Into the Crawlspace

Twenty-three, in and of itself, is not a bad number. It is prime, being divisible only by the numbers 1 and 23. It was the jersey number worn by precisely one NFL Hall of Famer, Guy Chamberlain, a player and coach for the Canton and Cleveland Bulldogs. And, it was the jersey number shared by NBA greats Michael Jordan throughout his entire career and LeBron James whilst in Cleveland and LA. So, while a bit standoffish from a divisibility standpoint, 23 does have its charms.

When that same number appears in the display of a Delmhorst J2000 pin type handheld moisture meter that pierces the finish of a solid red oak plank, however, 23 is concerning. It is confirmation that the flooring is cupping/buckling/misbehaving due to exposure to excess moisture. What is most concerning to homeowners is the cost associated with remedying the problem, and, most importantly, whether they will be the one to foot the bill.

As a former wood floor inspector, I witnessed homeowners whiplash through the five stages of grief as they came to grips with numbers such as 23, 19, 17, or even 15.

“Fifteen’s not so bad,” one homeowner muttered. “It’s the quinceañera of wood floor moisture readings, right?”

The fact the floor was in my wife Sue’s and my house — and I had known what to expect for years just by looking at our cupped floor — made my reaction even more pathetic.

First there was denial as I penetrated the floor with the moisture meter pins 50 times, hoping for a reading that would contradict the other 49.

Anger, or more precisely, a fit of unimaginative and unintelligible cursing, soon followed. Why was I cursing when I knew precisely what to expect? It made no logical sense, but anger (and cursing) is part of the process, so embrace it, I did.

Bargaining took the form of emailing the townhome association detailed pictures of faulty guttering and negatively-graded landscaping that contributed to elevated moisture levels in the crawlspace. (Fun fact: Bargaining with one’s townhome association over the condition of one’s crawlspace is as productive as bargaining with one’s POA over the cost of mandatory mailbox replacement.)

Depression coincided with the receipt of estimates from various companies promising to encapsulate and dehumidify our crawlspace for sums ranging from “OMG” on the low end to “OMFG!!!” on the high end. I’m no psychologist, but judging by my language, I think my depression upon reading the quotes was tinged with a high degree of anger.

Acceptance may be the clinical term for the final phase of dealing with grief, but defeat is more fitting. Defeat that was accompanied by hours of consulting former colleagues and reviewing lecture notes from my days as a wood floor inspector. I had the knowledge, in theory, I just needed to practically apply that knowledge.

Dressed from head to toe in a Tyvek suit from Lowe’s and a makeshift filter mask from Harbor Freight, I ventured into the crawlspace, a portion of the home that is misunderstood by all but the most accomplished serial killers. They know it is best suited for the storage of dismembered corpses because the putrefaction blends right in with the ambient smells of mold, mildew and rotting rodentia.

The falling fiberglass insulation in our crawlspace was reminiscent of the elegant stalactites Sue and I witnessed firsthand in Carlsbad Caverns. Thankfully, our crawlspace was devoid of the bats that blacken the New Mexico sky when they take flight from the caverns each evening. Judging by the thousands of gnawed acorns on the ground, something — likely a lot of somethings — lived in our crawlspace at some point. They have since moved to the attic, which makes them tomorrow’s problem, not today’s.

Cleanup consisted of removing each section of matted insulation, rolling it up and bagging for disposal in a variety of nearby apartment complex dumpsters. This task would have been as simple as it sounds, save for the fact that it was July, and I was dressed in a “Breaking Bad”-style Tyvek sauna suit.

Next came the actual encapsulation. I covered the walls, piers and floor of the crawlspace with a thick pool liner-type material in hopes of keeping moisture out instead of keeping the pool water in.

After the vents were blocked with foam, and the airtight access door framed, caulked and weather-stripped, the moment of truth arrived. It was time to turn on the dehumidifier and let raw numbers judge my work.

The unit I chose for this critical role was not the commercial-grade jobber whose price was a main factor in my previous depression/renewed anger stage. Oh no. It was the forgotten unit that I discovered in the garage because, not only is that how I roll, my friends, but if it works, it works!

Within days, the remote hygrometer I installed in the crawlspace indicated that relative humidity levels dropped from over 90% to 70%, then 60%. Soon, it dropped below 50% and then it continued below 45%. Within weeks, the floor above dropped from a cupped and misshapen moisture content reading of 23 to what is now a flat and dainty 9. At the risk of invoking hyperbole, I now know precisely how Dr. Frankenstein felt when he zapped those sewn-up body parts and his creature opened its eyes. It’s alive, indeed!

I often reflect upon our journey (mine and the crawlspace’s) when I am ensconced for hours within its temperate, dry, Zen-like confines. It is, without a doubt, the most peaceful place I have been on earth — save for the pile of putrefying, dismembered corpses. Those almost seem out of place without the ambiance provided by falling fiberglass insulation stalactites and rotting rodentia.

Editor’s note: No real local apartment complex dumpsters were used in the writing of this article or the disposal of the insulation. Tom actually properly disposed of the insulation at the Berkeley County Charity Church Convenience Center, 1430 Charity Church Road, in Huger.

Tom Werner is an island resident, former standup comic, and owner of Whatnot Services, LLC, which provides handyman and mobile mechanic services and crawlspace encapsulation. You can reach Tom at whatnotservices@yahoo.com or 843-729-1056 for help with home projects or car repairs.