Tarps & Project Logistics

Blue tarps and frames needed replacing every three to six months.

There were several components of our workshop that were constantly evolving. The blue tarps and the frame they rested on were a never-ending challenge to arrange so we could stand up under them and still have protection from the sun and rain. The key was to staple running boards to the edges of the tarps so we could stretch them over the underlying frame and get them tight enough to withstand the elements.  I don’t remember how many replacements were purchased from Ace Hardware over the four years of the project, but in the harsh tropical sun, they only lasted from three to six months.

The small garden shed, purchased from Sears, was our workshop and the generator, wet dry vacuum, bench vise and grinder, table saw, planer and all our hand tools and materials were stored here. We put in a plywood floor, built shelving and reinforced the doors. A large assortment of sawhorses, collected from various junk piles in the boatyard, were invaluable for setting up workspaces for each task.

And how did we know when to do each thing that needed doing? It became apparent early on, that we needed a way to organize each step of the restoration to synchronize the project. At first, we had no idea it would be such a huge undertaking, nor did we even have a clue about creative, practical logistics. 

Starting with eight-and-a-half by eleven-inch notepaper, we quickly realized it was too small. Graduating to a twenty-four-inch roll of white kraft paper, we papered the dining room walls with it. We drew linearly, what we thought was going on, and then added the sidelines and all their individual steps and materials. Remember, this was before we had computers to keep it all straight for us! 

At first, our sketches were quite simple, but we learned that what looked like a page of tasks and materials would easily turn into a dozen pages. When doing a restoration, each step builds on another step, and you can’t do step B before step A. 

The challenge was we didn’t know what the steps were until we got there! For example, we would be all ready to complete a step and then discover some rot or a corroded fastener and a whole new project would appear before our eyes. This new project might take a whole month or two to complete before we could return to where we had begun.

Here is an example: Elixir all sandblasted and ready to fill sand and paint, right? Wrong! Cabin structures were rickety and the decking underneath them was rotting. This meant the old main cabin needed to come off. But the fore-cabin was solid, right? Wrong again. It also had to be removed. Now we could begin rebuilding the cabins for re-installation, right? Wrong again. Every one of the deck beams and carlings (supporting the cabins) had dry rot, so they all needed to be replaced. 

At that point we decided to rethink the deck layout and make a more practical floor plan, one without a cargo hatch in the middle of the cabin. Just an example of the four years’ worth of detours we made to restore Elixir.

Removing the main cabin.

Deborah Rudell

I grew up in a small town in British Columbia, the eldest of four children. Typical of the 60’s and 70’s, there were many children in the neighborhood and plenty of independence and autonomy. My parents were busy with younger siblings and as a child I found solace in my stuffed animals and imaginary friends. As a preteen, my grandmother taught me about reincarnation, Edgar Cayce, yoga and Jesus. As a teen, my coping mechanism for the pain I saw and felt in the world was a reading list that included Max Heindel’s The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception, Gina Cerminara’s Many Mansions, Levi Dowling’s The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ and books about Atlantis.

https://www.deborahrudell.com/
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