Half-caulked

Or corked, as they say downeast. Shoved full of cotton and puttied with seam compound. This arkwork has turned from manipulating gross details to tinkering with the small stuff. From putting together the pieces, to sealing up the cracks. And like everything else about the job, it's taken four times as long as I anticipated.

Farmer's Ash

Bunged

After the shutter plank was screwed down, I began plugging the countersunk screw holes. I cut bungs out of pine plank with a plug cutter, and set them into a thick mix of West System epoxy and microfiller. When all was said and done, I'd driven some 1500 inch and a half number 10s into the hull of this Toad, and it took me three days to bung her. Then three more to sand her fair.

Meanwhile this burg has continued to broil. Corking fine days, you might say. After mornings in Eden, we get midday scaldings, and Purgatory afternoons with horse flies. Some days a river breeze eases the pain, and some days you just have to soak your head. I'm dressing in white, hiding periodically in the shade, and pouring water on it.

Sanded

Sprinklers

Deepening drought has stalled the corn, but peas have climbed to the top of the chickenwire, and the pods are plumping out. Daylilies have succeeded the irises, and the rogue rose which arrived in front has bushed out to replace our dead cherry tree, swallowing the peonies. Over east on Prout's, where they've been pumping irrigation from the Kennebec, they've been picking peas for the last two weeks, and the U-pick strawberry patch is open.

Grain is in the ear, and even the last hold outs have knocked down their first cutting of hay. A line of thunder bumpers marched across the north end of town yesterday, but the clover and timothy Max was tedding didn't get doused. Mitch got half an inch over in Bowdoin. All our garden got was hosewater.

First Cut

Caulking Tools

Once this scow had been belt sanded with 50 grit, I started to caulk her. In the past I've driven cotton dry into the bevels, but I submitted to tradition this time, and decided to "paint" the seams first. One of the hard lessons I learned with Sharpie is that using boat paint on the interior of a flat-bottomed vessel just promotes rot. Paint quickly gets scuffed up, and what sticks simply holds moisture in. The old timers oiled inside the boat, and renewed the oil regularly. So I got the ingredients, and mixed up a batch: a third boiled linseed oil, a third turpentine, a third pine tar. Essence de old shipyard. This is the "paint" I squirted into the caulking seams with an oil can, and spread evenly with a #6 hog bristle. Where there was daylight in the seam, the goopy dribbled through, and now the inside of this barge smells like a chandlery.

Lilies

The whole process makes me anxious. Too much? Too little? Too far? Too tight? My rational observer tells me there's lots of margin for error. The planks will swell tight, even without the caulking, but my irrational self worries like a terrier on a rat. Find I'm chanting watertight lyrics and sublime imprecations. Sanding and caulking are meditative modes. Repetitive gestures in the hot sun. "May the words of our mouths, and the meditations of our hearts, be acceptable in thy sight, Over-Eye."

Just about the time I get thoroughly confused in the blazing whiteness, this long antennaed bug lites on the boat, and proceeds to spraddle up to me. He's been a regular investigator, and I've come to think of him as The Bamboozle Bug. If I'm having a fit of uncertainly, the Bamboozle Bug is sure to fly in and crawl up my arm. At least he doesn't make any comments. A nosy companion who makes me laugh.

Puttied

After an hour of caulking I'll go back and squeegee seam compound into the top of the caulked seams with a putty knife, wiping it smooth. I grossly underestimated how much caulking and compound I'd need from the mail order house, and now I've bought out the inventory at the local marine supply store, too. Not only is this more expensive, but the product has usually been sitting on the shelf a bit long. Fact is there just aren't enough wooden boats around to justify keeping this stuff in stock, and the old-style boatbuilders all plan ahead, use mailorder. When I went looking for silicon bronze screws, the kid behind the counter actually told me, "Nobody uses them any more." Reduced to Nobody, again.

Barring political interruptions. Air temp isn't the only thing hotting up in Bowdoinham. Annual town meeting is tomorrow night, and it looks to be a rancorous session. Erla, our aggressive town manager, has ruffled the back fur of a number of the old political animals. We'll cast the final vote on the Town Hall Uglification Plan: whether we'll destroy the lines of a grand old building for the sake of modernization, or not. There's supposed to be a smelt shack license ordinance on tap, which will rouse the ice boys. But mostly there's a strong undercurrent of distrust between the new brooms and the old guard. A growing sense of disenfranchisement among those of us who used to participate in town affairs by word-of-mouth, but who've been preempted by those who believe government should be run in camera. Committees and informal politics used to coexist in this small town, serving us all. Now only the authorities have a say. We'll see if the town in committee of the whole will be a rubber stamp.

Town Hall

Sunset Engineering

Last week Shirley, the long time town secretary, gave notice, and the Frizzle team in Public Works were ousted. Heated words were spoken, and rumors run rife. There's talk of vandalism of town property. Was that the bucket off the town's backhoe dumped in the old post office parking lot yesterday? It's reported that Erla has hired two rent-a-cops to provide security at the meeting, a shocking violation of protocol, if true. But the old cordiality and consensus politics is alien to this new corporate style of governance. Centralized management which values immediate authoritarian control and cold blooded bottom line, over the gradual process of informal public discussion and good will. A number of budget line items, which have been rushed to judgment by the increasingly isolated committees, will be voted on tomorrow night. Gripes will get aired. Should be an excellent show.

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