Old Schmitty maintained it was simple.
Incline two logs up to your top
course of logs, lay your purlin
at the base of the incline.
Tie two ropes to the top course,
take two turns down around the 30-footer,
throw the ropes back up to the top,
and roll ‘er right up.
Like an old cairn,
Schmitty pointed the way
through impassable terrains.
Use the power of the wedge,
he’d say, and I learned
to fell twisted trees.
The notched beam logs
rolled easily into place
atop the cabin walls.
Smile breaking my face, I tacked
a sprig of yew to the peak.
Then stood back
and just looked.
Good job!
I was astonished, even unbelieving when I first learned about the parbuckling technique. Building a log home was, I used to say, an experience in controlled terror. There was only so much money and time, nothing is standard in log construction, and I had very little experience. Every now and then I’d hit a snag that just stopped me.
One such time had to do with how to get large roof beams (purlins) up on top of a two and a half story log shell. I couldn’t afford a crane, and my back-to-the-land ethic refused to permit such a consideration in any case. Schmitty, a farmer, science/math teacher, Einstein afficianado, and man of the woods, came to my rescue any number of times. He had a certain Pythagorean elegance, and was a fine teacher.
The “sprig of yew” refers to a branch of the yew tree, the hardest of hardwoods in the Puget Sound lowlands. One of many pieces of lore about home building has it that placement of a strong branch on the peak of a new house confers strength and permanency to the structure. I’ve seen fir trees attached to the tops of new skyscrapers in downtown Seattle.
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