Deconstructing Podunk

In order to save it, the old Sauna at Podunk had to be taken down. The squirrels had taken over and filled the dressing room with a cache of nuts. The building was slowly sinking into the earth and the safety of the chimney, a heavy cast cement affair supported in the ceiling by a rusty homemade contraption, was questionable. The gaping mouth of stove door was rusted open in a permanent state of whoa. If this sauna was ever to make löyly again, work would have to be done. So, a month ago, after careful consideration and much debate, Scarlet and I joined members of the Heila family for a day of deconstruction.

As you may recall from earlier posts, (Sauna Time, Sauna Ritual, Homecoming, Back to Podunk) this is the 90 year-old sauna where many of us locals were initiated in the joys of sauna during the heyday of the 70’s when the Podunk Ski Center was a mecca for Nordic Skiing and all things Finnish. Its simple rustic character, which addressed the basic functionality of the sauna with what I call Finnish pragmatism, is the inspiration behind much of my sauna building. The demolition would give me the chance to dissect it and uncover some the secrets of its original design.

We always thought it was the perfect sauna: hot but airy, it made good löyly, and was roomy enough for an intimate crowd of 8.

What I did not know was how the materials related to its function: how well it heat up, how it held a good Löyly and never felt stuffy, and why it never burned down. Aesthetics aside, these are essential components to a good functioning sauna. We often debated whether it had any insulation at all, so I was especially curious about that.

It was a drizzly morning with a chill to the air; ironically, a perfect day for sauna. Our plan was to document the existing structure and take it down methodically, saving what we could and carting the rest away. Eventually the structure will be rebuilt, as close to the existing as possible, on the same site. We proceeded quickly, each of us attacking an area. Beloved details like the doors and little shelves in the dressing room were labeled, wrapped and carefully stored. The barn board siding was carefully removed board by board, and the whole front facade was Sawzalled off and preserved. As the layers were peeled back, we discovered not only that there had been several incarnations to the structure but we uncovered the answers to some of the questions I had been pondering. There were several surprises. 

As the walls were removed from the outside in, we uncovered many layers and each wall was different. On the east wall, under the vertical reclaimed barn boards (installed in the 1970’s?) was a layer of Inselbric, the ubiquitous and horribly ugly asphalt siding that was used starting in the 1930’s.  It was easy to use and durable and is still found on many “economy” (or as my Dad would call it: “Early American Poverty”) style homes dating between 1930 and 1960, until aluminum siding became popular. This was over a layer of horizontal 1×6 pine boards, loosely spaced, which went around most of the building. Under this was the big surprise: flattened cardboard boxes, several layers deep, between rough sawn vertical framing members about two feet on center.

The cardboard was in good shape and the labels were easily read: cereal case boxes from Wheaties, Corn Flakes and others. This was the insulation we all wondered about!

A web search of the logo style led to verification of the 1935 date of construction. Interspersed with the cardboard were vertical boards with no apparent purpose. Was this to add thermal mass to the walls? The interior surface was initially all Beaverboard, an early fiber board, which was covered with a thin veneer of plaster (real plaster, not joint compound) which was painted. This was akin to the plaster and tile block sauna of Van Buskirk Gulf I wrote about in a previous blog. This would have provided a vapor resistant barrier that would have held the Löyly steam for the right amount of time. Later, in the 1970’s, this was covered with 1×6 tongue and groove knotty pine.  With our current obsession over cedar (or other wood) interior walls wonder if a more authentic sauna might be simply plaster with wooden benches and back rests?  The plaster and paint layers (probably lead) were vapor semi-impermeable and thus capable of holding some of the moisture. Surely all the outer layers in the walls were breathable, that is, allowing vapor to easily escape and not collect as condensation, which is a very important consideration in any kind of construction. But I did notice one corner post had signs of severe rot. Did the plaster layer crack here and allow moisture to saturate the wood, setting the stage for a colony of carpenter ants to move in?

I also noticed that, other than the entire building sinking into the earth, the walls were structurally sound. So much so that when Tom hooked up the tractor to pull the north wall off, the whole remaining building (already missing its east and south wall) simple hopped along the foundation slab behind the tractor, taking the chimney with it and sending me into a fit of laughter. All those random layers of heavy boards were keeping things together. It’s not a recommended practice, but sometimes just heaping layers of wood into a structure creates enough redundancy to make it solid. I prefer the more efficient approach of building more with less.

