The Great Wood-Fired Oven Saga - Part 1

This, my friends, is the summer of great manual labor.
And by great, I mean awful.
Truly awful.

For years, I have wanted to build myself a wood-fired oven for making pizza.  Pizza cooked in a wood-fired oven is the best thing in the entire world.*


*This is fact; not opinion.

Naturally, when I expressed my wish to my darling wife, Kerri, she was enthusiastic and helpful. She immediately made the mental jump from "simple, rustic, wood-fired oven" to "majestic outdoor kitchen that will bankrupt us and destroy me physically".

What I had in mind was something like this:

Simple, doable.
(And, if you are interested, check out the plans from tyrantfarms.com, where I got this photo.)

But Kerri started sending me pictures of what she had in mind:

What the? Where is the wood-fired oven?

Who puts a TV outside?!?

"All we have to do is airlift our house from the woods to the mountains!"

So, doing what all couples in strong, healthy relationships have done through the eons, we compromised.

We will build a wood-fired oven AND have a roof over it that will protect me from the elements as I bake pizza. We will not install a TV and we will not airlift our house to the mountains.

Easy*.


*Easy for Kerri, because I am actually building this thing; not her.

The first step, of course, is selecting the perfect site for the oven. The perfect site in this case happened to be already occupied by our shed*.


*As an aside, I feel compelled to add that I built this shed about 15 years ago. It is constructed 100% (except for nails and screws) from material that I scavenged at the local transfer station. THAT is recycling, people!)

When I mentioned to my neighbor, Mike, that I would be disassembling and moving my shed, he asked if I was familiar with Egyptian slaves and how they moved giant stone blocks to build the pyramids.

"Why, yes, I am, Mike," I answered, dubiously.
"I have a lot of 3" plastic conduit tubes," he said, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively.

And so began what I shall forevermore refer to as "The Ordeal of the Shed", wherein, with the invaluable help of Mike and my son, Alex, we jacked up the shed on car jacks, lowered it onto a bunch of plastic tubes, and pushed, pulled, and slid it from the back of the house to its new home next to our driveway.

"Hey, this is easy," says Mike as he watches me dig out the foundation and place the rollers.

"Hey, this is easy," says Alex as he supervises me giving myself a hernia.

"Hey, this is easy," says Kerri as she watches me pull the shed with my teeth in an awesome display of unbridled manliness.

After the shed was in motion, it proved difficult to keep it in motion. Thanks for nothing, Isaac Newton.

But, Mike's Second Law of Moving Things is: When the going gets tough, get a big truck.

So Mike got his farm truck, strapped our shed to it and dragged it around our house as Alex and I trotted alongside and moved the rollers from the back to the front.

"Hey, this is easy," said Mike from the diver's seat.

"Hey, can you throw some paint on that while you're just sitting around?" Kerri asked.

We maneuvered the tight squeeze past the screen porch.

"Hey, guys? Guys? Helloooo?"

And, just a little more muscling and Mike's block & tackle and the shed was in its new home.

Raul, the Guardian of the Shed Door is pleased with his new home.

Now that the site had been cleared using good ol' fashioned Egyptian Slave Methods, it was time for a good ol' fashioned Amish Roof Raising.

Stay tuned.