paint, use a putty knife with a thin, semi-flexible aluminum blade (plastic knives will start to melt after a few minutes). Gently scrape off the stripper/paint gunk, wiping the residue on the blade with newspaper. Try not to let the stuff fall back into the tray -- even though the stripper gel is now the same color as the paint, you can store it for reuse if it's clean enough. Typically half of my "pour" was stripper from the last batch.
After scraping, I used a stiff wire brush over the curvy details at the top and bottom of each column. Then the entire piece was scrubbed down with heavily-diluted paint thinner using coarse steel wool.
All that work removed only about half the paint; repeat everything the next day. A few balusters required a third trip to the dip.
Coarse sanding followed, always using #60 grit. I used an orbital sander for the cylindrical columns, beltless sander for the flat surfaces, and those wonderful 3M sanding sponges on the details. A final rubdown with a well-worn sanding sponge finished it up.
Last came patching cracks and holes from pulled nails. An exterior-grade wood putty or glue was needed, but it was important that the color of it blend perfectly. Earlier in the year, I had experimented with mixing vintage redwood sawdust with four products: Durham's "Rock Hard" Water Putty, ZAR wood patch (neutral color), Elmer's Wood Filler, and Elmer's Stainable Wood Glue. After thoroughly dried, I applied a coat of linseed oil, followed by the turpentine-linseed mix that would be used on the balusters. All products worked reasonably well. I chose to use Elmer's Stainable Wood Glue, mixing it with sawdust until it has the consistency of toothpaste. Cracks were filled with the mix on tips of toothpicks, larger holes smeared up with Popsicle sticks. (I swear, more repair work on this large house is done under a magnifying glass than I would ever have believed.) After thoroughly drying, the glued area was sanded again. Although the patch appeared darker on the unfinished wood, it was almost invisible once the piece was oiled.
The total time required: About 40 minutes for each session in the dip, then another 40 minutes of labor; 40-50 minutes of sanding, and then often another 20 minutes of patch and resanding. Figure on 3+ hours work, spread over five days. For every baluster.
The lastest step was dousing each column in linseed oil (because this is old wood, I applied two coats) before it was installed on the railing. Below is a before-and-after picture of the girls.
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A footnote, regarding Comstock House archeology: The balusters that were hidden in the column or in the garage had a coat of lead paint in a redwood-y color, and the 10 that were on the demolished railing had an additional coat of sickly mocha-colored latex. But in his specifications, architect Brainerd Jones had insisted that the exterior wood should never be painted. Was there any evidence that the balusters were originally just oiled, as he specified?
Although that old lead paint stuck like glue, there were a very few sections where a small section could be lifted off intact. And sure enough, that century-old heart redwood underneath had just about the same rich color as predicted from tests of the turpentine-oil treatment.
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