{"id":171982,"date":"2025-10-31T10:00:44","date_gmt":"2025-10-31T14:00:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=171982"},"modified":"2025-11-03T10:30:33","modified_gmt":"2025-11-03T15:30:33","slug":"weatherizing-salem","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2025\/10\/31\/weatherizing-salem\/","title":{"rendered":"Weatherizing Salem"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

All photographs courtesy of the author.<\/p><\/div>\n

I usually tell people I don\u2019t know well that my work is roofing and siding. I also tell people this when I, correctly or incorrectly, assume they don\u2019t know what weatherization is. When I type out weatherization<\/em>, a red line appears underneath the word, indicating that the program I use to write doesn\u2019t know what it is either. I don\u2019t explain that I\u2019m usually crawling, crouching, and squirming around an attic, air-sealing; or a knee wall, air-sealing; or in a crawl space, air-sealing. In other words, blasting spray foam in a small, gross space. Sometimes I explain that I\u2019m up on a ladder\u2014anything from a sixteen-footer to a thirty-two- and, sometimes, but rarely, a forty-footer\u2014drilling holes into the wall between each bay, from the outside, underneath siding that has been taken off to expose the home\u2019s sheathing. Sometimes holes have to be drilled inside a house\u2014interior drill and blow\u2014because of asbestos or because there\u2019s a dormer on a third or fourth floor sticking out from a too-steep roof. Sometimes I mix up the job\u2019s jargon\u2014strats<\/em>, rafters<\/em>, studs, strapping<\/em>, joists<\/em>. Something like foam<\/em> could mean spray foam or foam board, it all depends on the context. I\u2019m usually covered in dust, mold, and rat shit, squeezing through knee walls, attics, crawl spaces. This is all considered unskilled labor.<\/p>\n

After holes are drilled into the wall, or the attic\u2019s prepped, the necessary spaces get filled with cellulose, a kind of insulation made of things like shredded newspaper. When I\u2019m cutting open the bags to load it into the blower machine (versus into the truck to transport it), I think: What history or literature is being blown into these walls? Returns that got pulped? My book? My friends\u2019 books, my foes\u2019? Sometimes you can catch a few words from things like grocery-store flyers\u2014FROZEN LASAGNA MEALS $6.99<\/small>.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

It\u2019s Salem, Massachusetts, and it\u2019s October, two-sweatshirt weather now. It\u2019s estimated that two million people will visit our small city this month for history (witch trials) and haunted houses and dressing up and walking around, which can make it hard to drive back to the workshop at the end of the day. This is my fourth or fifth time working for my uncles\u2019\u2014R. and D.\u2019s\u2014weatherization company and my longest stretch working for them. I didn\u2019t plan it like this, but we have a baby coming in December and we moved back so we could have him at the same hospital where we had and lost our first son a year and a half ago. We are trying to find a way to live here but with how expensive it\u2019s gotten, this is what\u2019s panned out for now. Rent\u2019s higher than in New York City. You can\u2019t buy a house for less than a half mil. I\u2019ve always wanted to raise a kid in Salem. Nothing like growing up near the ocean.<\/p>\n

Driving to and from the jobsite: golden retriever chasing falling leaves in the park next to a pipe painted pink with a cartoon sea monster\u2019s face. I see a sign for BILLY SWEET CHIMNEY SWEEP<\/small> and a crashed-into Dunks sign. Folks in Mass call Dunkin\u2019 \u201cDunks.\u201d Dunkin\u2019 was a dumb rebrand. A guy on a motorcycle with a skeleton on it. Crowds on every corner already. Bridal party dressed like witches, one in white. Every day-business selling its parking space at night. A second bridal party. Birds or shadows of birds across the Four Points Hotel in Lynnfield. I think Lynnfield. Stuck in traffic, listening to our go-to songs\u2014\u201cHIGHJACK (right back)\u201d by A$AP Rocky, or the Silver Jews\u2019 cover of \u201cFriday Night Fever,\u201d or a couple of songs by this pop-punk band my buddy Aleks likes called Dear Maryanne\u2014and thinking about the job, staving off the dread of getting into the attic full of moldy sheets of faced Rockwool underneath faced fiberglass, sweating in our Tyvek suits. The better you insulate, the hotter it gets up there.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

