Working in an attic usually exposes some treachery and caution is advised. Building the chimney for the Rumford fireplace through the attic space was hellish in that I couldn’t stand up fully and was always hunched over; there was no floor so I couldn’t go off the scaffolding planks; the joists were all stuffed with fiberglass insulation and, consequently, I had to wash my clothes every day and coughed up specs of blood for a week and a half after breaching the roofline.

But it was all worth it and soon we were on the roof and looking at Gertrude’s Nose from the south side of the Shawangunks. This time of year, the mountain has a color hard to describe and impossible to duplicate in oil or pastel. The air was fresh. When the purple-brown canopy of the woods is lit by the pink of the late-day December sun, so pink, so rosy, it makes me take notice and register my profound insignificance in the scope of things. The sides and top of the mountain are highlighted by slashes of evergreen growth along rivulets and the base of cliffs. The cliffs are scratched-in whiteish and sparkling in quartz, and some of these stones are right here in our hands, cut by hammer and pitch, and ready to go into the chimney. Pieces of the mountain are here with us now on the ground and on pallets to keep them out of the mud and here on the scaffolding.

Brian built a lovely scaffolding for me. He was very proud of it. I gave him all the credit I could without affecting him. It was safe and leveled properly and with OSHA-approved scaffolding planks, and even the ladders were secured to the main scaffolding platform. Nice, I said, nice.

I dug out my mason’s pulley and the crane that holds the pulley and allows buckets to swing out away from the scaffolding or onto the platform of the scaffolding. That pulley and crane is the method of getting our supplies up to the roof from the ground. It can lift just about anything. It was once my father’s tool and he gave it to me forty years ago and the hemp rope on the pulley was probably left over from the Pacific Navy in World War Two (where his brother, Uncle Dave, served), so Brian cut out the swivel clip that hooks onto the buckets and attached it to a new plastic rope worthy of the weight we were about to hoist. Brian threaded the new rope over the wheel of the pulley. Works like a charm. As needed, we pulled up the hand-cut stones, the mortar, the appropriate flue tiles, the block, the water, the tools, the tarps, the headphones. I love listening to music while I work, and Woodstock Radio comes in clear. I have always enjoyed using a pulley: grabbing the rope and pulling things up straightens your back like going to a chiropractor. It decompresses the vertebrae. And it fills out shoulders and un-cricks your neck. No need for a gym, today.

The big push is on. The days are getting short. I watched the weather for warm spells. We pushed on. (Tammi gave us a Christmas deadline!) (I’m good with deadlines. I’m better with deadlines! Always studied best the night before the test. What is the sense of studying last week when you can study tonight!?)

Everything came up. Garcia was making perfect batches of mud. We took a day off to organize our stones so things would go quicker during the final selection. “How about this stone?”

“Hell NO! Throw it down!”

“But you brought it up.”

“What? It will never fit. Even I make mistakes. At least I’m willing to admit it! Throw the damned thing down. Don’t hit Steve.”

Then, finally, we are at the top -- the second step of scaffolding Brian built was even better than the first. We put on the capstones, poured a crown of mortar on the stonework, sealing it to the flue. Using a mason’s trick, I had Brian send up Tammi’s Saran Wrap and I snipped off pieces from the roll and carefully laid them on the fresh mortar-cap, patting them down to make sure they didn’t blow off in the wind. This thin sheet of plastic traps the moisture of the cap pour and prevents rapid evaporation and prevents hairline cracks appearing in the mortar. It’s a good little trick and the mortar looks great when you peal the plastic off a couple days hence.

The final day was full of pink light, and I pointed the stones of the chimney in white limestone mortar, in the Hudson Valley tradition, from top to bottom, and washed the roof. Garcia made a rare appearance on the scaffolding, and we wrapped the whole chimney in tarps and insulating silver bubble wrap to prevent freezing at night and we will keep it on during this coming cold spell. Maybe the Van Kleeck’s can have a fire in their new Rumford in their new house for Christmas. Cheers, everybody. What day is this? I’m just happy it is still 2023. I love the time I am on Earth, for during no other time will I be conscious.