Leaky Buckets

  Insulation, another task in the toolkit, though not terribly enjoyable Every morning after breakfast, I grab my old Randy Moss notepad, open it to a blank page and scribble down a to-do list. Yes, I have an old flexible-binding notepad with my favorite NFL football player of all time on the cover because I will never grow up. Anyway, I write down a to-do list for the day. The other day, I think it was a Wednesday, I had a particularly notable to-do list. It included the following… Meet Kyle at nine to pour 30x30 radiant slab Tear out old windows and install new ones for Emily  Clean woodstove chimney and install new spark arrestor Install and wire a bathroom fan in upstairs bathroom Design a new logo and sticker for my bluegrass band Complete the architectural plans for Craig and Donna Bake a cake for Sam’s surprise birthday In the end, it took me two days to complete this task list, with the help of my buddy, David. But what struck me was the variety of tasks on the list. D...

  My collection of destroyed work clothes We had a snow day on Monday, which was much needed because David and I very badly needed a work pants repair day. Climbing up to clean the chimney last week, I had torn open the inseam of my best insulated jeans. After six days of enjoying the breeze, I saw a forecast of -20 and knew that repair day had come soon. David, my best friend, coworker and resident of the tiny cabin below my house, was also sporting some risque cuts in his Carharts, so we settled in at the sewing machine. Sewing is not one of my better skills, but thankfully David is a master seamster. He did a majority of the work while I pulled stitching on a dozen different seams and cut patches for ten different pairs of Wranglers and Carhart work pants.  David and I destroy pants for a living. The IRS classifies us as construction workers, but we spend most of our time tearing holes in double stitched, heavy duty work pants and jackets. The beefy sewing machine that doub...

  San Francisco... formely a 15 minute city, but not anymore When I was in architecture school back in the mid 2000’s, one of the core tenets of our schooling was to design buildings and cities to better serve people. Sometimes, that meant easing the struggles of disabled people, unable to navigate existing infrastructure. Sometimes it was providing multi-use space that doesn’t already exist in our urban fabric. Sometimes it was just making something pretty to look at. But most of the time, the emphasis was on making buildings and human construction less wasteful; so that we didn’t burn all sorts of physical and societal resources simply trying to exist. This was where I first learned of the 15 minute city idea; the premise being that every human could access their basic needs within a fifteen minute walk or bicycle of their home, like food, entertainment, employment, social interaction, etc. Often, when discussing the 15 minute city in school, it was implied that if humans didn’...

  South Dakota with a thunderstorm imminent I am a mountain man. I grew up in the mountains. I climb mountains, take pictures of mountains, and generally seek out mountains of all shapes and sizes to live my life among. I don’t know why topography is so important to me, but I need to make my home in the mountains. However, I absolutely love driving on the plains. As most Americans over the age of four know, there is a large swath in the middle of America that was once an ancient seabed, stretching over a thousand miles east to west and several thousand miles north to south. This region is called the Great Plains. And they sure are great… Most mountain or ocean dwellers like me often disregard the Great Plains as endlessly boring, utilitarian, uninterrupted wasteland that is simply a distance hurdle while traveling between the more interesting parts of the world. Whenever I talk to someone who has recently driven across the USA, invariably they will complain about the worst part o...

  Stand up comedy is having a moment in our society right now. For decades, it has been a popular medium for analyzing the world we live in and sharing personal stories that strangers can relate to. I am fairly new to the genre, but it seems to have a constant presence in the news and now every major media platform has an entire category dedicated to stand up comedy. I often put on playlists of various comedians during long drives (which happens a lot in Montana). Kyle Kinane, Lachlan Patterson, John Mulaney, Robin Williams; there are hundreds of comics to choose from on most streaming or radio platforms. But my favorite comedy to seek out comes from a Provo, Utah based venue called Drybar Comedy. In an age where funny and vulgar are sometimes considered interchangeable, Drybar’s slogan “funny for everyone” is incredibly accurate.  Because of the unique personality that stand up comedy requires, it is natural for its performers to be the types of people who push the boundaries...

  Slurping my way through a gelato monster I was digging through my pictures the other day. This blog dredges up stories from the old days, and I always try to find a fitting picture to accompany the story on the blog. More than once, that search for a photo has inspired another blog post. Such is the case today.  In the photo at the top, you will see a 20 year old Ben holding a very large gelato cone. It was a roasting hot June day in Florence, Italy. We had been walking for hours and I was starving. I was part of a thirteen student group from Montana State University’s Architecture Program that had been invited to Rome for the summer of 2011 to study in one of the greatest architectural cities in human history. For ten weeks, we took a deep dive into classical art and architecture. When not in classes in central Rome, we would travel to other notable locations from the Italian Renaissance to study the magnificent work done by the masters such as Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Berni...

  The truck with all its bumper stickers, circa South Dakota, 2015 I am not a fast driver. It is one of the traits of my dad, like premature hair loss or a habit of filling barns with antique knick knacks, that appeared a little earlier than I had hoped. I tend to drive just a hair under the speed limit, mostly because I am rarely in a hurry. In fact I have been pulled over twice for going under the speed limit. In our modern world, driving slowly is suspicious, or so a friendly South Dakota police officer once informed me. So are bumper stickers, no matter what they say.  An old friend shared a song with me the other day that brought to mind a memorable experience with the South Dakota Bumper Sticker Police (SDBSP for short). We were headed north on I-29 near Brookings, South Dakota on a blustery but sunny August afternoon. The posted speed limit was 80; I was driving a hair over 70. I had the windows down, arm dangling, Marshall Tucker Band turned up to max volume. My scruff...