Remember our old wood stove? Lemme remind you of the rickety rust bucket that broke every safety rule in the book:
When we moved here, every night that we fired her up, I was convinced we would burn down our new little wood-frame love nest. Seriously, I couldn't sleep. So we bought a new stove in June ... and of course, waited until two nights of 35-degree temps to install it.
Now, I was all fired up to pay for the install, because it involved: 1) climbing our steep metal roof, and 2) somehow getting to the smokestack up to where it enters the house, which was 18 feet above the living room floor. But Mason -- "What Could Possibly Go Wrong?" -- Cook wouldn't even consider hiring out the $500-plus job.
First we built a raised hearth and tiled it and the wall behind the stove:
Then Mason built scaffolding that extended out from the loft bedroom, so he could perch a ladder atop it and reach the ceiling:
Then came the fun part. (Warning: Professional thrill seeker. Do not attempt):
Now it's hard to see, but we had two lines (ropes, you landlubbers) tied around the little wood ladder laid flat on the roof and thrown over the back side of the house and tied to two trees. The ladder gave Mason something to kinda lean on and sit on while perched on the steep roof. Needless to say, the man slept real hard after those two days topside.
And the finished product?
And the beautiful warm flames now licking at our feet?