The Deck

December 13, 2021

Landing in this place, and it could have been anywhere else, brought along all those grown-up decisions about what’s next. The move to an apartment, the house hunt, then the mortgage, the move-in, left us dazed. We made our truce with the hard-right South Carolina politics and the “Lost Cause” culture that sometimes drags us back a century. We live in a state of perpetual amazement.

We knew the house needed work. We made that decision nervous homebuyers often make, look at the positives, stack them against the negatives. The quiet street, no stairs, gas heat, small, level yard, sold us. We met a couple of neighbors, they seemed friendly. Apartment life, after six months, was getting old.

In the first week we got a painter to cover up the odd mix of brown and pink that the previous owner, Miss Jean, had lived with for years. Then the place needed a new water heater. In stifling August heat we replaced the furnace/air-conditioning system.

At some point Miss Jean, or maybe the owner before her, had a small deck built outside the back door. Over time the paint chipped, the handrails cracked and loosened. At our Virginia place I built a brick patio. Eventually some of the bricks shifted, water pooled in spots after a heavy rain. But it was permanent, indestructible. Our deck now is on its way to splinters and sawdust.

We sat on the deck on mild evenings, but couldn’t turn away from the decrepit wood and popped nails. We laid down an all-weather carpet, trying to spruce it up. I guessed I could strip the paint and repair the railings. Really, no I couldn’t. I’ve acknowledged my minimal carpentry skills. Something about settling in a new home shouts, “Call a professional.”

Beyond the picket fence that marks the boundary of our modest lot and the broad expanse—close to an acre—of the lot on the next street, we could see, in the distance, the neighbor’s beautifully stained deck. Why didn’t we buy that house, I asked myself. Probably because it wasn’t for sale, and if it were we couldn’t afford it. So we looked sadly at our deck. It had to go.

The next step up from the deck would be a screened-in porch. But we guessed screens alone wouldn’t keep the rain out. Then too, I like the idea of an enclosed space that could be used year-round, with wide windows to admit plenty of light. We decided to go bigger: a “sunroom.”

We learned the difference between “four season” and “three season” spaces. Four-season means a new room. Three-season is screened in and popular in these parts. Do we need an expensive four-season room? The overnight temperature may drop to the thirties in winter, but it usually warms up by noon. Still, I don’t want to sit outside in a heavy sweater just because I could.

We called a contractor we found on the internet. The fellow showed up maskless, we asked him to put one on. He stared at us, we gave him one.  

We sat at the kitchen table, he talked about his company’s experience and gave us a brochure. We described our idea. He noticed Sandy was wearing a “UT” shirt. “Are you from Tennessee?” he asked. “I lived in Cookeville for a while. Great area.” I paused, thrown off by this. “Did you go to Tennessee Tech?” I asked, a tad impatiently. “No. I was working there. Several years. Liked it a lot.”

I steered him back to the project. He talked about designs and materials, then we went outside. He produced an expensive-looking tape measure, took some measurements and photos. We gave him our email address. “I’ll send you an estimate,” he said. He waved and left, leaving his tape measure on the table. We waited a week, then called him. The receptionist transferred us to his line, no answer. We left a message, when can we expect the design and estimate? No return call.

We called again a few days later. Nothing. Weeks went by, we threw the brochure out. We found another contractor through “Next Door,” the neighborhood gossip site. A young fellow came by. He said he was with a family company but now is on his own. He showed us dozens of photos of projects. We showed him the deck. He said he’d come by Friday with an estimate.

Around noon Friday I called him. “I’ll be there Friday,” he said. “Today is Friday,” I answered. “Goodness gracious,” he said. “I’ll get there 4:30.” He got here at 5:00. He brought a one-page description of the job, including double-hung windows, and a faint drawing. “My printer’s giving me problems,” he said. We squinted. But the price seemed reasonable.

He leaned forward. “You’re better off with E-Z Breeze vinyl windows than glass,” he said. “We’d have to put in studs for windows. E-Z Breeze is a lot easier to install.” We had asked for windows, his design included windows. “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll email you a new design tomorrow,” he said. The next day passed, no email.

I never heard of E-Z Breeze. We visited a local showroom. The material gives to the touch, like plastic you use to wrap leftovers, although stronger. The salesman rapped it with his fist. “It’s tough,” he promised.

Five days later we got the email, revised to include E-Z Breeze windows: $3,000 higher. I wondered why the first estimate, with double-hung windows, was lower. Does that make sense? He wrote back, yes, the E-Z Breeze windows are more expensive, plus the door would be $925.

We called another company, a big outfit with an impressive website. Their guy looked at the deck and off the top of his head quoted $45,000. “You’d save a little with E-Z Breeze, but an E-Z Breeze space is just that, a space. It won’t add value to the house.”

I thought I got it. The vinyl windows are more expensive than glass but easier to install—no studs, no sheetrock work needed. Adding value won’t be priority here until after we’re gone.

He took some photos, as the two previous guys had. We sat inside, he gabbed about local real estate. I sensed he lost interest in our project when he saw me go numb at the $45,000 quote, almost a quarter of the sales price of the entire house.

“Whatever you do, don’t hire a guy with two helpers and a truck who says he’ll finish in two weeks,” he warned.

He was describing the last guy we talked to. I looked outside at the deck. The railing nearest the house had split, part of it curled upward. I imagined a sunroom, then the E-Z Breeze room. Then I thought about what else we could do with $45,000. I’m still thinking.