Uncategorized – Two Dogs and a Demo

Concrete, Columns, and a Midnight Caper — We Have Walls! 🎉

If you’ve been following along, you know that progress on this build has sometimes felt like two steps forward, one step back — and occasionally one step sideways while chasing someone down the street. But we are HERE, friends. We have walls. Real ones. That you can walk through. And I may have cried a little.
Let me catch you up. ______________________________________________

The Foundation Pour — Almost a Perfect Day!

We’d already watched concrete flow once before with the stem wall, so this wasn’t our first pour. But the foundation felt different. This is the foundation — the literal base of our future home. We are rebuilding our lives from the ground up, and standing there watching concrete fill that space, I kept thinking: everything we build from here sits on this. It sounds dramatic, but after everything we’ve been through, watching that foundation go in felt like more than construction. It felt like a promise.

The day started strong, but midway through the pour, the cement trucks didn’t arrive in time and we hit a two-hour delay. Here’s something I learned that day: once you start pouring a foundation, you must finish it the same day. No pausing, no picking it up tomorrow. So the crew pushed through.
By evening, the pour was done — but then came the cuts. After a foundation is poured, they cut lines into the surface to control where cracks form as the concrete cures. Smart engineering, but the equipment is loud. At 8:30pm, our neighbor was ready for bed. By 8:45, the crew wrapped up. Fifteen minutes. Our neighbor was not thrilled, and honestly, we completely understand — it wasn’t exactly a lullaby. We’re grateful for the patience of the people who live around us through all of this.

It really does take a village.

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Troy Goes Full Detective 🕵️

This one still makes me laugh….

One afternoon, Troy noticed someone loading rebar from our property. He didn’t recognize the guy, didn’t know what was going on, and did what any reasonable homeowner living in a 5th wheel 10 feet from his construction site would do — he followed him.
The guy drove to a house just a few minutes away on the other side of the island. Troy confronted him, and the guy calmly said his supervisor told him to grab it and gave the supervisor’s name. That’s when Troy realized — oh. That’s one of our subs.

Apparently this is completely normal in construction. Subcontractors routinely move materials between job sites. I had absolutely no idea. Honestly, I still don’t fully understand how they keep track of what materials go where across different projects, but as I always say — not my monkey, not my circus. We did ask our builder to give us a heads up when that’s going to happen going forward, because the difference between “normal construction activity” and “someone stealing your rebar” is not immediately obvious when you’re watching someone load your stuff into a truck. 😂

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The Column Situation — A $10,000 Word Choice 💰

Here’s one that stings a little, but we’re moving through it.
After the first floor block was set and the columns were framed out exactly per the plans, the city inspector flagged a question. He thought it was probably fine but wanted clarification from the engineer. What followed was one of those moments where you realize how much precision language matters in construction documents.

The word the engineer used in the plans? That’s exactly what the foundation subcontractors built. The problem was, the engineer had something different in his head when he wrote it. The written word and the mental picture didn’t match, and the columns were built to the written word.

The fix required additional steel, a full day of labor to take apart the already-framed columns, and reframing them correctly before they can be poured. Total cost: $10,000. And yes — in these situations, that falls on us as the homeowner. Not ideal. Not fun. But we’re told the original build would not have caused structural issues — it likely would have resulted in cosmetic cracking and chipping in the columns over time. So while the cost stings, it’s the right call.
Lesson learned: even the best engineers are human, and on a build this complex, having eyes on every step matters more than we ever could have imagined.

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The I-Beam Has Entered the Chat 🏗️

I wasn’t home for the delivery — I was at an offsite meeting — but Troy was there and grabbed the most impressive photo. A 27-foot, more-than-2,000-pound I-beam on a flatbed truck, and it looks exactly as enormous as it sounds.
We’re hoping to capture video of the actual installation too. Watching a beam that size go into place is the kind of thing you don’t forget.

