Dank. Dark. Pretty freakin’ scary – even in the daylight. That was our garage. Then one lucky day in April a ginormous tree fell on our rat den. From the proverbial ashes, my vision of a Backyard BBQ Palace has risen.
We were so happy the day we closed on our first house that we didn't care that the previous owner left 40 years worth of junk in the detached garage.
Happiness turned to disbelief as it took us an entire weekend to rip out the makeshift work benches and haul the dilapidated wood out to the curb. The neighbors were thrilled it took the city three weeks to pick it up.
After the clean-up. We thought it would be a good idea to leave at least one work bench. Not that smart. It was so rotten and covered with decaying bug bodies that no one went near it.
A message left from a past resident. I suspect they mean "Daddy" rather than "Dade," but I could be wrong. Either way, the kid can't spell.
Told you a ginormous tree fell on our garage. This was before it really settled in.
It took 10 days of men working from early morning to late afternoon to replace the roof. It's probably the best roof ever built.
The swanky new roof covering a cavernous wasteland inside.
Let the painting commence! I probably don't deserve a husband that not only tolerates, but participates, in my harebrained schemes.
Three buckets of paint and four trips to Home Depot later, the walls are nice and white. Floor ready to be primed and painted.
Fully painted garage. Yes, that is a blue floor. Thanks for asking. I was trying to decide if the wall tapestry we brought back from St. Lucia would work with our new digs or if it just makes us look like a backyard militia. If it does, we'd be the only militia representing with hand painted linen.
Z put the flying pig welcome sign above the garage door. That's love.