Women Who Raise the Roof -- and the Drywall, Too

In the heart of Ohio's Appalachia, a group of women decided they'd had it with the swelling number of working people in their beloved hill country who couldn't afford a home.

So they raised the roof.

In fact, they've raised four so far. In the past seven years, nearly 150 women armed with nail guns, electric drills and table saws discovered skills they never knew they had to build houses for Athens County Habitat for Humanity. They call themselves Athens Women Raise the Roof. But that doesn't begin to tell you who they are.

I met dozens of them at a recent open house in Nelsonville, not far from Ohio University. It used to be a town full of miners and brickmakers, but now it's known primarily for its poverty.

OU sororities contributed some labor to the building of the house, but most of the regular volunteers are activists and retired university employees. Former professors and administrators worked side by side with retired custodians and high school teachers. The majority of the women are older than 40, a lot of them are older than 50, and it was the oldest, nearly 70, who solved a drywall problem.

"So many of our women are back-to-the-landers," said Cita Strauss, executive director of Athens County Habitat for Humanity. "We're aging hippies who had lived without water and built our own places."

Strauss said the women got fired up to start their own Habitat group after attending Lowe's Women Build program.

"Some of our own women have gotten so good that they're instructors now," Strauss said.

During the project, acts of generosity sprinkled like sawdust. One of the volunteers discovered "Cleavage Coolers" — ice-cold gel packs that do exactly what you think they'd do for a middle-aged woman. She tried to order some from Lynda Emon, the woman who makes them in Palm Springs, Calif.

But as soon as Emon heard who wanted them, she said, "Oh, no, you're not buying these! I'm sending them!" In return, the women sent her pictures of their cool-buxomed selves, which you can see on Emon's Web site at www.CleavageCoolers.com.

The only man regularly on the site, retiree Merl Almquist, volunteered as construction supervisor.

He never wore an apron or a tool belt. He wanted to make clear who was, and who wasn't, building this house on the hill. Other "menfolk" were invited on Sadie Hawkins Day to help lift drywall, but other than that, they were encouraged only to teach skills and help in the "care and feeding" of the volunteers.

Last Sunday, the house overflowed with women who built it and supporters who wanted to witness the miracle that was about to unfold in the crowded living room. Doris and Scott Winchell stood at the front of the room with their 4-year-old son, Zach, and 12-year-old daughter, Katie, waiting for the moment when they could wrap their fingers around keys to the first house they have ever owned.

There were a few speeches, of course, and a lot of thank you's to local donors. Katie made everyone laugh when she told them the lavender paint she chose for her bedroom is called "Mighty Aphrodite." I stood next to her and realized she beat me by four years. I was 16 before my parents could buy their one and only home. What will it mean for Katie to grow up in a house built by women?

Her mother's voice quivered when she and her husband were asked to speak.

"I'm sure going to miss all of you," she said, and Scott nodded his head as he looked at the floor. The couple had to contribute 250 of their own "sweat equity" hours to build the house. They had spent a lot of time with those rowdy women.

"We're just down the road into town," one of the women yelled, and a chorus of agreement filled the air.

Scott looked toward the ceiling and smiled. A banner of note cards was strung around the room to remind them how their house came to be.

Each card carried a different handwritten name: Debbie. Angela. Sarah. Jill. Ginny. Patti. And on and on.

"So much love from strangers," Scott said softly.

Homemakers, every last one of them.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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