American Foursquare Remodel 8 - Discoveries

Old houses can be great time capsules, preserving little secrets that permit modern generations a glimpse into life as it was lived decades ago. So it is with my 1932 American Foursquare.

When the dining room ceiling was first demolished in November, I found an odd collection of what looked like razor blades littering the floor covering.

They were razor blades.  I thought it was some discarded trash left by the handyman and cleaned them up. But they looked very old...

Then there were more. And more.

Then I looked up.

There, over the built-in china cabinet, in the small space between wall studs, floor joists and horsehair plaster, was a deep pile of black razor blades balancing precariously on what looked like a ledge.

 

  

 

Apparently, old medicine cabinets had an opening wherein used razor blades could be discarded. That opening dumped into the empty dead space between the walls behind the medicine cabinet.

That style cabinet has long since been replaced, but the razor blades sat undisturbed for years. I took a few to keep, and - as a good steward of historical finds - left the rest for someone else to discover someday.

 

  

  

  

 

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The second surprise was even more fascinating. It was a huge mud wasp nest built against the beams. The workmen were astonished by its size.

 

  

 

I had no idea its age or how long it might have been there, but:

• there were no wasps around it 
• no sound coming from it
• no visible outdoor light coming into the area
• the house had been vinyl sided many years ago, which possibly ended access to the hive by its builders
  

Despite its abandoned appearance, no one volunteered to remove it, LOL.

I decided it couldn't stay, in case it could be active again in the spring. What nightmares could that cause with angry, protective wasps working in their house and getting into my house!

So I climbed a ladder armed with a large trash bag, and encased the hive.

I expected some firmness, some resistance. Instead, it simply disintegrated into dust in my covered hands. There wasn't even anything left of the structure to examine.

That's one bit of history lost to future generations. Somehow, though, I don't think they will mind.