wood cells and the howl of the corporate warrior

The insulation of the floors and the roof has all been done. The insulation is cellulose, which seems to be the most earth friendly at the moment, made of 80 percent recycled newspaper (the other 20 percent is non toxic compounds that make it resistant to fire, insects and mold). It’s also a very efficient insulation, since it not only resists heat conduction, but convective heat loss. Another plus seems to be the way it cuts down on air leakage.

This cellulose insulation is pumped into cavities between the beams and the wall and treated paper. I think this gives a pretty good idea of how it’s done. First a layer of the paper is laid down under the joists.

Then after the joists are in, another layer is stapled down on top of them, creating a space the thickness of the joists (in this case of flooring).

Then the shredded cellulose is pumped in with a hose into the cavity formed by that space. (See the top photo.) You can barely see the holes where the hose was used where the paper overlaps. Because of the density of the material and the way it fills all the nooks and crannies, and because the cell structure of the wood which it is made of is naturally resistant to heat conduction, the contractor—and most articles I’ve found about it (other than those sponsored by fiberglass manufacturers)—says it’s better than fiberglass.

There is still plenty of insulation material left, still stacked in what will be the dining area, to do the walls. The last bit is waiting for our discussion with the electrician that will take place later this week, when we go over all the placements of the outlets, lights and switches. Once we give the go ahead, and the wires are all in, they’ll turn on the hose and pump the wall areas full of cellulose.

I’m looking forward to our visit after the insulation is all in, because the cellulose is also supposed to be effective cutting down sound. Then we should be able to tell how quiet it will be in the house. Why is this important, you ask? Well, typhoon waves crashing on a beach some fifty meters away from your pillow is one thing, and even if it’s loud it’s not terribly unpleasant. But sixteen people on a company outing—who have fueled a drive to the beach in a rented microbus at 4:30 in the morning on copious amounts of Kirin, karaoke and seaweed flavoured potato chips, all for the purpose of hysterically acting out the entire 54 minutes of the most recent Downtown variety show to an audience of skittering crabs, sleepy gulls and drunken members of other company outings sprawled like the emotional detritus of corporate shipwrecks across the broad expanse of beach—can, bless their souls, be a hell of an alarm clock.