For two weeks, it’s been approaching: the moment when hours upon hours of work disappear under insulation and drywall. The LVL that serves as the header for both the window opening and door, the installation of which was a day-long extravaganza of sweating and straining, will be visible only in pictures.
The runs of 12-gauge and 14-gauge wires, all the pretty yellow and white lines snaking through the walls, will disappear, and the only evidence will be a working, properly grounded wiring system — what most folks take for granted in the developed world.
The gas line that pops up from the floor will be hidden behind our new stove, though the majority of it (along with the new floor-supporting beam) will always be invisible, hidden in the crawl space.
All these things were running through my head as I lazily prepared to install the insulation, thus hiding everything we’d spent so much time and money creating over the last two weeks. It was a job the Boy, who loves to help with everything, could have easily done — no heavy lifting, nothing dangerous edges — except for the fact that we had no protective gear for his eyes and lungs. And even if we had, I would be reticent to let him help with such a job. The least physically demanding yet the most dangerous in a way.
I put some music on — Led Zepplin’s 2012 Celebration Day live album — and got to covering up everything we’d done.
Job done, I tore down the plastic separating the kitchen from the rest of the house — we’ll need to protect the rest of the house throughout the process, but this particular piece of plastic was hung on a 2×4 that would make drywalling impossible — and thought how weird it was to have unrestricted access once again.
