#wood truss roof

[sullivanclarissa]

Side Yard Porch Providence An example of a huge traditional stone screened-in side porch design with a roof extension.

[35letters]

(via Washington College — Semans-Griswold Environmental Hall — Ayers Saint Gross)

[rangertruss]

LVL Wood Beams vs. Solid Wood

In construction, choosing the right beams is crucial to the strength and longevity of your structure. LVL beams (Laminated Veneer Lumber) are engineered wood products made by bonding thin layers of wood veneers together, providing exceptional uniformity, strength, and resistance to warping. On the other hand, solid wood beams are milled from a single tree trunk, offering a more traditional, natural aesthetic, but they can be prone to inconsistencies in strength due to knots, grain patterns, and other natural imperfections. Read the full article here!

[kustombeams]

Explore the Benefits of Innovative Wood Truss Roofs

Build your dream roof faster and stronger! Wood trusses are pre-made roof frames with tough triangular sections. These structures are not only lightweight but also capable of bearing heavy loads, such as snow. Additionally, wood trusses are available in a range of styles, offering you greater design flexibility for your dream home. Read our full blog to explore the benefits of different wood truss roofs!

[los-angeles-county-limousine]

Loft-Style Bedroom Ideas for a small rustic loft-style bedroom renovation with a medium tone wood floor

[notsureaboutnameyet]

Rustic Exterior - Exterior Idea for a large, three-story, rustic brown home

[yoncchi]

Natural Stone Pavers - Patio a sizable image of a stone patio in a backyard with a fire pit and a mountain-style roof.

[recycleanimals]

Loft-Style Family Room Family room - large traditional loft-style light wood floor family room idea

[bibliotecauditiva]

Phoenix Rustic Exterior a large brown one-story wood exterior with a metal roof in the mountain style.

[valkyrierps]

Roofing Hip Example of a large, gray, one-story, wood exterior with a hip roof and a metal roof in the mountain style.

[apoemaday]

Mathematics

by Jane Hirshfield

I have envied those who make something useful, sturdy — a chair, a pair of boots.

Even a soup, rich with potatoes and cream.

Or those who fix, perhaps, a leaking window: strip out the old cracked putty, lay down cleanly the line of the new.

You could learn, the mirror tells me, late at night, but lacks conviction. One reflected eyebrow quivers a little.

I look at this borrowed apartment — everywhere I question it, the wallpaper’s pattern matches.

Yesterday a woman showed me a building shaped like the overturned hull of a ship,

its roof trusses, under the plaster, lashed with soaked rawhide, the columns’ marble painted to seem like wood. Though possibly it was the other way around?

I look at my unhandy hand, innocent, shaped as the hands of others are shaped. Even the pen it holds is a mystery, really.

Rawhide, it writes, and chair, and marble. Eyebrow.

Later the woman asked me — I recognized her then, my sister, my own young self —

Does a poem enlarge the world, or only our idea of the world?

How do you take one from the other, I lied, or did not lie, in answer.

[vintagehomecollection]

An old deteriorating factory building that stands in the East End of London has become a whimsical and somewhat funky place of residence under the new owner's architectural daring. The open-truss wooded roof and walls were left intact to retain the authentic character of the building. Offbeat odds-and-ends and bargains discovered at local flea markets enhance the easy-going quality that gives the kitchen its identity.

Beyond The Kitchen: A Dreamer’s Guide, 1985

[o-craven-canto]

Extracts from Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, 2007. The book considers the material aspects of human civilization and how long they would last, unattended. If humans were to vanish from Earth, if all maintainance and repairing work ceased, what would happen to what we leave behind?

(The book went on to inspire two speculative documentaries, Life After People by History Channel and Aftermath: Population Zero by National Geographic, emphasizing different aspects of it. They were neat.)

Chapter 2: Unbuilding Our Home

No matter how hermetically you’ve sealed your temperature-tuned interior from the weather, invisible spores penetrate anyway, exploding in sudden outbursts of mold—awful when you see it, worse when you don’t, because it’s hidden behind a painted wall, munching paper sandwiches of gypsum board, rotting studs and floor joists. Or you’ve been colonized by termites, carpenter ants, roaches, hornets, even small mammals.

Most of all, though, you are beset by what in other contexts is the veritable stuff of life: water... moisture enters around the nails. Soon they’re rusting, and their grip begins to loosen... As gravity increases tension on the trusses, the ¼-inch pins securing their now-rusting connector plates pull free from the wet wood, which now sports a fuzzy coating of greenish mold... When the heat went off, pipes burst if you lived where it freezes, and rain is blowing in where windows have cracked from bird collisions and the stress of sagging walls. Even where the glass is still intact, rain and snow mysteriously, inexorably work their way under sills. As the wood continues to rot, trusses start to collapse against each other. Eventually the walls lean to one side, and finally the roof falls in...

