THE PERGOLA

When we were planning our move from Kennebunk Beach to a condo community in the Wells woods, the absolute “must have,” “won’t go without one,” “did you hear me, Bob?” was a deck off the back of the house where I could sit and finish my NYTimes crossword, grow cilantro and leaf lettuce in ceramic pots, and sip a toddy as the sun sank over the arborvitae.

Mr. Wonderful did not fail me. Since the May thaw here in Maine, I’ve been able to step outside near daily onto a 12’x16’ railed deck. Mission accomplished.

But Houston, we had a problem. Mr. W’s major requirement in moving was finding a site with a southwest exposure so that our new home and deck could bask in sunshine all day long. And it does.

However.  

You know John Denver’s song “Sunshine on my Shoulder”? Crank that up a few decibels. Because sitting on the deck this summer any time between 10 AM and 5 PM was like residing in a potter’s kiln set to 450 degrees while staring at 3000 lumen flood lights. Sunlight? OMG! Remember the movie “Sahara,” where Humphrey Bogart roamed the Libyan Desert searching for an oasis. I lived it this July.

We consulted the local awning guru. “Can’t put one up with that roofline,” he said. We bought two humongously-large blue beach umbrellas that, when positioned correctly, and then repositioned half-an-hour later to accommodate the passing sun beams overhead, sorta worked. 

“We need a pergola,” I told Mr. Wonderful. 

He did his due diligence and combed the web. After consulting every pergola company from here to South Beach, he announced, “You know what? I can do this myself. Well, maybe with a little help from Fez.” 

Fez is our handyman. He can fix a leaky sink, rewire an ElectroLux, paint a living room ceiling and build a garden shed. We believe he must be a founding member of the Mensa Society of Handymen because of the countless times he’s brilliantly taken over projects that Mr. W assured me he could do himself. 

Two weeks ago, trucks started pulling in our driveway at all hours of the day, dropping off large cartons, small cartons, tiny boxes. When I realized that those boxes filled half our two-car garage, internal angst started seeping through my subclavian artery. What had we gotten into?

Bob and Fez spent two days reading and studying the 24-page instruction manual. “We can do this!” they agreed with a handshake. But by the end of the first day of construction, the Project Manager realized he was better at supervising. Fez took off his shirt and went to work.

Friends were encouraging.  “When will the pagoda be finished?” “Why did you decide on a gazebo?” “What’s a pergola?”  

Late yesterday afternoon the Supervisor and the builder stood on the deck beneath the new pergola, looking up through filtered sunbeams at their accomplishment. They had done it again!

This morning the temperature here in the Wells woods was 37 degrees. The frost is nearly on the pumpkin vine. Well, I look at it this way: we are now set for next summer.