The construction of this cabin has been a most excellent adventure; one that I don't want to forget and am eager to share. I'm writing this blog along the way. I'm glad that you've stumbled upon this page.
The idea of building a cabin in the woods started to take on a realistic air after I retired from teaching, had a paid-off house, and three adequate college funds. Beach and biking trips around the lake pushed me to the west shore and the Washoe “gathering place” half way between Emerald Bay and Tahoe City. In August of 2020, I found a lot at the top of a knoll on 8th Avenue in Tahoma and put in an offer that we soon rescinded as it just didn’t feel perfect. Not long after that, I found an overgrown corner lot in the Glenridge neighborhood. I was attracted by the easy walking distance to beach of Meeks Bay, the fern meadow and seasonal stream, and by the adjacent lots being conservancy and forest lands bordering on the Desolation Wilderness area that had been a high-altitude home for most of my life.
I did a deep dive into the history of the property and learned from county records, maps, surveys, soil analysis, and TRPA assessments that it was indeed quite buildable, despite the cost and complexity that goes along with building at Tahoe.
The neighborhood was purchased and subdivided in the early 1960s, but the newly formed TRPA nixed the plan to put a pool and tennis courts over the meadow. They also only allowed half of the parcels on the Glenridge Parkway loop to be developed, and the parcels in between became National Forest or California Conservancy lands.
We purchased the lot in December of 2021, and once the snow thawed a few months later, there was much work to be done to clear the accumulated ground cover, mill the dead trees, and prune the undergrowth. Neighbors began stopping by and seemed to appreciate the fuel reduction as well as my intention to build only a small cabin in the back corner. It was the building of the big table from the milled logs that started to give the place some personality and an inviting feel.
Getting a building permit involved multiple layers, agencies, and long wait times, including the county’s allocation process through which the rate of development in Tahoe is controlled — only 30 new-builds per year. Those many months gave me time to explore many cabin designs, learn a bit about timber framing, and become proficient at the design software that allowed us to visualize our cabin-to-be.
I had raked and dug and pruned the property for more a year, but it wasn't until Dave bulldozed the live, healthy, thriving trees within the perimeter of the building-to-be, that I had that first "this is real now" feeling. It certainly wasn't the last time that I would have that mixture of excitement and fear; in fact, that cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol has hit many times during this build process, each one seeming more consequential than the previous one. About fifty trees were felled that week, cut to milling length, piled up for yet-to-be-determined use, and their root balls trucked to landfill.
Next came the shoveling, raking, and digging up of endless surface (ha) roots to create the smooth and consistent grade on which we would draw layout.
It seems that the earlier in the building process a task lies, the more consequential it is. Finding the perimeter of the building was a perfect example. Inaccuracies at this point would not yield an out of square house, but they surely would create more work for us later on during the excavation and foundation forms and sill-plate layout processes.
Pythagorus would be proud of us, as the 3-4-5 triangle and A-squared, B-squared, C-squared formula served us well. The challenge was that we weren't working on a single plane, so we had to factor the slope of the land into the formulas and do our best to stay accurate when most of the points lay over our heads.
The first scoop of dirt triggered another one of those "things are getting real" moments. Not only was there no going back, but there was no way to know what lay ahead, or underground actually. The geotechnical engineer had offered to do seismic/sonic subsoil testing to try to get a sense of the soil density and likely location of large rocks, but the process was expensive and the results wouldn't likely change our plans. So, we proceeded blindly, hoping that no job-stopping boulders or granite outcroppings lay within our excavation depth.
As Dave skillfully dug the trenches and piled up the tailings, it was my job to keep the dust down with a hose, call out big rocks to be set aside, and guide the bucket on a straight path, and to the proper (changing) depth. The footings have to be deeper than 18 inches so that the freeze-thaw cycle doesn't cause heaving, but not deeper than 5 feet so as to avoid contact with subterranean water. As we progressed downhill, the trench had to step down at various places in order to adhere to that 18 to 60 inch depth range. In addition to depth, we had to excavate to the correct width, including widening for enlarged footers at pilaster locations.
The better we did with the the excavator, the less hand work would follow. After a week of machine digging, we were confident that with just a bit of shoveling, we'd have the widths, depths, and angles needed for setting the forms. Wow, were we wrong!
Hand Digging: After getting the big thumbs-down from John, the concrete guy, the (unexpected) hard work began. Every trench had to be cut wider, more vertical, and with a level compacted base. It was hard work for ol' men to shovel day after day in the hot part of summer, but tempered by frequent swim breaks. Steve and I did a lot, but it was also necessary to hire some younger workers for an afternoon or two to help us out. The relocation of the tailings became an issue. Dirt piled up too close to the trenches and we had to create temporary retaining walls to keep it from falling back into the holes.
Digging it all out just to be filled in again -- yes, that is the big picture of foundation work.
John and Carlos and Fernando arrived in early September and worked full time for more than a month to create a stepped footing and stemwall foundation that is, and always will be, square, plumb, and true. John is an excellent old-school concrete guy who uses lumber forms, transits, and a long career of experience to build a great set of walls upon which the house will be built.
The process starts with setting spikes along the layout line and then adding the outer form boards perfectly plumb and level. "Kickers", diagonal boards along the back, and the turnbuckles to which they are attached, keep the walls locked in at vertical. Rebar grids that go in the pilaster footings are set in at this point as well. My job was to make sure the crew had the lumber they needed and to help re-excavate the trenches as dirt inevitably got kicked in from the surface and crumbled off the walls.
Rebar: The strength of a concrete foundation is largely dependent on the arrangement of the metal reinforcement bars that it contains. The plans done by the structural engineer called for grids and cages that had to be cut, bent, placed, leveled and secured.
