There is a truth that is somewhere between death and taxes: if you have one room in your house painted, or perhaps wallpapered, soon you will find another room that would look a smidge better if it too, were painted or papered.
Paul and I were at a coffee house in Middlebury this winter and in the bathroom I was surprised to discover beautiful wallpaper, with a navy background and white forest trees and cavorting animals. I looked around and fell in love. I walked out of the bathroom and straight to our little table in the corner where Paul sat innocently drinking peppermint tea and]announced that we were going to wallpaper our bedroom and that I had the paper picked out. He didn’t drop the tea but the speed with which he stopped drinking made it look a bit like he had scalded his tongue.
I went to work as an internet-wallpaper sleuth: who knew I had it in me? I searched for navy wallpaper with forest animals on it and up it came! I had my paper and now I needed my hanger.
Once again I took to Google and searched for local wallpaper hangers. A few companies came up but one was in Montpelier and, as we like to buy local whenever possible, I called.
In a few days two men looking very much alike gingerly stepped over the stones in the path to our front door and knocked. They were two of three brothers and one sister now running their father’s business that started over eighty years ago. I loved it already. They clunked the snow off of their boots and we spent time standing with our backs to the wood stove as they told me about their family business, sister running the office, brothers in the field. They assured me they could get the paper I was in love with. Happily I asked how long it would be, once paper arrived, before they could begin work. They lifted their heads toward the ceiling and silently appeared to be calculating. “Well, Bill likes to ice fish for a few weeks but should be back around March.” I looked at them carefully to be sure I was hearing them correctly and then I began to grin. I had found my hanger.
In March Bill arrived with his toolbox in one hand and a folding table tucked under his arm. He had a big smile and was more than willing to chat. He wore the uniform of a painter; old pants covered with random swipes of a variety of colors, and a tee shirt, slightly stained with matching dobs of paint and glue. He dressed in layers and began work with flannel covering his tee shirt. We talked about ice fishing, summer fishing, fishing in Vermont vs fishing in Canada and what he does while waiting to fish. He lives to fish: hanging paper is his existence. He has such a reputation that he can find work almost anywhere there is good fishing. He flashed his ready smile, parked his thermos of coffee, and unfolded his trusty table.
I left him to it and within a few hours peeked through the crack in the door on the pretense of having to use the bathroom. My room was becoming my dream.
It took him just over a day and a half and when he proudly unveiled his work I was, quite simply, astonished. When I paint, I cheat. I leave the hard parts unpainted and hope that nobody notices. Here each corner, every little crevice was perfectly flat, every seam flowing seamlessly into the next. The navy set off the white forest animals with the perfect chaos I was looking for. Bill stood proudly, arms crossed, spackle-thing in hand, beaming at the art he had just created..
We’ve spent several months enjoying the new paper. We are awakened each morning by forest creatures both inside and out of our house. I lie there and try to figure out the pattern of the paper, where it begins and ends.
But then, I began to think how great the bathroom next door to the bedroom would look if it, too, were touch by Bill’s hand. I secretly scanned the internet for patterns: if Paul walked into the room, I clicked out quickly, as if I was looking at porn. I was. It was paper-porn.
This August morning as I was running Muir with the ATV, a big white truck passed us headed into the woods toward our house. I hurried back (still not beating Muir), and unfolding out of the truck was one of the brothers, baseball cap on, pencil behind ear, tape measure in hand.
Our bathroom is very small (I told myself and Paul) so it wouldn’t be a big job..right? Probably a day or so to finish, he said as he scanned the room. We looked at the crazy good paper I had fallen in love with and I asked when he thought they might begin, “Well, Bill is fishing for a couple of weeks: he’ll get started when he’s back.”
Perfect.