It’s heeere!

The weeHouse has arrived. And about all I can say is, “Far out.”

Chris takes in the view.

In the end, there were 14 of us (and a dog) either watching or working. That doesn't count  brief visits from the power company, a Polk County Sheriff’s deputy and a guy who works at Lamperts lumberyard, which is providing most of our building materials.

It was a glorious day, by northland standards. Blue skies, clear roads and an iPhone temperature reading of 27-degrees (though some of us put it closer to 22 with wind chill).

My timeline is a bit fuzzy, but it’s fair to say it was a dawn-to-dusk operation. It went something like this:

DAWN

The journey began in the wee hours of the morning, around 6:45 a.m., when the crane and trucks showed up in Siren, Wis.

Scott and Sam of Alchemy Architects, the St. Paul-firm that designed and markets the weeHouse, got there a little before 8 a.m. By the time Chris and I arrived around 8:30 a.m., the weeHouse was on the truck and nearly ready to roll.

9:45 a.m.

You never pay attention to how many sagging wires are strung across the road until you’re driving ahead of a flatbed truck carrying a weeHouse. We had some heart-stopping moments as truck driver Tim McCormick weaved his wide load under electrical wires along Wisconsin Highway 35.

Tim later said he’d hauled a lot of things in his day -- chicken coops and the like -- but never anything like this. He brought along his wife, Rosie, and their big, white, furry dog, “Bear.”

11 a.m.

Wouldn’t you know it. We made it 30 miles from Siren, but were stopped in our tracks by the power lines on the road turning into Loveless. I put in an emergency call to the power company to see if they could raise the wires and then wrap the lines in front of my lot. (In winter, no one wants to cut power, even for a few hours. Wrapping the lines apparently offers some protection against electrocution.)

Once again, Loveless’ good fortune pulled us through. A Northwestern Electric crew was just minutes away. To the rescue. 

11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m.

Over the next two hours, the four-member crane crew set up outriggers and distributed enough weight (17,000 pounds) so that it could reach over the giant spruce trees and put the weeHouse on the foundation.

There was another moment of panic when Wayne, the crane driver, measured the distance from the road to the spot where the weeHouse would go. He understood it would be 85 feet out. But actually, the crane needed to extend 105 feet -- technically beyond its reach.

“I’m not feeling good,” said Wayne, a guy with a robust figure and fiery red beard, as he held a spool of measuring tape. “There’s not a fish at the end of this line.”

Fortunately, the weeHouse was lighter than expected. Plopping it on target was doable given the amount of manpower on hand.

1:30 p.m.

 The operation began with the crane dropping a pallet of cedar decking near the road.

And then, the mighty wee flew through the air.

3:30 to 5 p.m.

Alchemy Architects buttoned the weeHouse down to the foundation, put in supporting posts,  leveled out the sliding doors and put up with my occasional angst-riddled processing of the whole mind-blowing event.




Me and the Alchemy crew: Scott, Geoff, Jaclyn, Sam. This is wee No. 27.

 For the past six months, Loveless has been nothing but a slab. The building site is higher on the hill than the former place, and, with two stories, is much taller. The place felt anything BUT wee. It seemed shockingly huge. I despaired that I’d become one of those people who came to rural America and overbuilt.

Calm eventually prevailed. When I stood inside the cozy weeHouse and looked out across Loveless Lake, it was like being in a treehouse. The view was stunning. And I could start to visualize the place when it becomes more than just a shell of foundation walls.




View from the future bedroom, which will have sliding glass doors with a lake view

  
Later, Chris and I drove around to the other side of the lake to see if it stuck out. The weeHouse blended into the hill so much that we had trouble spotting it.

Until we saw William’s red canoe.