Think Like a Drip

10:40 a.m. Saturday.  Wind had been buffeting the tiny house since the wee hours, bringing rain that pebbled roof and siding with the heavy drops one might expect from clouds such a particular demeanor of lead.  Completely de-motivated to leave my nest, I had finished breakfast and a few chord drills on my guitar, and stood surveying the sodden scene over my tea cup.  The wind picked up.  The deluge streaked sideways.  I briefly considered surfing craigslist for some pontoon wheel replacements.  Instead, I fished out my camera in hopes of capturing some tiny context for the next post, which had yet to reveal its substance.  I positioned the camera to filter a view to the barn through the raindrops on the glass.  That’s when I noticed the water… pooling up from beneath the double pane and over top of the wood molding…

And so it was that my silent prayer for blog worthy content was answered (careful what you wish for) and the leisurely course of my morning, rudely abrupted.  I snatched up a paper towel and applied it to the crisis.  Immediate and total saturation confirmed, proactive adjustment to first response required.  My mind sped over and dispensed with window covering options as rapidly as the wind swinging wildly from my gutters surely would, unless I was prepared to nail it into place, thus damaging siding and/or trim and perforating additional moisture barriers.  The house shouldered another gust.  The rain intensified.  I tugged on my rain gear, paused again at the site of infiltration, took a deep breath…

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Alas, the situation was not unpredictable.  With regard to water, my building coach, John, had quipped, “you must think like a drip.” Translation: understand that water tends to travel downward, with gravity, except in the cases where it might wick up along a seam or be forced somewhere by wind.  My job through house-wrapping, flashing, careful spacing and nailing of shingles, trimming and siding was to block its entrance where possible and provide efficient exit routes where it might otherwise collect.  Simple enough.  Nevertheless, a blip in the application of this most sensible advice, had set me up for present karmic correction.  (Sidebar:  author acknowledges subtle avoidance of responsibility and self-victimization still operative in latter statement.)

Meanwhile back on site, a tiny fissure had appeared in my rising panic, trickling memory, then logic.  Replacing the fogged double panes last summer, I had carefully (if somewhat thoughtlessly), caulked and painted the seam between the window sash and exterior molding.  I had not provided drainage for the water that would inevitably (as it was now) flow down the exterior pane and into the channel holding the glass.  Immediate mitigation would be simple.  Arming myself with utility blade and scraper, I headed into the tempest.

Long story short, with rain soaking the back of my jeans and dripping into my cuffs, I wielded the utility knife to slice through the caulk and paint that sealed the seam at the bottom of the window, loosened the molding with the scraper.  Crisis averted: interior pooling successfully evacuated (except for the puddling rivulets from my raincoat as I stand sodden in the entry).  Lesson learned.

As if on cue, swaths of cerulean, then sun ruptures the leaden canopy (Murphy’s Law, number whatever-the-friggin’-karma).  No matter, I am thankful that I was home to witness the rain and its implications before the problem escalated.  No doubt some additional repair is in order, but first, some dry clothes and a steaming bowl of chicken soup.  I'll keep you posted.

Cheers!

Tiny evening...