Improvements on home improvementsBy Alli Marshall
Some people say that all the talk about "green" and "eco” is just a trend, but if cult-of-style elbows us all toward healthier living, isn't that a best possible outcome? Besides, at this point, the trend seems to have evolved into tidal-wave proportions. Just the other day I was perusing vacation options and came across a Green B&B boasting not only bamboo sheets and biodegradable cleaning products, but "healthy" furnishings and finishes -- the latter likely purchased through Asheville's Earthpaint.
Normally, a reference to "healthy" finishes wouldn't catch my attention, but these days what goes on my floors is a sensitive subject. See, I am not what anyone would call a "do-it-yourself-er." My idea of the weekend warrior lifestyle involves battling the crowds for prime seating at the $3 movie theater. So, when my husband suggested that we could refinish the wood floors in our bungalow <i>by ourselves</i> I was rather taken aback. However, I like to think of myself as adventurous and nothing says "urban ingenuity" quite like a little home improvement. So, I signed up.
Our house is cute, the sort of place realtors call "a doll house." What that actually means is it's smaller than the average California closet, measuring in at 850 square feet. It does, however, have heart pine flooring that until recently was smothered under an unfortunate stretch of forest green carpet.
In the depths of winter, my husband and I took a week off from work, donned our "home improvement" attire and set to work gleefully ripping out carpet. So far so good. We reserved a floor sander and giddily drove the three blocks to pick it up... and that's when the trouble began.
Floor sanders, it turns out, are roughly the weight of an adult elephant and are nearly impossible to lug up steps. And then once you get the thing inside and turn it on, it has a mind of its own. Grinding at ear-splitting volume across the bare boards, the sander bucked and churned, magically turning decades worth of petrified finish into a fine dust on which we immediately gagged. We both grasped for goggles and dust masks, our dream of spending the week as robust, sporty do-it-yourself-ers quickly buried beneath mounds of yellow-y sawdust.
"This sucks," I proclaimed. But it got worse. Choking on dust, we swept the floors clean, then mopped, then waited for them to dry while gleefully rubbing our hands over the can of polyurethane finish. This was to be the good part, the part do-it-yourself websites guaranteed us would be "the most rewarding step." In fact, so instantly gratifying was the promise of this process that, despite inklings that we should consider non-toxic products, we'd quickly given into the cheaper and more obvious conventional finish in our local home improvement superstore.
The promised ease came with one stipulation: To apply the finish, the room temperature needed to hover around 70 degrees F: A bit tricky as we keep the heat on low to save money and gas, and the outside temp was a chilly 30 degrees mid-day. But no matter. My husband poured the honey-colored shellac into a pan and began painting. Presto! Instantly gorgeous floors.
Or so we guessed. In fact, neither of could see straight from the intense fumes quickly filling the small room -- something for which neither of us was prepared. Sure, application instructions specified the product was to be used in a well-vented area, but we were hardly finishing a cubbyhole. With the room open into the rest of the house we figured the fumes would quickly dispel. And anyway, the product was <i>meant</i> for indoor use and promised reduced odor.
Not quite. Reeling from the stench, we wrapped up quickly, no longer carrying about a smooth application. We cracked a window and fled the house, spending the remainder of the day running errands, going out to eat, and avoiding our home while it aired out. By nightfall, we were looking forward to returning to shiny new floors, but as soon as we opened the door we were hit with a wall of noxious chemicals. "Wait outside," my husband said gravely. "I'll get our pajamas; we're going to your mothers."
For my husband to willingly sleep at his mother-in-law's, something has to be seriously wrong and, in this case, something was. All told, it took four days of airing out in below-freezing temps to return our home to breathable conditions. In the end, our floors looked great and we were none the worse for the experience, but at the very mention of polyurethane, we both go a little green around the gills -- and forget a stroll through the paint aisle in the home improvement store.
So, imagine my surprise to learn that Earthpaint, just down the street from my home, sells a Bio Poly wood finish, made without petrochemical solvents. My lungs relax at the very mention. Lessons learned? Many, but the big one here is that, even if I'm not planning on eating off my newly-finished floors, the concept of non-toxic products means a lot more since I've had a whiff of the alternative.
