The Year I Learned How to Build a Barn Wall

It was the summer of 2012, in a barn, in Cygnet Ohio. Cygnet is one or two exits south of Bowling Green Ohio. It is entirely rural, with a very small “downtown” consisting of a gas station, a pizza place, a bar, and post office. The rest of the town is either farms, homes, or farms with homes on them. The barn I found myself in on this fateful day had recently transferred ownership. I will save the explanation of the odd genealogical chain of events that led me to this story perhaps for another time. Suffice it to say that the current owner (my former father in law Greg) had just taken possession of the property from his recently deceased father in law.

Rich, the previous owner had, in his lifetime, taken great care of all aspects of the property. He had grown old here, and fell ill about two years before this story takes place. During his struggle with his illness, he was unable to take care of his property as he normally would have and to his detriment, his pride prevented him from allowing outside help to take care of things for him. As a result, the estate had fallen into a state of disrepair. The disrepair of which I speak included things as minor as weeds infiltrating his flower beds to major things like four legged pests finding their way into his attic.

The reason for my visit this particular day was one of consultation. My father in law had little experience with most things rural- as he was born, raised, and resided in the city his entire life. He and I were discussing potential methods for bringing the state of his newfound property back up to snuff. One of the problems he found living in his new digs, was that of a very particular variety of flying insect known as mud dauber wasps taking up residence in his barn. He had researched wasps- research was his specialty. He had retired from the field of research. Before addressing any type of problem, he would first research the cause, check every sort of option that anyone in the entire world has ever used to remedy said problem. He would then read every single review written about every single entry regarding every single option, then, slowly and methodically plan out how to proceed in an orderly, organized, well thought out fashion.

This was his way of doing things, and while perfectly valid, is not my way. It’s not my way at all. In fact, this way of doing things drives me absolutely batty. I see a problem that needs to be addressed, and I try to fix it. If that doesn’t work, I try a different approach. Still doesn’t work? Try another way. I keep going like this until something eventually works. I seem to have far more “failures'', but I always learn in the process and usually have some fun along the way. He and I had worked on many projects together before, and every now and again his method would prove more efficient than mine, but typically, I would have had a problem solved and cleaned up, days before he finished his first round of research.

The barn in question had four walls. It stood square in stance, with each wall measuring about 40 feet across. The south facing wall had a 20 foot wide by 15 foot high hole cut out and framed for use as a door. On the west wall, there was an entry door. Next to the entry door stood an aged, rickety set of shelves- seven feet high and four feet wide, built in, and made of miscellaneous lumber. The dimensions were consistent, but differed in age, wear, and state of repair. Next to the shelves, about two feet away was a home made, built in cabinet. This cabinet also was made hodge podge style with different bits of lumber, but was overall in a much better state. The better state could be attributed to the fact that it was used much less frequently, and the fact that it was built about a foot off of the ground, and as such absorbed much less moisture.

The problem du jour was that although the one foot gap between the floor and the bottom of the cabinet was the main reason for this particular piece of furniture’s longevity, it was also the perfect space to provide shelter for the invading mud dauber wasps. In Rich’s lifetime, he kept, and fed barn cats. These cats in return would then provide the service of ridding the farm of rats, mice, moles, voles, and as it turns out-, low flying wasps as well. Greg found the barn cats to be a nuisance, so he tricked them into the back of his pick-up truck and relocated them to a far corner of the county. In the absence of the cats, the wasps took up residence, and built themselves a nice home- no- city, right below the cabinet.

Remembering my past experience with ether and wasps that left me in an oxygen deficient space devoid of my wits, with a surplus of welts- (See “An Ethereal Karmic Experience”) I decided to take a page out of my father in laws playbook, and plan out my method of attack. The space was too close to the ground to use the can of ether in the traditional way, as it would need to be inverted, and as such, wouldn’t spray correctly for very long- leaving the sprayer exceptionally vulnerable to newly agitated wasps. The nests were many, and this idea was too risky.

My next thought was to somehow create a hole in the bottom of the pressurized can of ether, causing it to spray until it was exhausted between the cabinet and the ground. This would surely eliminate the ability of the wasps to fly, but then It would be impossible for me to eliminate the wasps- I wouldn’t be able to get in there to dispatch them while the can of ether sprayed, for fear of a repeat result from before. My next thought was that I needed a way to trigger the can remotely. Eureka! I had it, I had a plan. It went as follows:

Step 1: Set garden hoe down near ground zero for use in step 4.

Step 2: Place a full can of ether, on its side, directly between the dirt floor, and the main area of the wasp city.

Step 3: Laying in a prone position, a safe distance away, remotely trigger the diffusion of ether in the upward direction, toward the wasp city.

Step 4: After complete aresolization, sprint to ground zero, and using a garden hoe placed at the ready, extract the paralyzed city from below the cabinet, and destroy.

All I needed now was a way to remotely trigger the can. Well, I had that figured out as well. I had a large collection of firearms of various caliber, and style, and I chose the .30-06. This round flies very straight, has a predictable trajectory, and is most capable of creating the hole I need to get the job done. The down sides to this round is that it is very powerful, so over penetration could possibly be a problem. I had this issue taken care of as well. I would fire at a slightly downward angle, and after piercing the barn wall behind the cabinet, the round would hit the dirt at about a 30 degree angle.