While all that disaster was unfolding, squirrels, raccoons, and lizards have been inside, chewing nest holes in the drywall, even as woodpeckers rammed their way through from the other direction... Fallen vinyl siding, whose color began to fade early, is now brittle and cracking as its plasticizers degenerate. The aluminum is in better shape, but salts in water pooling on its surface slowly eat little pits that leave a grainy white coating... Unprotected thin sheet steel disintegrates in a few years. Long before that, the water-soluble gypsum in the sheetrock has washed back into the earth. That leaves the chimney, where all the trouble began. After a century, it’s still standing, but its bricks have begun to drop and break as, little by little, its lime mortar, exposed to temperature swings, crumbles and powders.

If you owned a swimming pool, it’s now a planter box... If the house’s foundation involved a basement, it too is filling with soil and plant life. Brambles and wild grapevines are snaking around steel gas pipes, which will rust away before another century goes by. White plastic PVC plumbing has yellowed and thinned on the side exposed to the light, where its chloride is weathering to hydrochloric acid, dissolving itself and its polyvinyl partners. Only the bathroom tile, the chemical properties of its fired ceramic not unlike those of fossils, is relatively unchanged, although it now lies in a pile mixed with leaf litter.

After 500 years, what is left depends on where in the world you lived. If the climate was temperate, a forest stands in place of a suburb; minus a few hills, it’s begun to resemble what it was before developers, or the farmers they expropriated, first saw it. Amid the trees, half-concealed by a spreading understory, lie aluminum dishwasher parts and stainless steel cookware, their plastic handles splitting but still solid... The chromium alloys that give stainless steel its resilience... will probably continue to do so for millennia, especially if the pots, pans, and carbon-tempered cutlery are buried out of the reach of atmospheric oxygen. One hundred thousand years hence, the intellectual development of whatever creature digs them up might be kicked abruptly to a higher evolutionary plane by the discovery of ready-made tools...

If you were a desert dweller, the plastic components of modern life flake and peel away faster, as polymer chains crack under an ultraviolet barrage of daily sunshine. With less moisture, wood lasts longer there, though any metal in contact with salty desert soils will corrode more quickly. Still, from Roman ruins we can guess that thick cast iron will be around well into the future’s archaeological record, so the odd prospect of fire hydrants sprouting amidst cacti may someday be among the few clues that humanity was here...

In a warmer world... drier, hotter desert climates will be complemented by wetter, stormier mountain weather systems that will send floods roaring downstream, overwhelming dams, spreading over their former alluvial plains, and entombing whatever was built there in annual layers of silt. Within them, fire hydrants, truck tires, shattered plate glass, condominia, and office buildings may remain indefinitely, but as far from sight as the Carboniferous Formation once was.

No memorial will mark their burial, though the roots of cottonwoods, willows, and palms may occasionally make note of their presence. Only eons later, when old mountains have worn away and new ones risen, will young streams cutting fresh canyons through sediments reveal what once, briefly, went on here.

***

Chapter 3: The City Without Us

Under New York, groundwater is always rising… Whenever it rains hard, sewers clog with storm debris… With subway pumps stilled… water would start sluicing away soil under the pavement. Before long, streets start to crater. With no one unclogging sewers, some new watercourses form on the surface… Within 20 years, the water-soaked steel columns that support the street above the East Side’s 4, 5, and 6 trains corrode and buckle. As Lexington Avenue caves in, it becomes a river.

Whenever it is, the repeated freezing and thawing make asphalt and cement split. When snow thaws, water seeps into these fresh cracks. When it freezes, the water expands, and cracks widen… As pavement separates, weeds like mustard, shamrock, and goosegrass blow in from Central Park and work their way down the new cracks, which widen further… The weeds are followed by the city’s most prolific exotic species, the Chinese ailanthus tree… As soil long trapped beneath pavement gets exposed to sun and rain, other species jump in, and soon leaf litter adds to the rising piles of debris clogging the sewer grates.

The early pioneer plants won’t even have to wait for the pavement to fall apart. Starting from the mulch collecting in gutters, a layer of soil will start forming atop New York’s sterile hard shell, and seedlings will sprout…

In the first few years with no heat, pipes burst all over town, the freeze-thaw cycle moves indoors, and things start to seriously deteriorate. Buildings groan as their innards expand and contract; joints between walls and rooflines separate. Where they do, rain leaks in, bolts rust, and facing pops off, exposing insulation. If the city hasn’t burned yet, it will now… with no firemen to answer the call, a dry lightning strike that ignites a decade of dead branches and leaves piling up in Central Park will spread flames through the streets. Within two decades, lightning rods have begun to rust and snap, and roof fires leap among buildings, entering paneled offices filled with paper fuel. Gas lines ignite with a rush of flames that blows out windows. Rain and snow blow in, and soon even poured concrete floors are freezing, thawing, and starting to buckle. Burnt insulation and charred wood add nutrients to Manhattan’s growing soil cap. Native Virginia creeper and poison ivy claw at walls covered with lichens, which thrive in the absence of air pollution. Red-tailed hawks and peregrine falcons nest in increasingly skeletal high-rise structures.

