Our house gained some lumber during the string of storms we endured this spring.

Sadly, the new wood didn’t involve the spontaneous construction of that sunroom my wife has always wanted. There was certainly enough timber available for such a thing, albeit in the form of trees downed by the wind.

In the aftermath of this spring’s derecho, we were gratified that our house sustained only a broken window and a bit of damage to the deck. To our amazement, the terrorizing tempest also managed to stab a stick into the upper wall on the south side of the house.

This was accomplished without inflicting any further damage unless you want to count the blow to the house’s image. The stick sticking out of its side looked similar to a perch that one might install on a homemade birdhouse. Instead of repairing the house, I could have painted a black circle above the stick to create the illusion that my wife and I are living in the basement of an oversized bird condo.

But that would never do, mainly because the stick would likely become a conduit for outside weather to make its way in. After our insurance adjuster adjudicated things to our satisfaction, I contacted a carpenter to see if he could tackle this little job. Then I waited to hear back. And waited. And waited some more.

Frustrated, I called another carpenter. And another. And another. I have yet to hear back from any of them.

I understand that builders were as busy as a one-armed man hanging wallpaper before the storms ravaged our region. At this point, they probably have jobs booked well into the next decade. But still, it would have been nice if they would have at least had the courtesy to call back and say, “How about never? Does never work for you?”

I have worked on siding before, so I understand the principles involved. But there was also the principle that our insurance was supposed to take care of the damages.

These two principles remained at odds with each other until I couldn’t stand it anymore. The house had to get fixed before winter and snow and ice begin to use the stick to wick their way in. Plus, nobody would believe the birdhouse illusion anymore by then.

So, I dragged out the ladder and hauled myself up to the site of the impalement. Our dog, Bella, paced back and forth at the foot of the ladder. She was obviously concerned about this new and bizarre activity by her master, no doubt worried that if something were to befall me it might have a negative impact on the number of doggie treats she receives.

Bella wasn’t the only female who was anxious about my acrobatics.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” my wife called out from the safety of the lawn.

“There’s nothing to it,” I replied. “You just have to use this little doohickey to unsnap the bottom of the top strip, then pop the nails out.”

“I don’t mean that. What if the ladder tips and you fall?” she said.

“Then I guess it will be up to you to make sure Bella gets her treats," I replied.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” my wife countered.

After removing the damaged siding, I could see the hole the stick had made was quite manageable. In this case, “manageable” means “easily filled with a squirt of spray foam insulation.”

After the hole was foamed and covered with duct tape – which I have found can fix almost anything – I was ready to install the new siding. This was the part where it would have been handy to have another set of hands. I’m sure Bella would have been glad to help, especially if it involved receiving one of the tasty nuggets I always carry in my pocket.

The unsteadiness that’s inherent to all ladders wasn’t the major problem. The biggest issue with this part of the project was the way the wind caused the new piece of vinyl siding to whip around. There was no point in waiting for calmer weather; it’s always windy here in South Dakota. On still days our chickens fall over.

By hanging off the ladder and using both hands and one foot, I managed to slip the new siding into place. It only took a minimal amount of cursing and cost just one bloody knuckle.

The south side of the house looks almost as good as new. But I’m not getting into the siding repair business. Because dispensing doggie treats has me booked well into the next decade.

About the Author: Jerry Nelson and his wife, Julie, live in Volga, South Dakota, on the farm Jerry’s great-grandfather homesteaded in the 1880s. Daily life on that farm provided fodder for a long-running weekly newspaper column, “Dear County Agent Guy,” which became a book of the same name. The book is available at Workman.com and in bookstores nationwide.

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