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Walking the Floors — Our Favorite New Hobby 🚶‍♀️🏡

Here’s the part that has genuinely made everything feel worth it.
We have walls. You can see the structure of the house. Every few days, one of us wanders through the footprint. Sometimes it’s Troy and me. Sometimes it’s V and me. Sometimes all three of us together. And honestly, watching V get excited now that she can see real walls and real structure has been one of the sweetest parts of this whole journey.

We are actually, finally, building our home. 🙌

Two Weeks of Progress, Tile Dreams, and a Much-Needed Mountain Exhale

The last two weeks brought a little bit of everything. Real construction progress, fun design decisions, a quiet RV while our daughter was away, and then a much-needed escape to our happy place in North Carolina.

And maybe most exciting of all…

We poured the stem wall. We officially have concrete.

After so many months of planning, waiting, permits, revisions, and all the invisible work that comes before anything actually looks like a house, it was such a thrill to stand there and watch concrete flow for the first time on our new build.

We even captured video of the beginning of the pour. There were workers lined up with the giant hose, two big concrete trucks taking over the corner, and all of us just waiting and watching for it to really get going. One thing I never expected? At the very start, the concrete seemed to get stuck in the hose, and the crew was literally beating on it with hammers to get things moving. It was fascinating to watch. Not exactly the graceful moment I had imagined, but very real and very memorable.

The first pour!

It may not look like much to everyone else yet, but to us, this was a huge moment. Concrete makes it feel real.

We also had a really fun milestone over the last couple of weeks: tile selection.

Honestly, it could have been completely overwhelming if not for Natalie from Dreamland Interiors and Lauren from D3 Construction. Instead of feeling stressed, I had so much fun. They brought such a great eye to the process and helped pull things together in a way I never could have on my own.

There was one tile I fell in love with immediately. To me, it looks like a beautiful blue sky with fluffy clouds catching the sunlight and glowing gold. I knew I wanted it somewhere in the house. At first, I thought it might go in the primary shower, but our designer had bigger plans.

What she pulled together for the primary bath absolutely stopped me in my tracks. The new his-and-hers shower layout, the dark high-gloss cabinetry, and the almost iridescent marble mosaic herringbone tile created something elegant, elevated, and spa-like. It is not a look I would have chosen on my own, but the second I saw it, I loved it. It was one of those moments where the house stopped feeling like just a construction project and started feeling personal again.

My “sunny sky” tile still found its perfect place in the in-law suite shower, and it is going to be stunning there.

And then there was one detail that completely made me grin: the dog shower. We are adding one to the laundry room, and the designer found a way to work paw prints into the tile floor. I laughed immediately and loved it. Even our owner’s rep was so charmed by it that she is now fully on board with the dog shower too. Reese and Ute clearly have no idea how spoiled they are.

We also had a small but exciting construction moment with the block delivery for the block portion of the stem wall. It was only a few stacks, not the actual house walls yet, but even seeing those blocks arrive made it feel like we are getting closer to the point where things really begin to rise.

In the middle of all of this, our daughter headed off on her 8th grade class trip to Washington, D.C. This trip used to be a parent-child trip, but this year the school decided to make it school-only. It was her first out-of-state trip without us. I was sad not to experience it with her, and at the same time, proud and excited for her to have that independence.

We missed her terribly.

The RV felt way too quiet while she was gone. Life slowed down in a way that felt strange. We are so used to the everyday rhythm of school runs, chats in the car, hugs, and all the coming and going that fills up family life. She would call us in the evenings with just enough time to tell us about the day and how exhausted she was. By the end, she was happy to be home and completely worn out.

Then, right after that, we had spring break, and we got to head back to our home in Maggie Valley, our happy place, Ridgeline Retreat.

After the 11-hour drive, the first thing we did was let the dogs out to run. Reese and Ute were absolutely thrilled. For the adults, we walked straight inside and out to the porch to take in the view before quickly unloading so we could start enjoying the week.

That first feeling was relief and gratitude.