Within two centuries… colonizing trees will have substantially replaced pioneer weeds. Gutters buried under tons of leaf litter provide new, fertile ground for native oaks and maples from city parks. Arriving black locust and autumn olive shrubs fix nitrogen, allowing sunflowers, bluestem, and white snakeroot to move in along with apple trees, their seeds expelled by proliferating birds… as buildings tumble and smash into each other, and lime from crushed concrete raises soil pH, inviting in trees, such as buckthorn and birch, that need less-acidic environments…

In a future that portends stronger and more-frequent hurricanes striking North America’s Atlantic coast, ferocious winds will pummel tall, unsteady structures. Some will topple, knocking down others. Like a gap in the forest when a giant tree falls, new growth will rush in. Gradually, the asphalt jungle will give way to a real one.

***

Chapter 7: What Falls Apart

(context: this chapter describes Varosha, a city in Cyprus evacuated in 1974 after the Turkish invasion, and left abandoned until 2019)

[Two years after abandonment] Asphalt and pavement had cracked… Australian wattles, a fast-growing acacia species used by hotels for landscaping, were popping out midstreet, some nearly three feet high. Creepers from ornamental succulents snaked out of hotel gardens, crossing roads and climbing tree trunks… Concussions from Turkish air force bombs, Cavinder saw, had exploded plate-glass store windows. Boutique mannequins were half-clothed, their imported fabrics flapping in tattered strips…

Pigeon droppings coated everything. Carob rats nested in hotel rooms, living off Yaffa oranges and lemons from former citrus groves… The bell towers of Greek churches were spattered with the blood and feces of hanging bats.

Sheets of sand blew across avenues and covered floors… Now, no bands, just the incessant kneading of the seathat no longer soothed. The wind sighing through open windows became a whine. The cooing of pigeons grew deafening.

Varosha, merely 60 miles from Syria and Lebanon, is too balmy for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its pavement was tossed asunder anyway. The wrecking crews weren’t just trees, Münir marveled, but also flowers. Tiny seeds of wild Cyprus cyclamen had wedged into cracks, germinated, and heaved aside entire slabs of cement…

Two more decades passed… Its encircling fence and barbed wire are now uniformly rusted, but there is nothing left to protect but ghosts. An occasional Coca Cola sign and broadsides posting nightclubs’ cover charges hang on doorways… Fallen limestone facing lies in pieces. Hunks of wall have dropped from buildings to reveal empty rooms… brick-shaped gaps show where mortar has already dissolved. Other than the back-and-forth of pigeons, all that moves is the creaky rotor of one last functioning windmill.

In the meantime, nature continues its reclamation project. Feral geraniums and philodendrons emerge from missing roofs and pour down exterior walls. Flame trees, chinaberries, and thickets of hibiscus, oleander, and passion lilac sprout from nooks where indoors and outdoors now blend. Houses disappear under magenta mounds of bougainvillaea. Lizards and whip snakes skitter through stands of wild asparagus, prickly pear, and six-foot grasses. A spreading ground cover of lemon grass sweetens the air. At night, the darkened beachfront, free of moonlight bathers, crawls with nesting loggerhead and green sea turtles.

***

Chapter 10: The Petro Patch

If, in the immediate aftermath of Homo sapiens petrolerus, the tanks and towers of the Texas petrochemical patch all detonated together in one spectacular roar, after the oily smoke cleared, there would remain melted roads, twisted pipe, crumpled sheathing, and crumbled concrete. White-hot incandescence would have jump-started the corrosion of scrap metals in the salt air, and the polymer chains in hydrocarbon residues would likewise have cracked into smaller, more digestible lengths, hastening biodegradation. Despite the expelled toxins, the soils would also be enriched with burnt carbon, and after a year of rains switchgrass would be growing. A few hardy wildflowers would appear. Gradually, life would resume.

Or, if the faith of Valero Energy’s Fred Newhouse in system safeguards proves warranted—or if the departing oilmen’s last loyal act is to depressurize towers and bank the fires—the disappearance of Texas’s world champion petroleum infrastructure will proceed more slowly. During the first few years, the paint that slows corrosion will go. Over the next two decades, all the storage tanks will exceed their life spans. Soil moisture, rain, salt, and Texas wind will loosen their grip until they leak. Any heavy crude will have hardened by then; weather will crack it, and bugs will eventually eat it.