Pour Day: After a summer of planning, digging, building forms, and tying in rebar, we were ready for the pour. Ten strong guys, eight concrete trucks, and a local line pump converged on the property on the morning of October 8, 2024. Those clean forms were soon filled to the top and oozing out the sides as a vibrating rod settled the 'mud' deep in the forms and forced out any air pockets. The crew set in the anchor bolt 'stabs' and confirmed the placement of the long threaded rods that were to connect to the hold downs.
A day later, the forms were stripped off and the foundation was set to cure. John, Carlos, and Fernando had done their job: a solid foundation, true, square, and plumb.
Clean-Up: The hundreds of 2x12s that went into the foundation forms were now ready to be sorted, cleaned, and stacked. Not easy work, since they were coated with concrete and saturated with water. Amy and Bee visited that weekend, helping to pressure wash the boards and pick up the debris around the build site.
Just in time for the October 15 deadline, we had a build site that was clean and erosion-proofed enough to pass TRPA's winterization inspection. Things were quiet at the property for months, but down in Jackson, things were about to get busy.
The feature that makes this cabin different from most is the timber frame. Large posts and beams held together by mortise and tenon joints, dovetails, splines, and pegs. This is how building was done before lumber mills mass produced 2x4s and plywood. I took a course with the Shelter Institute to get the basics and learned enough SketchUp to start some designing, but it was Jason of Argos Timber Works that took the project from concept to blueprints and cut the joinery in the timbers. After the plans were approved by the building department, I helped him and Hailie a bit as they fabricated the frame at his shop in Jackson over the winter.
A bit about the physics: A horizontal timber (beam) is supported by a vertical timber (post) using a mortise and tenon joint. Diagonal braces keep them square and tapered pegs hold the joint tightly together. A scarf joint joins together timbers that meet end-to-end and there are dovetail joints at the tops of the long walls. Simple in concept, but it takes great craftsmanship, strength, patience, and teamwork to fabricate a timber frame.
My main job here was to plane the timbers after the joinery was cut, and then sand them smooth and wipe in the oil finish. It was the lowest-skilled task in the woodshop, and I became very familiar with each timber and learned to visualize the location where each of them would end up in the cabin.
As the snow thawed and spring weather hit Tahoe, the big push to get the building framed began as we installed sill plates, pony walls, and the sub-floor structure. Lumber and tools began to accumulate at the build site and I established connections with local suppliers, framers, and especially curious and supportive neighbors.
I would frame up wall sections and floor joists, but then I'd hire an actual framer to check my work before finalizing the layout and nailing it all home. Within a few weeks we had four plumb walls and a level floor onto which the timber frame could be installed. One of the highlights of the build process was standing on that level surface for the first time and being able to walk where the rooms and views would soon be.
Although there are no visible signs of it around the perimeter of the house, a lot of work went into the system that keeps groundwater flowing away from the foundation. Tar, filter fabric, drain pipe, dimple mat, and many wheelbarrow loads of gravel were placed around the footings and stem walls before we filled in dirt around the building.
Family, friends, the Argos crew, and a big crane all arrived mid-June for the much anticipated "barn raising" event that is the tell-tale of timber frames. Wall sections were assembled on the ground and then carefully lifted into place, adjusted as needed, and pegged together to form the cabin's always-visible support structure. A building that I had only seen on paper and as a 3d model was now real; something we could walk through, nap under, and certainly feel proud of.
This building is supported by interlocking timbers as well as the love and blessings of people. An impromptu ceremony emerged one evening during which we enjoyed the space together for the first time with stories, blessings, poems, ornaments, and candlelight at dusk. Two other timber frame traditions are built into the cabin: a whetting branch was attached to the last and highest timber raised, paying homage to the trees from which the building is made. In addition, there are dozens of pegs embedded into the structure that have written messages, blessings, and images done by those that contributed or supported the building.
The timber frame, which looked so beautiful against the forest and the sky, was only part of the house's framing and was to be covered by walls of 2x6 "stick framing" and structural panels. This exoskeleton provides sheer strength as well as a place for insulation, plumbing, and wiring.
These brown sheer panels give tremendous strength to the walls and are designed to provide a water and vapor control layer. With seams taped and any penetrations sealed, this system will match the longevity of the timber frame. Although hidden from view in the end product, these "better than code" components will provide us with a well-built many-generation cabin.
The 2x6 tongue-and-groove pine boards that make up the ceiling had to be sanded and sealed, so Bee and I got to work. Each board has it's own character and the fine-grit sanding and the oil really brought it out.
Jason, Marc, Ethan, and I worked for a week to get each ceiling board into place, aligned, and nailed down. Since wood dries at unpredictable rates, we had to account for expansion and contraction as well as pay attention to grain patterns and color variations. As the ceiling grew, section by section, it closed the cabin off from the open-air feeling, but provided beautiful contrast for the timber rafters.
The timber frame rafters and pine ceiling that are visible from the inside of the cabin are not the main structural roofing components. The cabin roof, in it's final version, is a 10-inch deep space filled with engineered i-joist rafters, mineral wool and foam insulation, as well as fire-sprinkler pipes, electrical wiring, and plumbing vents. But in late summer of 2025, installing all of those systems before the first rains of fall wasn't going to happen. So, we left the roof cavity empty and put down roll-out asphalt roofing that would last for the winter and be removed again in spring.
The building season in Tahoe ends in mid October. The two doorways and windows that we had left open to give some light had to be boarded up, leaving the inside of the cabin dark but dry. The summer's activities had resulted in a dried-in shell of a cabin that would hibernate for winter.
Two things are different about how we're doing the insulation for this cabin as compared to standard methods: the outer layer of external insulation (vs in the wall cavity only), and second, the use of mineral wool instead fiberglass.