Ridgeline Retreat has always been a place where we can exhale, even before the storm and the rebuild. But this time, it felt even sweeter. It was a break from the chaos of construction, the trucks, the parking challenges, the noise, and the constant motion of the build site. In Maggie Valley, everything felt calm and peaceful.

We spent the week there with another family and had such a great time. It was a little too cold for hiking most days, so we found other ways to enjoy the area. One of the most fun parts of the week was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with lunch at The Scotsman with corned beef and cabbage, peanut butter whiskey, and live Irish and Scottish music. It was crowded, lively, and worth the 30-minute wait for a table for six. To make it even better, one person in our party unknowingly won a raw potato by walking through the door at just the right moment, which somehow felt exactly like the kind of random vacation memory that becomes family legend.

We also celebrated Troy’s birthday at Cataloochee Ranch with friends. The food was good, but what really made the night special was simply being together.

And as if the week hadn’t already given us enough, we even got a little snow. About two inches fell, with beautiful flurries and snow blowing sideways at times. The kids loved it, and the dogs ran wild with snow stuck all over their fur.

It was one of those weeks that reminded me how much home can mean in different ways.

Home is the one we are building, slowly and steadily, one concrete pour and one tile decision at a time.

Home is also the place that lets us breathe while we are getting there.

And more than anything, home is wherever my family is.

For now, I’m grateful for all of it.

Progress, Tacos, and the Great Sink Debate

Last week was another good step forward for the house. The footers were completed and passed inspection, which means we’re officially moving on to the next phase: pouring the concrete.

Progress has been coming in steady steps lately. Not the giant emotional moments we imagined earlier in the process, but small confirmations that things are continuing to move forward.

When the inspector approved the footers, Troy was on site and sent a text to our construction project group thread. When we saw the message, we both let out a loud cheer. It wasn’t a big celebration, but it was a moment of real excitement knowing we could keep moving forward.

And right now, progress is the thing that matters most.

Feeding the Crew

One of the things we’ve talked about since the beginning of this build is making sure the teams working on the house know we appreciate them.

Last week we brought in a taco bar from Taco Dirty for lunch. There were about fifteen workers on site that day. When the food arrived, the guy in charge waved everyone over and they dropped their tools where they were and came running.

I had ordered food for twenty because I wasn’t sure how many would be there, so we ended up with leftovers. But judging by how quickly everyone gathered around the taco bar, I think it was a welcome surprise. Many of the workers typically bring lunches packed from home, so I don’t think they were expecting it.

We had also offered to bring beer for the crew at the end of one of their shifts, but the guy in charge politely asked that we not do that. He’s clearly a no-nonsense leader who takes his job seriously, and we respect that.

The Construction Borrowing System

Living on-site during construction has given us a front-row seat to how job sites really operate.

Early one morning I heard a loud crashing noise outside. When I went out to see what was going on, I found subcontractors from a neighboring job site throwing metal into our dumpster.

The dumpster situation isn’t a huge deal, except that we’re charged by weight.

A little later, Troy also noticed another builder working on one of the other homes on our corner walking across our lot carrying a few pieces of rebar that had been delivered for our foundation work. There are three houses currently under construction on this corner, so there is a lot of activity happening around us.

The rods were laying on the ground and were scheduled to be installed as part of the footer work.

Troy called out to him and walked over to chat. The builder said he was just borrowing them to measure something and would bring them back.

Maybe that was always the plan… maybe not.

But Troy handled it well. He told him he didn’t mind neighbors borrowing materials, but asked that people check with us first so we could keep track of what belonged where.

The rods were returned shortly after.

It definitely makes you wonder what happens on construction sites when homeowners aren’t living right there.

The Sink Decision

This week also included several hours of plumbing fixture selections, which turned out to be far more overwhelming than I expected.

I had absolutely no idea how many different options exist for something as simple as a bathroom sink.

Or a kitchen sink.

Or a faucet.

Apparently there are thousands.

