My Carpentry 101 crash course, and the wonders of oakum

Kathleen McQuillan

With the season about to shift to autumn, my mind has been focused on the final steps to restore the exterior of my log house. A project I thought would take one summer is now rounding out the end of its third. And this summer, which I thought would surely be the last, will likely leave some important steps left for next year. My inner voice repeatedly chants, “Perseverance, dear girl. Perseverance!”
When I began this journey into the unknown, I decided to leave work on the east wall of the house for last because, in my preliminary assessment, it looked like it would require the most time and attention. Our bitter Minnesota winters and scorching summer heat had definitely taken a toll. Dense forest surrounds my place and is closest on the east side, creating persistent shade and humidity, and poor air circulation, that together contribute to more rotting and insects. Saving the worst until last was a big, big mistake. I learned too late. Never save the hardest stuff for the end. I know that now because, in my current state of project fatigue, facing that east wall is a bit like facing El Capitan.
I thought I was so smart back in May when I jumped on that string of nice days we had and scraped, scrubbed, and sanded five decades of detritus from that east wall just to ready it for the first coat of penetrating stain that would protect the logs from rot and bugs for many years to come. No one could have predicted that June would produce some of the heaviest rains in centuries, followed by weeks of what meteorologists called “pop-up showers” that showed up on a nearly daily basis until mid-July.
It would take many weeks before the now saturated logs would dry thoroughly enough to stain. My frustration with the weather spawned waves of anxiety. Our summers are short, and time was a-wastin’! I knew I’d have to review the priorities on my to-do list and recalibrate the timetable. What I needed to identify was an indoor project until the weather decided to cooperate.
I found myself completely shifting gears from exterior log work to something indoors. The lightbulb went on. I could start upgrading my 1980s experiment with solar power. The equipment I’d installed way back then still functioned, but I knew it was losing its zip and was shockingly obsolete. This could be my opportunity. I resumed researching where I’d left off last winter. I determined how much power I would need and how much I could invest in new equipment. I also realized that I would need to construct an area suitable to assure my system could be kept warm in the winter. I decided to design an insulated “closet” in my three-season addition.
For that month of sequestration, I created a personalized Intro to Carpentry 101 crash course. Thanks to the generous array of battery-powered saws, drills, bits and blades that my sons had gifted to me at Christmas two years ago and some great YouTube videos I found, I was able to complete my first solo construction project. And now I have power! That rainy weather I’d so lamented had in fact allowed me the experience of learning to read a tape measure right down to the “16ths”, and everything else involved. My next DIY challenge will be wiring my own house.
Finally, the weather began to cooperate. The logs were drying. But before I could start staining, I would need to insulate and seal the spaces between the logs. In times past, log builders would often turn to whatever materials were on hand whether moss and straw, shredded newspaper, or scraps of cotton and woolen clothing. Today, the “make-do” materials of our ancestors have been replaced by manufactured products such as fiberglass batts, spray foam, and “elastometric” caulks, all of which I considered, until I discovered oakum.
Oakum is made from multiple twisted strands of jute and hemp soaked in pine tar and bentonite, a compound derived from volcanic ash. It is easily manipulated to fit the varied spaces between the logs and accommodate variations from their knots and other unique features. It acts as a natural deterrent to insects and can swell or shrink with changes in humidity, enhancing its sealing capabilities. It’s been around for centuries with one of its first uses in shipbuilding when skilled maritime craftsmen would salvage worn ropes from ships’ rigging to repurpose as filler for cracks and leaks in their 16th- and 17th-century wooden sailing ships. Later it was used to build the massive networks of pipes that transport drinking and wastewater underneath our major cities. It’s still used for many modern-day plumbing repairs.
Working with oakum has taken some getting used to. Like so many aspects of my restoration project, it’s been another trial-and-error process, learning what it can and cannot do, requiring my patience and concentration in an almost meditative way. There is an art in how tightly to twist it, so it conforms and fills the nooks and crannies endemic to log buildings. I was able to purchase a vintage shipwright’s cast iron caulking tool that has proven to be perfect for the job. I sometimes muse the by-gone era when Maritimers masterfully employed the skills I’m just learning, ones that allowed for vast ocean crossings. I appreciate attempting a traditional practice that I hope will not be lost.
I must confess. At times, I’ve questioned my sanity, as may have some of my friends. This endeavor to restore my cabin began in sheer ignorance, and has tested every part of my being — body, mind, and spirit. My biggest fear this year has been that I might “age out” before it’s complete, something that would be a huge disappointment to me, and a burden left for somebody else.
I owe my family, friends and community thanks for their patience and support. I’ve turned down many invitations to commit with my truth, “If it’s a sunny day, I’ll need to work.” Next summer, I’d like things to be different. But this year has shown me, when it comes to time, or the weather, there are no guarantees. Our priorities will sometimes need discernment and adjustment. And everything we choose to do has the power to message something meaningful.
In many a stressful moment, working with oakum has messaged me this. Take more time when you can. And appreciate the twists and turns.