The Mushroom Factor

So recently, as we were sitting around watching Bershawn “Batman” Jackson run his 400 meter hurdles at the Beijing Olympics, a bat came out of nowhere and was flying around in our living room. Yes, an actual bat with uncanny timing.

We live in the country and often see bats on summer evenings flying around our yard light, which is atop an electric utility pole set away from the house. Supposedly that’s kind of good because they eat mosquitos, right? But seeing bats high in the sky is very different than having one swooping around in the house, frantically trying to find its way out. Even my husband, who normally deals with anything, admitted to heebie jeebies. Eventually he was able to throw a blanket on top of the creepy critter and get it out of the house.

Needless to say, we want to know how and/or where a bat came in and should we be worrying about more? According to the Internet Center for Wildlife Damage Management, there are several clues that indicate bats living in your house:

1. Two or more encounters with bats flying around in your house within one calendar year
2. Piles of mouse-like fecal material in your attic or on the ground outside your house
3. Bats observed flying around your house from dusk to dark
4. A bat in the house during winter months

What to do if you suspect bats living in your house, besides putting up a for sale sign? The Internet Center for Wildlife Damage Management advises the following:

1. Locate the points of entry, commonly on roof edges, valleys, eaves, gables, dormers, vents and the chimney. Bats can squeeze through openings as small as 1/4 inch, depending on the specie.
2. Repair and seal these openings after dusk, when bats have left their roost. The best time for repairs is mid-August through mid-May, before the young are born and after they are weaned and able to fly.
3. Repellant and toxicants, according to the Center, have limited effects for various reasons.

Now that we have a child living in Washington D.C., we enjoy regular visits to what is probably our nation’s most fascinating city. We’ve hit the monuments, the museums and, oh, the restaurants! Thankfully, D.C. is a walking town and we’re able to work off what usually is some majorly excessive, good eating. (Note-to-self: function rather than fashionable form is a necessity in the clothing and shoe department.)

So, while we’re doing all this walking, my favorite thing to see is the architecture. As a lover of old houses, I find the rowhouse especially intriguing, partly because of its historical representation and partly because its not a common style here in the Midwest.

When I accompanied my daughter on her housing hunt a few years ago, I had the opportunity to see the interiors of several rowhouses. Like most old houses, they had architectural elements you just don’t find in newly-built homes and apartments—parquet floors, beautiful woodwork and bow-front windows. And like many old houses, these particular buildings needed lots of work and money!

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Today the mushroom factor, the phenomenon that one small factor will inevitably lead to much more, struck in full force. And I wasn’t even working on my house! Well, not entirely.

Over the years, as we’ve renovated various rooms in our 1917 American Foursquare, John Bhend has popped up here and there. Better said, he’s popped up almost everywhere—under the stairs, behind the woodwork, in the attic. Wherever there’s a backside of lumber, there’s John Bhend.

His name, anyway.

Many pieces of wood in our house bear the scrawled signature of “John Bhend, Watertown, Wi.” We’ve always thought it was rather cool and assumed he built our house. We’ve heard somewhere that loads of wood are commonly labeled with the builder’s name before being shipped to the building site.

So today, I had a few minutes to spare and stopped at the Dodge/Jefferson Counties Genealogical Society. My intention was to learn a bit about John Bhend, but instead the mushroom factor kicked in. Obviously, you don’t spend just a few minutes in a genealogical society, not if you have an inkling of investigative curiosity for anything historical. Within minutes of my arrival, several helpful people brought me Plat books, old city directories and obituaries. Not only did I get information on our guy, but I now have a list of previous property owners back to the 1860’s and a fixation to learn more.

But back to John Bhend.

According to a 1930 city directory, John was indeed a general contractor and home builder. His ad details 18 years of experience in building or remodeling and guarantees good construction, blue prints and specifications to the customer’s order. His obituary, dated March 2, 1944, describes him as a “widely known contractor” who was also a member of the Watertown Builder’s Club.

Reading John Bhend’s obituary brings him to life as more than the builder of our house. He becomes a person, as well. According to the paper, he was born in Aschi, Canton of Bern, Switzerland on Sept. 28, 1881, to Mr. and Mrs. Christian Bhend. In 1906, at the age of 25, he came to the U.S. and for a time lived with his brother Christ Bhend.

