Howdy, folks. Glen Blamstead here, coming at you from the gravel out behind the shop in Mora. I have been told by my wife, my crew, and at least one customer this week that I am, and I quote, the most indecisive man in Kanabec County. Which, fine. But also — I used to be indecisive, and now I'm not so sure.
Here's how the trouble started. We had a fella drive in from up by Hinckley, real nice guy, wants a 40x60 pole barn with a lean-to and a little finished office in the corner. Standard request. Easy day. Then he asks what color trim he ought to do. And he asked ME. Like I was a paint store. Like I had opinions.
I do not have opinions on trim color. I have opinions on auger speed and which gas station coffee will not turn on you by lunch, and that is about the limit of my expertise. But the man is standing there, polite as can be, waiting on Glen Blamstead's professional aesthetic guidance, so I rallied.
The Great Trim Color Debate
I said, "Charcoal." Confidently. Like a man who has thought about charcoal for years. He nodded, wrote it down. Felt good. Decisive. I went home that night feeling like a regular Frank Lloyd Wright.
Got up the next morning, drove past a barn out on County 6 with charcoal trim, and thought — you know, that's a little severe. Bit funeral-ish. Maybe a warm brown. Called the customer. "Hey, scratch the charcoal, let's do a warm brown." He said okay, slow, the way people say okay when they are wondering if they hired the right guy.
By Wednesday I was on bronze. Thursday, back to charcoal. Friday I tried to talk him into something called "weathered copper," which is a real color I saw on a sample card and a fake color in real life. By Saturday morning the customer left me a voicemail that just said, "Glen, please. I am begging you."
The Crew Stages an Intervention
My crew has been watching all this with great amusement. Tuesday at lunch one of them slid a laminated paint deck across the picnic table at me like a sommelier presenting a wine list. "Mr. Blamstead," he says, all formal. "Have you considered … picking one?"
I told him I'd consider it. Then I considered it for about four days, which is the only thing I have been consistent about all week.
Around here, the crew runs on coffee, sarcasm, and a deep suspicion of anyone who says they'll "only be a minute." If you give them an opening, they will take it. By Thursday morning somebody had taped a little chart to the inside of the shop door titled GLEN'S COLOR OF THE HOUR, with check marks. There were nine check marks. There were only six work hours in the day so far.
What I Actually Learned
Look, here's the thing about building a pole barn or a barndominium or a shop or whatever it is you're dreaming up out there. There are a million small decisions baked into it. Roof pitch. Door swing. Where the lights go. Whether the man door faces the driveway or the dog yard. And every single one of those choices feels enormous when you're standing in the gravel staring at a string line.
You will second-guess yourself. You will pick something and then drive past somebody else's building two days later and think, oh no, what have I done. That is normal. That is the building experience. Welcome to the club. We have charcoal jackets. Or maybe bronze. I'll get back to you.
What I tell folks now is: pick the thing you can live with on a Tuesday in February. Not the thing that looks great in the brochure on a sunny May afternoon. February Tuesday is the real test. That sample card is going to be standing in snow up to its knees, in front of your building, while you bring the trash can back from the road. Will you like it then? Good. Done. Move on. Don't be like Glen.
How It Ended
The customer, bless him, finally just emailed me a picture of his neighbor's barn and said, "Glen. This. Whatever this is. Stop calling me." It was a soft black trim with a warm tan accent on the wainscot. Looked sharp. Would have taken me eight more weeks to land on it. He saved both of us.
We're starting his build later this month. I have promised, in writing, that I will not call him about colors again. I might call him about the door swing though. I have been thinking about door swings.
Anyhow. If you've got a building rattling around in your head and you can't make up your mind what it ought to look like, come on out to Mora and holler at us. We'll walk the lot, we'll talk through it, we'll show you a few we've done. I will, with great effort, not recommend weathered copper. Probably.
Be good out there, and don't trust anybody who knows exactly what color they want on the first try. They're hiding something.
— Glen