At one point we stood in front of a display of kitchen sinks for what felt like half an hour, staring at them the way people stare at cars on a showroom floor. I had initially landed on a 36-inch sink, but something about it kept feeling small.

My owner’s rep, who is also a dear friend and very good at keeping me inside the budget, has developed a habit of rolling her eyes whenever I say, “That looks too small.”

It’s become a bit of a game.

Eventually the salesperson pointed out a 39-inch sink that sits right between the 36 and the giant 45-inch model that would require two faucets. The moment I saw it, I knew that was the one.

My owner’s rep just shook her head.

The designer was perfectly happy with whatever I chose, but she agreed that the 45-inch version would probably be overkill.

So the 39-inch composite sink won.

I’m still debating color, but black is currently the front runner. A lot will depend on the final hood selection for the kitchen, which I want to make a bold focal point.

The Faucet Moment

The master bathroom faucet selection had a similar moment.

We were looking through what felt like hundreds of options. The designer pointed out several that were beautiful, but none of them really felt interesting.

Then suddenly my hand landed on one particular faucet.

And I just knew.

It’s hard to explain, but after looking at so many options, something about that one immediately stood out. It just felt right.

Luckily for me, it also happened to be within budget, so my owner’s rep didn’t have to talk me down from anything too outrageous.

Small miracles.

Looking Ahead

Next up is pouring the concrete for the footers and continuing to move upward from the foundation.

It still amazes me how many steps exist before you ever see a single wall go up.

But we’re moving.

And after everything we’ve been through to get to this point, that feels really good.

Our Beginning: The Night Everything Changed

We’ve lived in our home for over 15 years. Through countless summer storms, tropical systems, and close calls, the water has never even come close to our front door — not once. Until Hurricane Helene.

That night started like so many others before it: heavy rain, gusting wind, and a few nervous glances out the window. But this time, something was different. The water rose faster than we’d ever seen — inch by inch, until it crept past the front steps and spilled inside. Within minutes, we had nearly two feet of murky water swirling through our home.

Outside, the street had become a river. Inside, the sound of rushing water mixed with disbelief. We grabbed what we could, trying to lift things higher, but it was coming too fast. By the time we opened the back door, the water in the yard was knee-high — our only way out.

We weren’t alone. My father-in-law, who has Parkinson’s, was staying with us that night. As the water continued to rise, a neighbor rushed over to help us get him up the back stairs to the second floor — the only entrance to the upstairs space is through that porch. It was dark, slippery, and chaotic, but somehow we all made it to safety.

When daylight finally came, the silence hit harder than the storm itself. The power was out, the air thick with humidity, and our home was unrecognizable. We stood there, frozen, surrounded by soaked furniture, floating shoes, and memories we didn’t yet know how to face.

The days that followed were a blur. Friends, coworkers, and neighbors showed up — boxes in hand, sleeves rolled up, ready to help. Together, we packed what we could salvage and hauled the rest to the curb.

That curb became a painful symbol of loss — a row of our life laid bare for the world to see: furniture, photo albums, our daughter’s artwork, the familiar things that made our house feel like home.

And then came the pickers.

They’d drive slowly down the street, scanning piles for anything worth taking. Some would quietly pull over, rummaging through the debris while we stood nearby. Every now and then, one would mutter, “Sorry for your loss,” under their breath before loading up and driving off. Most didn’t say anything at all. They just picked through the pieces of our life and moved on. It was humbling in a way that’s hard to describe — to watch strangers sift through what had once been your family’s memories.

But amid the heartbreak, something beautiful happened too. Our community — our little village — showed up again and again. Every helping hand, every kind word, every box carried out to the street was a reminder that we weren’t alone.

By the end of that first week, exhausted and heartbroken, we made a decision: we would rebuild, and this time, we would build higher. We never wanted to live through this again — not just for safety, but for peace of mind.

And so begins our next chapter:
Two Dogs and a Demo
Resilience on wheels. Home on hold.

(Photos from those first few days below — a reminder of how it started, and how far we’ve come.)