The ceiling was like the walls, with plastered Beaverboard covered by pine. The tiny attic space was filled with a layer of cellulose interspersed with rodent droppings, walnuts, empty boxes of rat poison and a few old bottles, which probably once contained hooch. One was verified as being from 1938 by its unique design. Probably teenagers hiding their stash after a sauna; but, quite possibly, offerings to the sauna Gods to protect it from burning down.

As for fire safety, it was a miracle that the sauna never did burn down. There was a lot of charred wood throughout the attic, especially around the iron chimney supports.

Again, there were a lot of heavy boards, which seemed to have no structural significance, perhaps only adding thermal mass or insulation. The roof rafters were so heavy and the roof so strong that after it was lying on the ground like a low pup-tent, Tom had to drive the tractor over it to break it apart. The metal standing seam roof, with its many coats of black tar, was in surprisingly good shape, but leakage was occurring where the heavy, cast refractory cement chimney penetrated it. The stove below, welded by me in the 1990’s, was so rusted it was deemed to be scrap.

The cement floor had sloped to a drain but was cracked and broken. The original cement pour seemed hodgepodge and lacked any re-bar. Woodchucks had tunneled voids underneath it. The drain allowed for bathing— something the early Finnish farmers needed as the house probably lacked plumbing; bathing, to me, is an essential part of the sauna experience; that function of the sauna informs my designs. The floor will be replaced with an edge- thickened slab as the foundation; with a solid gravel base over undisturbed earth and with steel reinforcement.

The one component that perhaps was a factor in why the sauna felt so good was all the brick work around the stove, which was fired through the dressing room wall—a traditional design I frequently use. This added about a thousand pounds of thermal mass around the stove. Thermal mass holds the heat and radiates it back into the room but also means it will take longer to heat up. I typically use a lightweight fire wall so the sauna will heat quickly and to lessen the load on the building structure, but perhaps I should re-think that and revert to the solid masonry I started building with in the ‘90s. Ironically, the brick work at Podunk was added in the 70’s. The old Finns around here commonly relied on asbestos board for fire protection.

By the end of the day, we had a pile of barn boards and other parts stacked and labeled in the old ski lodge, and a dumpster overflowed with the rest. Although most of the sauna was discarded, the lessons learned will live on in the saunas I continue to build. Next year, we will rebuild Podunk with modern efficiency but in the same basic footprint as the original. Hopefully the entire facade will be replaced and the lilac tree where the sauna bell hung replanted. We’ll probably skip the lead paint and asbestos board and use a modern, UL listed chimney support in lieu of the home-made rig that was there. Fire safety will be based on science, not luck. Cedar over foil (with an air gap!) will line the walls and the functionality will be the same, and hopefully, better.

Family and friends will gather there to sweat and bathe and run naked to the creek for generations to come.

The Mystery Banya of Van Buskirk Gulf

The town of Newfield, just south of where I live, is known for its rolling hills, deep gullies and rugged forest. When I used to live there I’d ramble about the woods and back roads that thread their way through sparsely populated forest. Just south of there is Spencer, known for its many Finns who settled there in the early 1900’s. Mostly these Finns came east from Michigan in search of better farmland and a life that did not include mining. You can still make out saunas behind the old farms: small wooden outbuildings with a tell-tale-chimney. Some are still in use; others are slowly falling apart, as rural structures tend to do.

At the bottom of Van Buskirk Gulf, on a stretch of seasonal road, next to the creek, is a curious arrangement of structures. One is a beautiful old stone bridge dating to 1818— the oldest in the county— that was restored several years ago. Overlooking this is an abandoned stone house; the windows shuttered with plywood and the insides littered with graffiti. Although it echoes the stonework of the bridge, county records show it was built in 1865.

Across from the house and alongside the creek sits the main object of my curiosity—
an old steam sauna or banya.

Rob Licht in bathing room of an old Banya found in Newfield, NY

Unlike the old wooden saunas, this building is built from tile block and concrete with a beautifully plastered interior. The plaster, which is over metal lathe, has a smooth eggshell finish that is only typically found in high end homes that predate the use of drywall or plaster board. The metal lathe came after the use of wood lathe. My Guess is the 1930’s-40’s. The layout has an entryway where one would undress and relax. A room to the side has a small door in its far end leading to a fire chamber below the sauna room. This is where the firewood must have been stored and the fire tended to.  Beyond the dressing room, up three steps, was the bathing room. It is all plastered, including the bench, with an arched ceiling and soft curves. In the center along the interior wall, above the fire chamber, is the heater that features a large rock chamber.

The fire would pass over these rocks until they were ready to use, then, once the fire died down, the iron lid was lifted and water would be thrown on the rocks to produce steam.

This is the same as modern heat storage heaters. A side door from the dressing leads directly to the creek. Remnants of a heat exchanger tell me that hot water was also available to bathe with.

