Sweathog Living

Contrary to popular belief, sweathog living sometimes requires extensive manual labor to make necessary repairs without hiring professional help or renting the proper equipment. Funds that would normally go toward such remedies are diverted toward expensive motorcycle valve adjustments, cases of full-synthetic multigrade motor oil and Montessori school tuition. We joined Rich Roat on a bright Sunday fall morning to experience the embodiment of adaptation, innovation and frustration that defines sweathog ingenuity. The project: Repair the shed roof where a 12-inch leader from semi-rotten invasive Norway maple cleaved a jagged hole through Lancaster county’s finest custom-extruded tin roofing panels.

First, a trip to the neighbor’s shed is necessary to procure some of the proper tools, including a questionable wood “chicken” ladder and a long length naturally fibered standard braid rope with several robust splices. After glueing and clamping an ominous longitudinal crack in the ladder, Rich used his best Rope Rescue for Firefighters rigging skills to strategically place not one but two clove hitches on the more stable rungs. With several tries and a rotator cuff injury, the rope is tossed over the peak and secured to the rear axle of a lawn tractor. The trusty Cub Cadet served as both an anchor and as a means to easily change the position of the chicken ladder, proving its role as a versatile and indispensable part of any sweathog’s tool repertoire.

Equipment and source list:

1971 IH Cub Cadet 129 Hydrostatic Lawn Tractor: Overgrown Lean-To Shed from Previous Homeowner
1952 Willys Pickup: Willys Overland Motor Company
16’ Fiberglass Extension Ladder: Scotts True Value Hardware
10’ Chicken Ladder: Neighbor’s Shed
50’ Sisal Tri-Braided Spliced Rope: Neighbor’s Shed
6 Slate Blue Steel Roof Panels: A. B. Martin Roofing Company
2 10’ Slate Blue Steel Ridge Caps: A. B. Martin Roofing Company

As we prepare for the interior photo shoot for part two of our feature on the Roat family compound, our writers paid a surprise Sunday morning visit to gain an unadulterated view of life in the consummate sweathog household. A jubilant Rich Roat greeted us with a gasoline-soaked handshake, grateful to have someone besides a disinterested wife to share his enthusiasm over the discovery of his two-stroke trimmer’s hemispherical combustion chamber. Between referencing online parts fiche and figuring out why there were four post-assembly self-threading Torx-head screws left in the parts bin, Rich carefully “rebranded” the petite pachyderm to celebrate its shared lineage with Mopar’s renowned hemi powerplants.

Nothing quite compares to the preponderant feeling of being able to head over to the local big box homewares retailer to pick up a few four by eight sheets of 3/4” marine-grade plywood in a large urban assault vehicle. But when faced with the onslaught of ever-increasing fuel costs and the realization that a large percentage of the day to day hauling needs could be handled in spare tire cavity of a Yukon Denali, many of the four-wheeled faithful explored the new transportation phenomenon know as “scooters”. The problem is that scooters are encased in daintily colored plastic, have those bobo tiny wheels and generally do not convey an aggressive stance that one comes to depend on when trying not to make eye contact with the other motorist you just cut off when jockeying for position in the Dunkin Donuts drive-through. Sweathog solution: Troll the local craigslist for a late-model Suzuki DR-Z 400 whose soon-to-be previous owner “just doesn’t ride as much as I thought I would” and is ready to let go of the not-even-broken-in former two-wheeled adventure touring fantasy bike. The DR-Z’s 36-inch seat affords the rider an eye-to-eye view with most sport activity vehicle operators and its stock toolbag mounting system is easily modified to secure a milk crate that’ll hold about a $60 haul from the local hippie organic food market or approximately seven range-fed whole chickens. With a heavy throttle, the DR-Z will keep up with the neighbor’s new six-liter G6 until you’re both earning reckless driving points with the local law enforcement agency while going nearly 120 miles before hitting reserve at 1.7 gallons.

