The Cackalack Clustercluck

*I'm double dippin' today, you might want to see the last post before you read this one.

Wow. This is going to take a while.

As per usual, I had it cranked to 11 right down to the last minute yesterday; well, 3 hours past the last minute if you want to be all "accurate" and "honest". Luckily my neighbor Jerry came over as I was rip-roaring through the mountain of sawdust, scrap cuts, bark peelings and power tools trying to get everything buttoned up. I told myself -and Terri, who was organizing a small army of dudes to help unload the coop- that I was going to leave by noon. I knew that if I left by 1 at the latest, I could still get there between 4 and 5, like we planned. Jerry pretty well summarized it when he surveyed the mess encircling the workspace, the coop on the jacked-up trailer, the truck still piled high with cedar brush and said flatly, "You ain't gonna make it, Honey". "Yeah", I replied, running from the saw to the trailer as I felt my socks slowly soaking up nervous sweat.

I normally give Betsy a once-over before a trip like this, checking her oil, brake fluid and lines, coolant, maybe dinking around with the timing advance and definitely banging some wrenches or hammers on various engine parts to make it look and sound like I know what I'm doing. I took the old girl for granted yesterday and just loaded her up. She hadn't moved for 6 days before Jerry and I single handed-ly (dual handed-ly?) pushed the coop into her bed, instantly putting the hurt on her creaky old suspension, poor girl. I hadn't even stopped to look at the clock until I was leaving the house, "Crap!", I thought, "I'm supposed to be there in 30 minutes!" Of course the trip from our house to Roanoke takes you directly through a black hole of cell service, so I didn't even call Terri until 4. Professional.

At the gas station / restaurant / clothing store in Glasgow, some guy leaned out the passenger side of his best friend's ride and hollered at me, "Nice chicken house main [man]! Looks better than my house!". I wasn't sure how much of a compliment that really was, but it made me feel so good I bought a Snickers for the road. Eventually I got down to I-81, called Terri and proceeded to lay the hammer down. At this point I thought it would be cool to take a little video on my phone, tooling down the highway in Betsy with the Cackalack in the back; because, 81 is such a beautiful drive, even if it is an Interstate. It seemed like a good idea at the time (foreshadowing!).

While I was fooling with the phone, keeping half an eye on the road and half an eye on the coop in the back, I ran out of eyes to watch the side vent window (the little triangular window on old trucks and vans) teetering on the brink of destruction! Somehow it had come loose, maybe it had something to do with it not really being attached to anything in the first place, I don't know. In any case, I spied it as it was half way in the truck and half way towards careening to its untimely demise. I delicately tried to reach my man hand through the small opening to safely procure the ancient, likely irreplaceable piece of glass. No luck. Through my side mirror, I watched it shatter into a million pieces. R.I.P. side vent.

The rest of the drive was rather uneventful. I popped the headphones in to drown out the deafening roar of arctic-chilled air blasting me in the face, and cinched my hood (the one attached to the sweatshirt I wear in literally EVERY picture on this blog) to make the ride a little more cozy. By the time I got there, poor Betsy had burned through an exhaust manifold gasket, developing a little hitch in her giddyup. At least it's an easy fix. I finally called Terri back to tell her I had made it to Greensboro and would be there shortly. I couldn't help but notice that the "time to arrival" on the GPS was getting lower and lower, while the city skyline was getting closer and closer. My detective skills helped my surmise that this was not going to be a "get going in reverse as fast as you can and slam on the brakes" kind of delivery. My thoughts were confirmed when I got to their neighborhood.

Terri and Drew live in a beautiful downtown neighborhood of what I can only describe as "craftsman style bungalows" because it seems like something you'd read in a real-estate ad; though, to be honest, I don't even know what a "craftsman style bungalow" is. The important thing is that the bungalows, or whatever they're supposed to be called, are not equipped with great and spacious yards, or even great and spacious access routes to not so great and spacious yards. To compensate for the lack of space between houses, the neighborhood produced a swarm of hip late 20 or early 30-somethings. It was like a cross between a Wilco concert and an Amish barn-raising. I got out of the truck, had the obligatory conversation about what year she is (something I play off like it's no big deal, but secretly revel in), and introduced myself to the crowd before surveying the impending doom.