Some people say that all the talk about "green" and "eco” is just a trend, but if cult-of-style elbows us all toward healthier living, isn't that a best possible outcome? Besides, at this point, the trend seems to have evolved into tidal-wave proportions. Just the other day I was perusing vacation options and came across a Green B&B boasting not only bamboo sheets and biodegradable cleaning products, but "healthy" furnishings and finishes -- the latter likely purchased through Asheville's Earthpaint.
Normally, a reference to "healthy" finishes wouldn't catch my attention, but these days what goes on my floors is a sensitive subject. See, I am not what anyone would call a "do-it-yourself-er." My idea of the weekend warrior lifestyle involves battling the crowds for prime seating at the $3 movie theater. So, when my husband suggested that we could refinish the wood floors in our bungalow <i>by ourselves</i> I was rather taken aback. However, I like to think of myself as adventurous and nothing says "urban ingenuity" quite like a little home improvement. So, I signed up.
Our house is cute, the sort of place realtors call "a doll house." What that actually means is it's smaller than the average California closet, measuring in at 850 square feet. It does, however, have heart pine flooring that until recently was smothered under an unfortunate stretch of forest green carpet.
In the depths of winter, my husband and I took a week off from work, donned our "home improvement" attire and set to work gleefully ripping out carpet. So far so good. We reserved a floor sander and giddily drove the three blocks to pick it up... and that's when the trouble began.
Floor sanders, it turns out, are roughly the weight of an adult elephant and are nearly impossible to lug up steps. And then once you get the thing inside and turn it on, it has a mind of its own. Grinding at ear-splitting volume across the bare boards, the sander bucked and churned, magically turning decades worth of petrified finish into a fine dust on which we immediately gagged. We both grasped for goggles and dust masks, our dream of spending the week as robust, sporty do-it-yourself-ers quickly buried beneath mounds of yellow-y sawdust.
"This sucks," I proclaimed. But it got worse. Choking on dust, we swept the floors clean, then mopped, then waited for them to dry while gleefully rubbing our hands over the can of polyurethane finish. This was to be the good part, the part do-it-yourself websites guaranteed us would be "the most rewarding step." In fact, so instantly gratifying was the promise of this process that, despite inklings that we should consider non-toxic products, we'd quickly given into the cheaper and more obvious conventional finish in our local home improvement superstore.
The promised ease came with one stipulation: To apply the finish, the room temperature needed to hover around 70 degrees F: A bit tricky as we keep the heat on low to save money and gas, and the outside temp was a chilly 30 degrees mid-day. But no matter. My husband poured the honey-colored shellac into a pan and began painting. Presto! Instantly gorgeous floors.
Or so we guessed. In fact, neither of could see straight from the intense fumes quickly filling the small room -- something for which neither of us was prepared. Sure, application instructions specified the product was to be used in a well-vented area, but we were hardly finishing a cubbyhole. With the room open into the rest of the house we figured the fumes would quickly dispel. And anyway, the product was <i>meant</i> for indoor use and promised reduced odor.
Not quite. Reeling from the stench, we wrapped up quickly, no longer carrying about a smooth application. We cracked a window and fled the house, spending the remainder of the day running errands, going out to eat, and avoiding our home while it aired out. By nightfall, we were looking forward to returning to shiny new floors, but as soon as we opened the door we were hit with a wall of noxious chemicals. "Wait outside," my husband said gravely. "I'll get our pajamas; we're going to your mothers."
For my husband to willingly sleep at his mother-in-law's, something has to be seriously wrong and, in this case, something was. All told, it took four days of airing out in below-freezing temps to return our home to breathable conditions. In the end, our floors looked great and we were none the worse for the experience, but at the very mention of polyurethane, we both go a little green around the gills -- and forget a stroll through the paint aisle in the home improvement store.
So, imagine my surprise to learn that Earthpaint, just down the street from my home, sells a Bio Poly wood finish, made without petrochemical solvents. My lungs relax at the very mention. Lessons learned? Many, but the big one here is that, even if I'm not planning on eating off my newly-finished floors, the concept of non-toxic products means a lot more since I've had a whiff of the alternative.