Though unlikely, this angle did increase the chances of ricochet. To compensate for this, I put several sandbags down- outside the wall at the point of impact, a stack of wood behind that, and a second stack of sandbags just to make absolutely sure I’ve accounted for any and all possible outcomes. This plan was both genius, and foolproof. I twice ran through the action plan, placed down the hoe, loaded the rifle, put on my safety glasses, and got into position. I forgot to put down the can of ether. I got back up, put down the can of ether, and noticed the wasps were waking up and beginning to stir. They didn’t like the can invading their space and it was time to take action. I ran back to the rifle, took aim and fired. My aim proved true, and hit the can exactly where I had planned. Bulls eye. What could go wrong? Well, let me tell you.

An unjacketed 155 grain .30-06 bullet traveling through a steel can should not cause a spark. This is a fact that I considered ahead of time, accounted for, and prided myself on thinking about. The bullet itself is made out of lead, and without a copper jacket, it would be lead on steel. There are hammers made out of lead- designed for striking surfaces so as not to mar them, and most especially not to cause a spark. There are few of these left because of the dangers of lead, and the prevalence of plastics- but it is still a tried and true method. While it does not cause a spark, two metals traveling through one another- especially at extremely high speeds does create some friction. Friction generates heat. Let me take a moment to remind you a little bit about the substance contained within the can that I just opened up.

Ether is a miracle substance. It has many uses, one of which is as a humane way to force an animal to go to sleep before euthanasia. Ether has several names as well. One such name is starting fluid, so called because it is so extremely flammable that as long as an engine has oxygen to burn, and a spark- even if said engine has no other source of fuel, if you spray ether into the air intake, the engine will fire up, and run until all of the ether burns off. If you continue to feed ether to the engine this way, it will run indefinitely. Highly flammable, one could say explosive even, and my genius plan was to open a pressurized steel can full of the stuff, using a led projectile moving at 2,700 fps.

The good news of the day was that I did in fact rid the barn of the wasps. The not so good news was that I also produced a fireball, the likes of which I had never before seen. Said fireball liberated the barn completely of the wasps, their nests, the empty can of ether, the garden hoe, the cabinet in its entirety, half of the shelving unit that was once situated next to the cabinet- its contents, several miscellaneous garden tools, and a solid three quarters of the west wall. The cabinet, and much of the wall were converted to a state of… well, I’d say toothpicks for illustrative purposes, but I’m familiar with toothpicks, and one would need to glue several pieces together to make just one toothpick. The cabinet was essentially vaporized. In addition to the unexpected, and violent explosion, the fireball started the hay mow- which was full of years old hay, dry as a bone- aflame.

A moment after the initial shock of the event, the first thing I noticed was my father in law standing, mouth agape staring with wonder at what once was the west wall of his barn, or the flaming hay, I couldn’t really tell for sure. All I did know for sure was that the fire needed to get put out, and now! I sprinted past my father in law toward the garden hose that was coiled up near the house, an action that restored the stunned fellow to his wits. He later confessed that when he saw me running, he was first under the impression that I was making a break for it, and trying to flee the scene. This explains the reason that he began to give me chase, a fact that I had yet to learn. My former father in law is a big fellow, and he doesn’t get a lot of exercise. Because of this, it takes him a good bit to really build up speed when he decides to run, a thing he does very, very rarely.

I ran past Greg, stopped dead in my tracks at the garden hose, and began to turn on the water. Somewhere between reaching full steam, and reaching me, he realized that I was actually involved in the idea of saving what was left of the barn- and not trying to escape criminal charges, so he attempted to stop his pursuit. I said earlier that it takes him a good bit to get to full steam. As it turns out, it takes him even longer to reach full stop. I was doubled over at the water spigot, and he was coming my way at full speed. At the last second, he thought of an escape plan. He decided that as I was bent over, he would leap over me, allowing me to continue my fire extinguishing plan.

The biggest flaw in this plan can be attributed to the fact that about the only thing he does worse than running, is jumping. He gave a leap with all of his might, and at a full sprint- this put his kneecaps squarely into the back pockets of my jeans. I was in the most literal sense bowled over. We both landed flat on our stomachs. The biggest problem for me was the fact that, while we both lay on the ground in a similar position, his position was directly on top of my position. Please remember that until just a split second before now- I was under the impression that he was still standing several yards behind me in shock about recent events. I was struggling for both breath, and reason when I noticed two things.

Firstly, I noticed that his cheek was pressed against my cheek, and was breathing right into my ear. Even in the chaos of the moment, I considered the fact that under different circumstances- and with a different person- face to face contact with someone breathing gently into my ear could be romantic. In this particular situation, the romance was lost completely. Secondly, I noticed that he was not moving. Seconds passed that felt like days, and I was just coming to grips with the fact that I was probably going to die here- when he began to stir. He rolled from my back asking me what had happened. I still had no idea, and was in no position to guess, so without comment, I returned to the task at hand. I grabbed the hose, sprinted to the barn, and went to work.

The fire went out rather quickly, and save for the lingering smell of burned hay, hair, and wood, the bulk of the barn was saved. A handful of charred wood is still visible today- a reminder of an ill advised plan. A good portion of the rest of that summer was spent learning how to- and financing the build of- a new wall and cabinet for the barn. After the west wall was rebuilt and painted, the remainder of the barn got a fresh coat as well. I learned how and why to thin paint for a sprayer, (more on this debacle to be found in a future story) how to build a barn wall, and what NOT to do with a can of ether. Overall, it was a very educational summer.