What liquid fuels that haven’t already evaporated will soak into the ground. When they hit the water table, they’ll float on top because oil is lighter than water. Microbes will find them, realize that they were once only plant life, too, and gradually adapt to eat them. Armadillos will return to burrow in the cleansed soil, among the rotting remains of buried pipe.

Unattended oil drums, pumps, pipes, towers, valves, and bolts will deteriorate at the weakest points, their joints… Until they go, collapsing the metal walls, pigeons that already love to nest atop refinery towers will speed the corruption of carbon steel with their guano, and rattlesnakes will nest in the vacant structures below. As beavers dam the streams that trickle into Galveston Bay, some areas will flood. Houston is generally too warm for a freeze-thaw cycle, but its deltaic clay soils undergo formidable swell-shrink bouts as rains come and go. With no more foundation repairmen to shore up the cracks, in less than a century downtown buildings will start leaning.

… When oil, gas, or groundwater is pumped from beneath the surface, land settles into the space it occupied… Lower the land, raise the seas, add hurricanes far stronger than midsize, Category 3 Alicia, and even before its dams go, the Brazos gets to do again what it did for 80,000 years: like its sister to the east, the Mississippi, it will flood its entire delta… flare towers, catalytic crackers, and fractionating columns, like downtown Houston buildings, will poke out of brackish floodwaters, their foundations rotting while they wait for the waters to recede.

… Below the surface, the oxidizing metal parts of chemical alley will provide a place for Galveston oysters to attach. Silt and oyster shells will slowly bury them, and will then be buried themselves. Within a few million years, enough layers will amass to compress shells into limestone, which will bear an odd, intermittent rusty streak flecked with sparkling traces of nickel, molybdenum, niobium, and chromium. Millions of years after that, someone or something might have the knowledge and tools to recognize the signal of stainless steel. Nothing, however, will remain to suggest that its original form once stood tall over a place called Texas, and breathed fire into the sky.

I cannot really describe the feeling I get from reading these portions in particular, only that it’s the strongest I ever got from any book. It’s certainly not one of joy: I don’t want humans to disappear -- in fact, there are a lot of humans among my family and friends -- and I don’t want human civilization to vanish, after the unspeakable effort it took to put together, with all the promise that, despite everything, it shows. It’s not one of sadness or fear, either. I suppose it’s just one of awe, of terrible grandeur, similar in kind to what I feel when considering the alien horror and beauty of evolved life, its sheer multi-layered complexity, or the unthinkable vastness of geological time.

[rangertruss]

Differences and Advantages of Joists and Trusses

Ever wondered how joists and trusses differ? Joists are the horizontal supports for floors and ceilings, helping to evenly distribute weight. On the other hand, trusses use a smart triangular design to handle larger spaces and support heavy loads.

To explore how these structural elements work and their unique benefits, dive into our detailed blog on Ranger Truss!

[kustombeams]

Wood truss roofs offer numerous advantages, making them an excellent choice for various building projects. They combine strength and aesthetics, providing both functional and visual benefits. Here are four key benefits of wood truss roofs that you can consider for your next construction project.

[username-cause-i-need-one]

A Piranesi's Nightmare

There sat, at the edge of the obsidian clearing, a house. In surprising similarity to the slippery, crystalline floors that cracked and collided at uneven angles, the house itself was chaotic. The smell of old dust and wet rain flew past in the wind. Old varieties of wood from redwood to pine were patchworked into a homunculus effigy of a home. Windows sat millimeters away from each other, roofs collided into kitchens and the whole thing sat upon uneven trusses of dark, jagged stone. It gave an uneasy feeling, the feeling one has when remembering a distant memory, a fuzzy imitation of reality. To stare at the monochrome walls for long was to see patterns and pareidolia in the madness. It was to see images of your past, of walking through a city, of a cheap hotel, all hidden in the wood grain. Inside, each room was built at strange angles. The floor to the kitchen was nearly sideways, and the living room contained couches that were held on platforms too high to see on top of. There were teapots made of stained glass and windows made of ceramic. Searching through the house would lead one in a perennial helix, never quite returning to the same spot twice, merely iterating on itself seemingly eternally. In fact, by all measures it was seemingly bigger on the inside. To walk the halls of this hallowed place was to be outside the material, outside of space. The taste of iron dust settling in the back of your throat, and the sound of birds chirping from within the next room. Pockets of moonlight creeping through the termite-infested planks were bastions of reality, a campfire to stay wherein one could have a connection with the outside, where the churning underbelly of the painted walls would be unheard. When wandering the halls it was impossible to say that the house felt anything other than alive, a space that was intoxicated by its own volume, a meticulously created network that connected its ends to its beginnings. It is a nightmare, a Piranesi’s nightmare.