Thesechapters are best viewed in order:
Design
Foundation
First Story
Second Story
Second Story Addition
Roof 
Spanking fresh out of college with a writer's degree and no idea how to use it, the invitation to help my sister build a house on the Oregon Coast was a perfect distraction. "On the edge of the Earth", Lane and Tom had purchased a chunk of cliffside 400 feet straight up out of the ocean, on the side of a mountain sacred to the Northwest Indians for its spiritual energy.
The Nehalem Valley had three little communities of a few hundred people each, and was otherwise home to eagles, elk, sea lions, and a cove for whales. You can enter on Highway 101 from the north or south, or one bumpy curvy road over the mountains, but regularly after a storm, there is no way in or out.
The lot was cleared and leveled enough to fit a small house, a pile of lumber and a few cars. I set up my tent in the bushes just a little below and off the path that circled the property. We cooked on an open fire in the rocky pit left from an ancient tree. My wages were $25 a week and all the beans I could eat. The view strethed 45 miles down the coastline and forever out to sea.
This was paradise.
An architect building his dream, Tom had designed this sweet little cottage--very green 30 years before the concept became popular. The toilet was considered a composting toilet, but was really a well-vented 50 gallon drum and a hole in the floor, which was later abandoned once kids were around. The "refrigerator" is still working fine: just a cupboard with holes to let the warm air out and the cool air in. The countertop came from a tree on the property. The walls were oiled wood salvaged from other buildings.
Tom was working largely in theory and the carpentry experience of a few summers. I had last worked for Krutsky several years earlier and was very clouded by my studies and dreams in between. But together, and with the passing help of a few friends, we rolled up our sleeves and got to work. Determination was our most valuable tool.
Being our first poured foundation, the forms broke and spilled 2 yards of concrete down the slope. With electricity unavailable until the utility trench--hand dug 300 feet down the mountainside--was fiinished, every board, every piece of plywood was sawn by hand. Utilizing rickety step-ladders and crafty supports, just the two of us were able to raise the massive 18' header that was the keystone, the arch that framed the ocean view.
Each night, tired, we ate our beans, and in the darkness, huddled by the fire, I played guitar in tune with the Ocean's murmurous roar. We formed deep friendships with neighbors who invited us to shelter when it rained too long, hard and miserably. Weekly, we drove the two hours inland to their home in Portland where Tom and Lane had business, and I walked the city streets. And we could shower.
Each step of the way, like a significant moment in a lifetime, was ackowledged and ccelebrated. Reaching the highest point, an evergreen was nailed to the ridge honoring all of the trees that go into the building of a home. The first and last shingles on the walls were important events in completing the shell, especially to us living in tents. Insulation installed meant at last we could move inside, out of the deepening cold of November, to a mat on the floor. Gradually, Tom and Lane moved in their most precious possessions: the persian carpet, Great Granny's jewelry, their 6 favorite records.
When the floors were sanded--a long exhausting week of noise, grit and strain--they finished all the wood surfaces with Linseed oil, threw the rags in the back corner, and went to Portland for the rest of their belongings. Readying to move on to explore opportunities for a writer in San Francisco, I remained behind, staying at one of the neighbor's who needed help on an addition of their own.
Second Story Addition
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