Surviving a Roof Replacement

The past year has been challenging here in France. First of all, I was working on the book nonstop, the subject of my last two blogs. The writing was hard enough, but the editing process nearly killed me. After months of hard labor, I was running on empty, and my eyes were failing me. Laurent was tired as well, burdened with not only his own work on the house but also the computer tasks I couldn’t do, like creating and maintaining the website and blog. But, hallelujah, we survived, and the book is now published, currently available as a Kindle e-book, and the paperback version will be released in a matter of days. 

Trying to get Susanna and Alice: Quaker Rebels published wasn’t the only challenge we faced. We also had to survive the replacement of our roof. When we moved back to France in the fall of 2019, we fell under the spell of a century-old manor house centrally located in the Berry region, just south of Bourges. Designed by the renowned architect Georges Vimort around 1910, it has beautiful woodworking inside, a lovely exterior of stone and brickwork, and a stunning, high-pitched slate roof. Lots of cosmetic renovations we could do, and have enjoyed doing – painting and such, but there were a couple of big projects that we knew the professionals would have to handle: the replacement of the kitchen, and roof repairs.

We moved in just before Christmas 2019 and contracted for the kitchen replacement in January 2020. The space needed to be completely gutted, rewired, refloored, and fitted with new cabinets and equipment. Because the space was so small, we decided to distinguish it with an ultra modern design in contrast to the rest of the house, which is appropriately vintage. (The kitchen here was meant only for the cooking and service staff, not for today’s eat-in family.) We were fortunate that the work started right away and was finished as promised, just before Europe shut down because of Covid; otherwise, we would have had to eat microwaved food and wash the dishes in the bathroom sink for half a year. We were lucky on the kitchen project. Then came the roof.

At the end of 2020, we contracted for the roofing work to be done in the spring of 2021. We could afford to replace only half of the roof because of its size – the half most exposed to our strong winds. We made a hefty initial payment so the contractor could order the slates; the slates on the roof were original, worn, and needed to be replaced, as did the wooden slats supporting the slates. The contractor estimated it would take about 10 weeks to complete the job. He said he could delay the start until September if we preferred, but we insisted the work should start in the spring, early summer at the latest, because we didn’t want to find ourselves in the winter without a roof over our heads. You can guess what happened: for one reason after another and another, the work didn’t begin until mid-October, and we had to go through the winter without a roof over our heads. And the project that was supposed to take two and a half months at a cost that was barely affordable for us ended up taking over 6 months, at a cost three times the original estimate. How do you say money pit in French? Vieille maison (old house). 

The problem with old houses is that their innards, which buyers rarely see when falling in love with a property, often need repair or replacement. This was the case with the structure supporting our roof. The beams supporting that high roof are, in fact, tree trunks, because there was no engineered lumber in 1910. And those tree trunks, although periodically treated during the life of the house, have been damaged by insects. Before the roofers could even start climbing on the roof to remove the old slates, they needed to support the structure with lumber and manhours not included in the original estimate. The pattern repeated itself throughout the project. More and more rotten things needed to be replaced – windows, zinc flashing, etc., which increased the length and cost of the project. 

Those were no pleasant six months. We heard constant hammering except for the workers’ lunch hours and blessed weekends. We had to keep our volets (shutters) closed because of workers on the scaffolding outside our bedroom and bathroom windows. And for almost a month in December and January, the only covering over half of our house was a tarp, which flapped very loudly when the wind picked up. And wouldn’t you know we had a couple of epic wind-and-rain storms which ripped the tarp let in the rain. Laurent had to empty buckets in the attic every few hours to minimize the water damage on the ceilings below, and to the roofers’ credit, there was always a number we could call in case of a tarp emergency, and they responded quickly. 

The job wasn’t finished until April. But we survived, and it was certainly worth the inconvenience and probably worth the cost. The work has improved the roof’s structural integrity, and the roof is, quite simply, a thing of beauty. The roofers, true artisans, took great pride in their work, and knew this was no ordinary roof. They posted photos of their progress on their Facebook pages, and even hid a kind of message in a bottle with their names and the date for roofers to find 100 years from now. The crowning moment was the installation of the two replacement zinc finials that the team leaders had crafted by hand, about six feet tall and exact replicas of the originals, complete with zinc acanthus leaves that no one can see from the ground without binoculars. The day came when the contractor and the two finials were lifted above the towering roof by an aerial work platform (a giant cherry picker). Laurent and I were on the lawn capturing the moment with our cell phones, our neighbors across the street took a photo from their upstairs window, and the roofing team looked up silently as the finials were lowered onto their supporting spikes. Fini. There was applause. And, later, champagne.

It was strange when the scaffolding came down and we shook hands goodbye with the team that had been part of our lives for six months. Laurent had come to know the workers pretty well, having served them espressos every morning and afternoon when they were on the job. They enjoyed the coffee, and we appreciated their craftmanship, but I’m sure we all hoped the other half of the roof would be done by the next owners.

After thirty years of renovating old houses, we’re feeling the pinch of old age. Perhaps this old house is one too many. Laurent’s new mantra is maison neuve, new house. We’re probably too old for this, according to our backs, knees, hips, and shoulders. There are days when I can hardly walk if I’ve gardened for too long. We now say, with certainty, that we will never live in another house like this one. Next time we’ll have a much smaller house, a thoroughly modern house, with double glazed windows, a new roof, and nothing to fix. Or so we tell ourselves.