We had to get the coop (which doubled in size and weight on the drive down) through a gate, along a fence, over an abnormally huge HVAC condenser, around a bush, down a rocky pathway and onto some blocks. I brought some poplar boards to run along the bottom so we could all get a good grip on it. We had enough young bucks in the crowd that we felt pretty good about the prospects. Lifting it off the truck instantly broke every one's spirits and may have sent a couple packing right there on the spot, I can't remember. Betsy got back at me by placing herself between my right hand (supporting roughly 1.5 tons of coop) and the ground, where the coop was rapidly and uncontrollably headed. I now have to explain to Brinn that I did not get into another bar fight, nor have I been back to prison to reclaim my title as Bare Knuckle Boxing Champion of the Exercise Yard.

I think it's better for you to use your imagination on the kind of shenanigans we went through to get this coop into the backyard, but I will give you a basic framework to help you piece the story together. In the end we had partially dismantled a fence, completely dismantled the coop, discussed leaving the coop in the driveway indefinitely and schemed up some cockamamie (nailed spellcheck on the second try) carrying position that had me and 6'6" Drew snuggled up tight in squatting positions inside the carrying rails. I'm pretty sure one of the neighbors got some video, you know that's going up here if I ever get a hold of it.

In closing, it was an adventure to say the least. The coop is now happily situated and fully assembled in the most picturesque craftsman style bungalow backyard I can imagine, we're talking twinkle lights traipsed about the pergola, quaint little greenhouse, Backyard Living magazine type of stuff here. I made it home in zombie mode, though I stopped at a Dairy Queen somewhere outside of Roanoke at about midnight to catch a little sleep in the parking lot. I awoke in terror (again) as a tractor trailer came blaring down the highway, blasting its retina burning high beams into the cab of the truck and digging in to the jake brake (that's the waaaaaauuuuggghhh-ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh you're all familiar with). Startled and slightly refreshed, I made it the rest of the way home, entered a balmy 42 degree house (Brinn took the kids to Grandma's, no fire) and curled up in bed. As much as I hate long, late night / early morning drives at the end of even longer, cracked-out days of hard, exhausting work, it feels good to lay your head down knowing you made an honest buck and good people appreciate something you do.

Special thanks to Terri and Drew, also Bobby, Ellen and all the other super nice friends and neighbors I met last night but whose names I have totally forgotten already.

See you next time,

F.W.

P.S., Brinn did manage to get a few shots before I hit the road, but I simply didn't have time to set the coop out and get nice shots of the finished product. We didn't get much in the way of progress pics either, it was just too crazy around here. Terri's gonna get some sweet shots for us though, so I'll update this post when I get those.

Cackalack Coop, in the flesh, or in the wood I guess.

This is just a little portion of the overall mayhem, you can see I maintain a well appointed shop.

Terri wanted a "twiggy" handle. This is from the same trees we used for the posts. I left the bark because it looks cool. I'm not worried about bugs because it isn't in contact with the ground.

Jerry, a Godsend, helping me out. Let's hear it for neighbors!

We might as well be from the land down under, 'cuz we're Men at Work! (Bah-dump, PISH!)

The spare tire is supposed to ride under the bed, but with a load like this it scrapes the road, so we womped it redneck style.

Everything was loaded and ready, and I forgot about the ramps.

A little side view of the cedar block I cut out to support the handle, love that red.

You aren't getting the full story here, but the coop was already in the truck at this point. I ripped the leftover cedar trunk down with the chainsaw to make two roughed-out half-plank kind of things to support the roosting pole. The one in the front is in your face when you open the door. I think it's pretty cool.

I think it's a good fit.

Since you're probably not going to scroll down and read the last post, I'm re-posting this. My friend rolled up on me going down 81, snapped this and posted it on my Facebook. I think this one needs to go on the front page of the blog.

P.P.S., I mentioned the 'Castle Coop with the hutch on the back last night. The 'Castle Coop is so named because it is going to Fincastle, not because it's going to look like a castle. Next post will show you how that's going.