An Angel with a Hammer

By the end of my first week of vacation this August, the floor of the garden shed was complete. The next step was to frame the walls and put up rafters for the roof. That Friday morning, at about eleven o'clock, Sara and I pulled out my sawhorses and circular saw, then hauled out a load of 2x4s (true, actually 2" by 4", milled by yours truly) into the back yard. As I searched for my safety glasses, a car pulled up to the side of the road next to our yard. Out came a man and his wife, who introduced themselves as Gus and Ann-Marie.

Last year the property across the road sold to a group of four brothers, all born in Greece but now all living in the Five Boroughs with children and grand-children. They bought the house across from us to use as a family getaway; every time another brother came up from the City for the first time, he would see one of us in the yard and come over and introduce himself. Gus and Ann-Marie were in-laws of the four brothers, but were just as enthusiastic about introducing themselves to us.

Early in the conversation, Gus pointed to the lumber and sawhorses. "What are you building?"

I motioned proudly to my garden shed foundation. "Today we're going to start framing my new garden shed."

Gus smiled. "Do you want some help? I'd be glad to help."

My internal monologue listed several reasons why I should decline his generous offer. First, I was on vacation, which means cherishing alone time or family time. Energy spent getting to know someone new--not high on the priority list. Second, Gus was clearly past middle age. I recognize that it's prejudiced, but my assumption was that his good-natured offer would produce more delay than help. Third, Gus had mentioned that this was their first visit to the new house; how could I take him away from his wife on their getaway weekend? What actually came out was, "No, thank you. Not today. But if you're around for a couple of days, maybe I could use you Saturday or Monday?"

Gus seemed genuinely disappointed. But our conversation moved on. Later, as Ann-Marie and Sara played with Gwendolyn in the swing, I asked Gus what he did for a living.

"I'm a framer. I've been framing houses in New York City for thirty-five years." Then he offered again to help.

I almost laughed out loud at the irony, and certainly appreciated his offer, but the last thing I wanted Gus to do was work on his weekend getaway. I declined again. We chatted some more, then Ann-Marie came back, they got in the car, and Gus offered his help again. I thanked him again, did my best to decline politely, and waved good-bye as they drove up their driveway. Sara and I walked into the house to get Gwendolyn a snack.

"He seemed really eager to help," said Sara. "You know, if he helps you I could get work done in the house while Gwendolyn naps. Maybe you should take him up on his offer."

I took that as two signs that I should repent. So I turned around and walked up to Gus' house. He was on the porch. "I've changed my mind. I could use your help today after all."

You'd think he was a kid just given a blank check in a candy store. He jogged into the garage to get a hammer (with a signature complaint, "it's not as heavy as I want, but . . .") and walked down to our yard. I realized in short order that when I asked Gus to "help" frame the garden shed, I had actually relinquished control of the project.

He took the saw, pencil, tape, and my framing hammer ("ah, this is a much better hammer") and went to work, consulting me only about measurements. When his hands picked up a 2x4 ("no one has used true 2x4s since 1940"), he was in the zone. Before I knew what happened, we (I use the term loosely) already had one wall up:

As he bent over the beginnings of the second wall, bending over to hammer nails below his feet without a grunt, I realized that I had not hit a single nail yet. Middle age had not impaired this guy in the least. If there was anyone who was holding up this project now, it was me. Humbled by the realization, I grabbed a hammer and nails and followed Gus' lead.

I had planned three days for the framing of the shed. Gus (with me in tow) started at noon. By two o'clock we had all four walls up and were putting in the cripples for the windows:

I learned a new trick for every step of the process: how to mark where the studs go on the plates; how to keep a finished wall level; how to frame a doorway. Every five minutes, I thought to myself, "Man, I would have screwed that up," and realized it would have taken me an extra hour to correct each mistake. I became quite thankful that Gus had stopped by.

Most wonderful of all was the joy that Gus took in his work. Far from confirming my fear that Gus would chaff at having to do work while on vacation, his zeal for the task of framing came out. I can only imagine that he is an excellent framer, because he takes such pleasure from the labor.

Of course, having an expert framer on site did not daunt Gwendolyn from her self-appointed supervisory role:

At three o'clock I told Gus we had to stop. He wanted to keep going, to put up the rafters and roof ("they won't take long"); but Sara and I had an evening engagement for which I needed to look respectable. So Gus trundled off home, back to his wife (whom he said was napping, and he could never nap anyway), and I was left with the peculiar sensation that God had sent me a strange and worldly blessing: an angel with a hammer to teach, to lead, and to save me three days' work.

Many thanks to Gus, and to the Lord of Framing Angels!

~emrys