Our deck has been falling apart. Though it might be more accurate to say that our deck fell apart, and we have just been crossing the remnants of what used to be our deck. We didn't fix it earlier because we were planning on addressing it when we did our complete home renovation. The problem is that the complete home renovation's start date keeps getting pushed back, and the deck ran out of life.

Between our hundred-year-old home, the odd placement of our current deck, and the slew of building codes it violates since its original construction, our options are not plentiful. And by not plentiful, I mean our options are one. Before learning this, we had hoped to do some neat things with the deck but learned we could do nothing with it except building some steps out of our back door. Our current deck wasn't much, but it was more than a five-step fire escape.

But since we were told this was our one and only option, we hired what seemed like the most capable company we met with. Truthfully, it would be more accurate to say the company with the best salesman. I add this because the moment we got past the salesman and started working with the company, we learned they kinda sucked. I say it sucked because they just kept pushing our project back. It was admittedly a tiny endeavor, but the short-sightedness of running your business this way is that we have an extensive project in our future, and this was a chance for them to vie for that business.

A second factor that comes into play was what each salesman said when breaking the bad news about the codes. They would say, "If I build your deck, I have to build it to code." What I picked up on in time is that if, instead of replacing the deck, we repaired the existing deck, then we could keep some of these out-of-code elements. Once that light bulb went off in my head, I got mini-obsessed with rebuilding the deck myself.

My first job was convincing Marty I could do it. In this regard, my track record was not unimpressive but would be better described as embarrassing. But, I have been chipping away at my building skills since buying our house in 1999, and over the last twenty years have traveled a good bit of distance, having done several home repairs and improvements.

When I first brought it up to Marty, she was rightfully hesitant. She explained it was a big job and was worried there would be things I couldn't figure out. For her every negative response, I'd plead the opposite with nothing but a child's confident gaze as though I were asking my mom for permission to do something I wasn't old enough to do. I think what tipped the scales to my favor was when I said I could do it for half what the company was going to charge us, AND what I would make would be four times better than what they were going to do–because they were just going to give us stairs. I could preserve and restore the current deck and make it better than ever. I saw the financial arrow land. Deeply. I should have just started there. Next time I will. This was my first failure of this project. But it was also my first lesson. She greenlit the project, and I set to work before the sun went down.

My first task was to remove the failing parts of the old deck. The most failing of them all was the roof. I studied how I could safely take it apart and get it off the house. This was by far the most perilous and challenging part as I would be doing all of that work from a ladder–and I am not much of a fan of heights. What saved me was the roof was just below Bella's bedroom window, so I could reach out from there to access the highest parts of the roof.

I began by pulling off the soffit boards, the decorative ceiling you see when standing on the deck and looking up. As I pulled them down, mounds of leaves rained out of the hidden recess. There were legacy nests made by squirrels that had found their way into the cozy attic space. I heard a large thud below after pulling down one of the soffit boards. Looking down, I saw a perfectly mummified squirrel. It was curled up in a sleeping pose and looked fully at peace. Three more perfectly preserved critters joined the first before I was done.

Quick side note. Marty took the best-preserved squirrel to school. She then asked her class if they wanted to see the sort of gift a loving husband gives to his biology teacher wife. The kids all eagerly shook their heads. She then told them to go to the back and look in the box. All sorts of shrieks were heard after kids pulled the cardboard box open throughout the day. A few days later, Marty and I went to her school's football game. As we were leaving, I saw her put one of the mummy-squirrels into a big Ziploc baggie and then into her purse. I asked what she was doing. She said one of her students wanted one of them, so she would give it to him at the game. I bet your girl doesn't travel with desiccated squirrels in her purse.

The second most exciting part of the project was when I lowered the main trusses that made up the roof. Everything else I was able to take down a shingle and board at a time. But these main supports would have to come down as a large piece. So I studied them for a while before breaking the first one loose. It was a near disaster as it was even heavier than I thought. I'm lucky that I didn't bust out our kitchen window. So for the next one, I studied it a bit more and then did the following:

• I bored a 3-inch hole in the middle triangular structure
• I tied a slackline through the hole
• I ran the slackline through Bella's window and tied the free end to a bunk bed
• I also had Anthony hold onto the slackline–in case the weight made the bed slide
• I beat the truss free from the house.
• When it broke loose, Anthony held the weight, and we slowly lowered it to the ground

No windows were broken in the removal of the porch roof. This may have surprised everyone involved, most of all the laborer.

Once I had those off, I was off and running. Gotta say figuring it all out was lots of fun. I've yet to pass by our new porch without pausing to remember some challenge or problem that had to be solved. For me, this is one of the neater things of homeownership–not only knowing but being part of the history of what the home has become. And I'm pretty sure, every time my family looks at the new porch, they feel a sense of astonishment that their father, the IT guy, was actually able to pull off the rebuild–without breaking any windows or trips to the hospital.