In this issue we travel to Hockessin, a bedroom hamlet that lies tucked on the tax free side of the semicircle that forms Delaware’s northwestern border with Pennsylvania. There, among the light smell of refined manure from the local mushroom farms and the not-so-distant roar of hazardous-material-hauling trucks making their way to secret government dumping sites in nearby Lancaster County, the Roat family has carved out a unique clutter of organized chaos that is the hallmark of sweathog style. In the first installment of this two-part series, we’ll explore the outer reaches of their one acre exurban estate and discover why their neighbors are on a first-name basis with several county code enforcement officers.

First time visitors are directed to park on scraggy section of the yard protected by a slowly dying old growth hardwood that was fatally impaled by a mailbox mount several decades ago.

“The more you mash it down, the less I gotta cut it,” comments an exuberant boutique beer toting Rich Roat as he stands on a slightly dislodged slate step. “That section is mostly weeds anyway.” Upon stepping out of the car we immediately notice small potholes in the aging gray asphalt, a sharp contrast to the neighbors’ judiciously seal-coated blacktop.

As in any household, elements such as driveways can be retasked to suit several purposes in the spirit of suburban efficiency. This roadside-find scrap wood fired Weber grill cooks the flavorful history of thousands of steaks, burgers, chicken thighs, plank salmon and the occasional oil-soaked zucchini into every meal. A low-maintenance culinary solution, the Weber even discards its own ashes by draining them out of the bottom vent to be washed away in the next rainstorm.

The artfully crenated driveway gives way to a windowless faux wood grain white Clopay aluminum garage door that strains against squeaky bearings and crooked tracks to reveal dusty monuments to present as well as abandoned hobbies. A single incandescent 40-watt bulb casts a gloomy shadow on against a 52 Willys pickup whose accessible flat surfaces serve as ad-hoc storage spaces as lead substitute-infused gasoline decomposes in its carburetor’s float bowl between runs to the oil recycling center in nearby Newark.

A reclaimed Corian work surface and the sweet smell of citrus degreaser speaks volumes of bicycle chain cleaning adventures, failed two-stroke trimmer rebuilds, vintage license plate bracket fabrications and two-liter soda bottle air-water rocket projects. Just a few cable and hose tripping feet from the work area is an uncharacteristically well organized two-tiered Craftsman toolbox that is only missing a single 15 mm open-box wrench.

The most prominent sweathog chic designers have always maintained that multiple outbuildings are the key to accumulating as much junk as possible and keeping it in relatively serviceable condition. With two classic timber framed sheds, the Roats have provided dry storage for several generations of pedal- and motor-driven vehicles as well as a comfortable habitat for rodents ranging from the eastern field mice who snack on last year’s uncultivated grass seed to several wily groundhogs who lay claim to most of the early-season vegetables.

Dead and decomposing vegetation is also the hallmark of any well groomed sweathog gardens. A decaying trunk visually delineates the property’s rear border while providing a semi-permanent attachment point for the green enameled “varmint barrier” that runs the entire inner perimeter of the split-rail fence except were torn away when caught on the jagged broken mower deck edge guide.

A deceased Norway maple dominates the Roat’s outdoor environment by casting erie shadows over a large leader that was culled a few months before in a vain rescue attempt. Always industrious, the Roat children have converted the maple’s grounded parts into a game of skill where they try to avoid falling branches while keeping their balance on the uneven broken bark surface.

Without the specter of overpriced weed and seed mixes, wasteful watering, and nitrogen-based fertilizers, hundreds of plant genera abound in the Roat’s lush multi-colored lawn. Strategic sections have been allowed to grow wild, conveniently hiding white PVC septic tank inspection plugs and unwanted venti iced latte cups discarded by passing Hockessin haus fraus who did not want to get water spots on their burled walnut trim.

In classic suburban back-40 style, the Roats have reserved a pleasant shady section in the corner of their property to store any yard trash that upsets their recycling sensibilities or cannot be eliminated until the state department of natural resources lifts the burning ban in late autumn. Rotting groundfall apples intermingle with irregular chunks of concrete, odd-sized red bricks and unused cinder blocks.

Next week, the always gracious Roats will open their inner sanctum to all SL readers to show how they’ve found a delightful balance between non-period antiques, threadbare fixtures and overpriced appliances.