Building Your Dream Home

When a frame becomes a promise of shelter

There's something quietly breathtaking about seeing a structure begin to rise from the earth. When the sub-floor had settled, and the bones of the exterior walls stood upright, the framing crew turned their hands toward the heavens—to the roof, that final crown. Though it was a simple slope with a 12/12 pitch and no valleys, the magnitude was striking. This house stretched 32 feet wide and 44 feet long, its great room boasting side walls that reached 11 feet tall. That meant the roof's ridge would soar to 27 feet above the floor—a height that demanded scaffolding, strength, and trust.

Heavy 2x12 rafters were necessary to span that long journey from wall to ridge, and within a week, the team had finished laying the bones of the sky. It began to look like a home—if you squinted a little and imagined warmth in the windows.

Why I chose the materials I did

I need to pause here, just for a moment, to explain a few things that might seem small but felt important to me. For the sub-flooring, I decided against OSB or particle board. I've seen them warp under the cold fingers of snow and ice. I worried about future leaks—from a dishwasher gone rogue, a washer overfilling with no warning. So, I went with ¾" tongue and groove plywood. Stronger. More forgiving. More permanent.

The exterior wall framing was done with 2x6 construction. Here in New England, that's common—it allows for thicker insulation, a necessity in the stubborn cold of our winters.

The skin of a house: sheathing and sealing

Once the skeleton was standing proud, the crew turned their focus to its skin—exterior sheathing. Contractors for plumbing and electric wouldn't step onto a site unless the house was "buttoned up," so this next step was vital.

I stuck to my earlier instincts and chose plywood again: ½" exterior grade for the walls and 5/8" for the roof. While many turn to OSB, I wanted strength I could feel, not just hope for.

The sheathing took a week, during which the doors and windows arrived, neatly timed thanks to just-in-time delivery planning. It minimized clutter, risk, and loss—but it also required perfect communication. There was no room for missteps.

A wall of light: installing the windows and doors

The lake view wall of the house was meant to be something special—32 feet wide, 27 feet tall, a mosaic of ten custom windows that would stretch like glass dreams stitched into the frame. But when the windows arrived, a few weren't quite right. The measurements were off. My heart sank. Arguments surfaced. But eventually, a compromise was born: the vendor remade the misfit windows, and the framing crew installed the rest. Somehow, we didn't lose time. That wall of light stayed a promise, not a regret.

Inside beginnings: interior framing

Once those doors and windows found their place, the framing crew stepped into the heart of the home—the inside. Interior framing is where the blueprint becomes a living map. Rooms whispered into being. Hallways began to suggest direction. Bedrooms offered a sense of arrival.

2x4 construction was used for these inner walls. Insulation wasn't needed here. Only separation. Only space.

Weather and shingles: the roof finds its coat

To declare the house "buttoned up," the roof had to be shingled. Thankfully, my framing crew could handle this too. No need for a new subcontractor—just old hands, steady under unpredictable skies.

I chose a 30-year architectural shingle. It wasn't just about protection; it was about beauty, endurance, intention. The task took nearly two weeks, slowed by size and weather. But once done, the house was ready for wires and pipes—for life.

With the main structure done, the crew turned their focus to the garage, working in tandem with other contractors. There was flow now. Momentum.

Electric and plumbing: the lifeblood begins to run

With the house sealed, the next layer of living could begin—rough electric and plumbing.

Wiring intention: the rough electric plan

A few days before the electrician arrived, we walked through the space, mapping light and socket, marking studs with quiet certainty. We spoke of switches, of cable boxes, of where things should flicker and glow.

Then came the wires—tucked from box to box, tracing lines of purpose, leading toward the heartbeat of it all: the circuit panel.

Plumbing memory into the walls

The plumber and I had spoken weeks before, imagining where warmth and water would meet. We spoke of heat, of bathroom fixtures, of what kind of tub would cradle tired bodies. When he arrived, he didn't need guidance—just space to carve veins into the house, drains and vents and all.

Within days, both electric and plumbing were roughed in, inspected, and approved. Another quiet milestone. Another breath.

What we leave behind in the frame

The moment the frame becomes a promise—where wood, light, and longing converge into the soul of a home.

In every beam, there is belief. In every nail, intention. Building a dream home isn't just about walls and roofs—it's about making space for the life you haven't yet lived. It's about standing in the doorway of a room that doesn't yet exist, and somehow knowing: this is where you'll sit when the rain falls.