I put my time card into the machine and it stamps out “6:44.” Go up to see R. and D. They tell me what crew I\u2019m on. With Aleks. I like working with Aleks. He\u2019s got way more experience than me, so he\u2019s always showing me tips and tricks. But he\u2019s late again, so I walk around the shop\u2019s yard. There\u2019s a dozen of us, give or take, maybe six box trucks, a roofing truck, and a dump truck. A few people are sitting in the back of a couple box trucks taking inventory, staying out of the cold. Anybody standing in a group is laughing or complaining about someone they worked with last week. My uncles and the crew\u2014pairs of brothers, guys from California, Salem guys\u2014they\u2019re all characters, they\u2019ve all got their big personalities, everyone\u2019s telling a joke they just learned or retelling one they\u2019ve already told. They call me sobrino<\/em>. Some bad moods, some good. We\u2019re all weaving around one another, the masonry guys we share the yard with, L in the Terex moving pallets and eating a microwaved hamburger. I help load a truck with insulation. I look for Aleks\u2019s list to see what we need in the truck. We loading cellulose today? How many sheets of foam board? Cases of spray foam? Masks, Tyvek suits, trash bags? Sheetrock, lumber? Aneudy gives me a hand. He\u2019s probably the coolest twenty-two-year-old I know. I like to say to him and Aleks\u2014posing \u2019cause I\u2019m the oldest\u2014when I\u2019m sore, when we\u2019re all sore: “I\u2019ll tell you what, boys: Don\u2019t get old.”<\/p>\n

This week\u2019s days are a single long day. A life lived on I-95 and in a stranger\u2019s attic. Today is a big job\u2014second- and third-floor walls, attic, four complicated knee walls.<\/p>\n

Once Aleks pulls up, I tell him he\u2019s got me today and that I couldn\u2019t find the turbine vent we need. We double-check the list and get into the truck and drive to Market Basket for coffee and breakfast, then to the hardware store for the vent. The traffic is crazy, with the shop being in Salem and it being October. We get to the blue-gray house in some Boston suburb. From the outside it doesn\u2019t look like it\u2019d be too bad of a job, but we\u2019ve learned. We roll slowly out of the truck to set up. Put down tarps, plastic. Grab hardware-store buckets with utility blades, foam guns, trash bags, extra masks. Air-sealing and pulling sheets of Rockwool\u2014sixteen fifty-gallon trash bags\u2019 full. Finish spray-foaming the long top plate and one gable end. So much hot crawling around. Itchy everywhere, paranoid about breathing in mold and fiberglass even through a mask. Somehow both wet and dry. We take a little break, set up the insulation hose, pull it through a window and up through the attic hatch.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

I\u2019m lying on plywood in the attic while cellulose snows over me. My back feels so good lying down like this. And I\u2019m breathing in the clean, chemical smell of my mask, but part of me still winces. I don\u2019t want the dust on me. After a minute I let it happen. Fluffy chunks of brown-gray dust from all the pulped paper float down and land on my face, chest, belly. It sticks to you and looks like patchy fleece and dryer lint. Like you\u2019re a dog with mange. I hold the insulation hose, giving it slack sometimes, pulling it back sometimes, so Aleks can maneuver around some of the smaller areas of the attic, around the collars and the air handler and along where the roof\u2019s slope meets the joists on the ceiling below us.<\/p>\n

Aleks eats his lunch in the cellulose closet built into the back of the box truck, lounging on the big brick-like bags of cellulose. Same bags I\u2019ll be loading into the blower (Dave Krendl\u2019s Cool Machines, and I love that that\u2019s the brand name) shortly. Today, I lie on my toolbox at lunch, in the clients\u2019 driveway, with both sweatshirts on, trying to suck in the sun. Lunch cooler as my pillow, just a little taller than my toolbox.<\/p>\n

As I\u2019m putting the Tyvek suit back on, a falcon flies overhead. Then a little hairy woodpecker in the pine above me. There haven\u2019t been as many woodpeckers this fall and I\u2019ve got an eye for them. Flickers and pileateds\u2014forget about it, I love a flicker. My sister sent me a video of a downy in the trees behind her house yesterday. We\u2019ll be insulating her house next month. Love seeing woodpeckers, hawks, falcons, ospreys all doing their thing. Seagulls in the Market Basket parking lot. The last week of September, Aleks and I saw a pair of hawks when we got back to the shop. One with a rat in its claws, its mate following behind. Before we pack up, Aleks has to put in the turbine vent. I go up onto the roof to pass him parts of it, a level, caulking. I listen to seagulls that sound like hounds a few streets down. Climbing down the ladder, I look up and see another falcon.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nathan Dragon is a writer, an educator, and a weatherization technician. He is the author of <\/em>The Champ Is Here and<\/em>\u00a0a frequent contributor to <\/em>NOON Annual.<\/em> Along with his wife, Raegan Bird, he is the cofounder and editor of the publishing project <\/em>Blue Arrangements<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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