Mission creep

Plus a new cabin building video

When we decided to build a cabin on the site where the previous one stood/burned, it was intended to be more of a shack. “Much more humble,” is how I described it, if pressed to admit there even was a cabin build. I was determined to limit the amount of effort and cash invested into any post-fire projects and had a very strict vision of how it would be assembled and the many corners that would be cut.

Admittedly, how I defined that simplicity was a little weird. For instance, we were felling and milling our own lumber, and the manner in which that chunky lumber would be cut and framed was complicated. I also had decided to build all our furniture, making doors and windows, and taking the extra steps to hide all the hardware. So, in some ways (that I was into), it was a more involved build. But in many respects, and in total—no power, or plumbing, no insulation, a cheap tin roof, and a single layer of siding over exposed framing that would leave it more weather-resistant than weather-proof—a much more humble cabin.

But… mission creep.

That attention to detail around furniture making and concealing hardware stemmed from inescapable aesthetic desires. So it shouldn’t be a total surprise that at some point I opted for a more interesting siding material than the cheapest stuff from the lumber yard… which then informed improved ceiling boards to match. (Both were salvaged old-growth redwood and required weeks of de-nailing, planing, drying, and routing, just to make them usable.)

Soon after those modifications, I decided I’d have a local shop make the French doors and the two sliding windows. Finer ones than I could produce. And a real metal roof—with all its butyl seals and foam closures and trim—was hardly more expensive than the chicken coop panels I was going to use, so I pulled the trigger on that.

A month or so later, Molly and I were taking stock. We had a few big-boy doors and windows, an honest-to-god roof, some good looking wood… and so the question arose—was I really going to stick with a single layer of tongue and groove boards over the framing that would effectively be just water resistant?

Molly pushed me hard to let go of that one. I was clinging tightly to my cavalier wall construction, as it cemented that this was a casual build and not a meaningful investment. But, eventually, I had to agree it was a sound idea to protect our hard work, and so we installed house wrap, proper flashing, and a second layer of redwood siding to clad the exterior.

The most recent pivot has been the upper windows that sit between the posts and beams, Eichler style. These were originally going to be double-walled polycarbonate. An easy install—akin to putting up a layer of opaque plywood. But a few weeks back I was mulling over our litany of improvements and finally conceded that it would be the better and more consistent look—even if it meant cutting approximately 120 pieces of wood—to build eight glass windows.

So that’s the next stage of the build. That and a little trim work, before moving onto the interior.

When we kicked this project off, I swore that I wouldn’t obsess over every detail and best practice in an effort to make a building that would last generations. We did that the last time, and it turned out that cabin really only needed to stand for a few years or so. My better-safe-than-sorry extra-mile compulsion can certainly be a positive attribute, but it also adds up to a bigger project than I was looking for.

And yet, despite the ground rules being set, the scope has grown and rippled out. As elements of the build have been elevated, I feel that subtle nudge to bring every other detail into alignment. I’ll catch myself adding extra layer of caulk, sanding micro blemishes, cutting pieces of wood just so—and, most ironically,—adding extra fasteners or material with longevity as my motivation. The exact overbuilding I was trying to avoid.

That’s mission creep and it’s generally a good thing to keep an eye on. Creep is a liability when it stops a project from being accomplished, squandering precious time and resources. But, it can also be reframed as an openness to new ideas. Flexibility. Which is something I need to work on.

I haven’t (yet) regretted any of these changes, but I have felt tension at each concession. My planning and mission-focused brain can be a great asset, but can also be detrimentally unbending and overly wary of creep.

So, this is a good opportunity to learn. There’s no real bottom line, nor deadline, meaning the only real risk in making space for these shifts is that I might end up regretting all the extra-credit effort when another 100-year-building burns up in just a few years time. Something that’s entirely possible, but not remotely promised.

My more positive hope is that there’s growth in allowing plans to evolve, and allowing my effort and investment to ebb and flow. That I might evolve a bit myself by not clinging with my usual tightness to the reigns of control (and to previous unfortunate/fiery experiences.)

Unrelated, but not fully unrelated:

My buddy Drew cut together a five-minute video of the previous cabin build. If you caught a previous video of it, that video was heavy on camp vibes and ended with only the exterior of the cabin being completed.

This cut focuses more on all the build steps and follows the project from start to absolute finish.