On October 4, 1913, John married Saraphine Krueger (Saraphine—what a beautiful name!) Together they had two children; a daughter, Irene, and a son, Marcel, who at the time of his father’s death was serving in the Pacific in World War II. Saraphine preceded John in death in 1935.

The obituary goes on to list John as a member of the Congregational Church, Watertown Lodge No. 49, F& AM and Watertown’s Plattdeutscher Verein (Low German Club). He also was a director of the Wisconsin National Bank and active in local affairs.

So that’s John Bhend, the guy beneath our stairs and behind our woodwork. If our house is a testament to his work, he was indeed a very fine builder. Ninety-one years later, it stands sound and true.

But now I want to know more. How many other homes in our area bear his name? And which ones? What do those homes look like today? The mushroom factor has definitely kicked in.

The question of reglazing bathroom fixtures often arises in homeowner forums and inevitably the answers are varied. Eight years ago, as we removed the 1950’s plastic tile from our Craftsman-era bathroom, we contemplated reglazing vs. replacing the bathtub.

Our decision to reglaze was pretty easy and for us, it’s been the right choice. We’ve since enjoyed years of luxurious soaks in a glorious tub.

Our old tub is a 5-ft. cast iron clawfoot that’s original to our 1917 American Foursquare home. It’s finish was worn but passable, save the pink non-skid flowers previous owners had stuck to the bottom. Over time the flowers began to peel and left behind an unsightly adhesive.

Have you ever submerged yourself in a clawfoot? Such a tub is pre-water-restriction era and to slip into its steaming bath, scented with a splash of essential oil, is truly nirvana. Needless to say, pink flowers or not, we did not want to give up this tub.

We called John Harrison of Cream City Tub & Tile. He promised reglazing would indeed bring new life to our tub, but I also remember him advising us that reglazing does have limitations. The acrylic finish he suggested came with a 5-yr. warranty and helpful instructions for care and cleaning.

Being a clawfoot, we could easily take the tub out of the bathroom for off-site refinishing. OK, maybe not easily…it was pretty heavy and we had to manuever it down the stairs. But taking it out of the house was advantagious. My husband sand and water-blasted away the old finish, thus saving us some costs. We also didn’t have to breathe the fumes as it was reglazed and cured.

The disadvantage? We had to transport the tub back home and get it up the stairs without killing each other or marring the finish. Somehow, we managed.

For us, the reglaze has worked well for several reasons. Cream City Tub & Tile are reputable specialists and did a top quality job. We care for the tub according to instructions. Because it’s not in our primary bathroom, the tub’s use is limited. And finally, our four children are grown and no longer at home.

Eight years later, what do we think? We love it. We plan to continue luxurious soaks for years to come.

Whether it’s in March or April, Easter in the Midwest is never predictable. This year certainly was an example. Various areas in southern Wisconsin received 7-12 inches of heavy, wet snow, which made for a true March Madness.

Unpredictable madness can also occur when living in an old house, especially a country house. Take for example, this Easter weekend. A houseful of company proved too much for our old, old septic system and it strategically chose to back up just as everyone was settling in for the weekend. Needless to say, they didn’t stay around too long!

So, what do you do when nasty, foul smelling you-know-what begins working its way up your lines and near to overflowing the toilet? 

Well, you act pretty darn fast. One unfortunate person—yeah, you got it, that handy husband of mine—had to remove the stuff while everyone else made less-than-handy suggestions such as “Uh, would you mind shutting the bathroom door so the odor doesn’t come through the rest of the house?” The same handy and now considerably less cheerful guy also had to dig an 18-inch hole to the expose the septic cover for pumping. Did I mention it’s still winter here in Wisconsin? 

Septic systems are definitely something to consider if you’re contemplating life in an old country house. Barry Chalofsky, in his article for Old House Journal, describes the ins and outs of old house septic system care. I won’t necessarily promote the article as fascinating—you have to remember the topic at hand here. But, as one who’s lived and cared for an old system for twenty years, or rather my husband has, I can vouch for the author’s informative advice: flush only biodegradable paper products, avoid planting invasive vegetation near the tank and disposal field, and have your tank pumped periodically.

So, you could say we had a crappy Easter. Well, not completely. Remember, we’re easy-going people and above all, Easter means a lot to us.

Jesus lives!