Meanwhile, my fishing buddy, Greg, is rebuilding the porch. He's a carpenter, quieter than the window guys but with a greater potential for danger. Every so often he calls me out to show another example of mind-bogglingly shoddy work by whoever built the thing 50 years ago. "They ran untreated posts right into the dirt," he says incredulously, shaking his head and exhaling cigarette smoke. "The whole thing's so rotten you could pull it down with your bare hands!" He has special ordered hemlock from a lumber yard 100 miles away.