Up the creek is the remains of a large dam structure.  Was this a work camp of some sort? Were Finns (or Russians) employed nearby? Was it a mill site? Perhaps it was built during the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) era of the 1930’s when many trails were built in nearby parks. I can imagine a group of workers enjoying the steam bath after a hard day’s work and plunging into the creek.  I can also imagine fixing it up and returning it to use. If anyone has any answers, please share them!

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Reference: Melissa Ladenheim, The Sauna in Central New York, Dewitt Historical Society of Tompkins County. Ithaca, NY 1986.

Sauna Enhanced Glamping

Sauna Enhanced Glamping

Wood-Fired Mobile Sauna by Rob Licht Custom Saunas.

Although Glamping is a term that was coined in the early 2000’s, the concept of an adventure in nature bolstered by all of the modern conveniences one could muster, or have mustered for them, has been around for well over a century and a half. In 1869, writer William H.H. Murray of Boston, extolled on the virtues of experiencing the Adirondack backwoods in his book  Adventures in the Wilderness. This inspired an avalanche of urban neophytes to flock to the woods in search of adventure and commune with nature. These were known as “Murray’s fools”.

People traveled great distances and endured great hardships such as days of travel over log roads (which were literally made of logs placed side by side) to get to the heart of the Adirondacks. Once they arrived, they sought out the services of guides who did everything for them—transporting them in their guide boats, making camp, catching and cooking their meals. In essence, these early Glampers brought with them from the city every expectation of service they would get at the finest hotel.

“The mountains call you, and the vales:
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze
that fans the ever-undulating sky.” 

—Armstrong, Art of Preserving Health
Glamping with Portable Sauna
Glamping experience enhanced with a sauna (banya) in tow.

While part of me chuckles at the concept of Glamping with it’s pretense of tender-footedness, part of me is drawn to concept of rustic luxury. Although I am as far from a camping neophyte as one can be, with years of deep woods experience and many a night sleeping on hard ground, the concept of luxury camping does have certain appeal to me now. I’ll sleep in a tent on a platform—with lights and heat and maybe a commode. But better yet, with a sauna.

The idea of communing with nature combined with sauna is perfection—and something, I bet, even the luckiest of Murray’s fools never had.

Interior view of our 6x10 ft mobile sauna built by Rob Licht Custom Saunas
View of the mobile sauna looking out through the dressing room to the campsite.
Pile of rocks sit on the Lämpimämpi stove.

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Nature Connection

Creekside wood-fired Sauna on lively creek with ever-cold water. Sauna design allows for nature connection.

When building a sauna the first and possibly most important consideration is the location.
With a wood-burning sauna, which is free from the tether of an electrical connection, it can be away from the house—not just for safety but also to create a separation from the electrical buzz of modern life. Simple and inexpensive solar options make it easy to provide needed lighting. It should have some of the comfort of home but be integrated into nature; near a body of water is always a good choice.

My latest sauna does all of that and more. The site is fairly close to the house but lies outside the garden gates. It all but hangs on the edge of a small gorge that contains a lively creek in its serpentine confines. Like the basswood and cherry trees that cling to the sides of the gorge, firmly rooted in the ground, the sauna is anchored to the 300 million year old shale bedrock with concrete and steel. The owners built a steep stair down to where small waterfall flows into a perfect bathtub sized hole. Descending it may be slightly perilous but that only adds to the adrenaline to rushing from the steaming of the sauna and plunging in the ever-cold water.

As I build I tweak my design to allow nature into the sauna. Framed and without sheathing I could see the perfect view up the ravine from the upper bench, suggesting the optimum location for a small candle window. The large window allows a view of the wooded hill and brings in ample afternoon light and the view down into the creek through the framing allowed me to imagine the possibility of a small square creek view porthole below knee level that would let in the ambient sound of the rushing creek. Exiting the sauna one faces the woods, not the house; a crude stair-path leads the eye up into the forest while the other leads to the creek.

The sauna is visible from the road and the house, but neither is evident from the sanctuary within. All you hear is the babble of the creek and all you feel is the relaxing heat of the sauna. Finishing a few rounds in the sauna with a dunk in the massaging water is pure bliss.

The site not only perfect for the sauna but it was a joy to work there, listening to and watching the water flow. Daily I took dips in the creek to beat the steamy summer heat. Having a site that allows me to enjoy the process of building lends means I can build a better sauna—one that is infused with the spirit of the place and connected to nature.

Candle windows

Candle windows hark back to my time at Podunk where the light in the sauna came from a bare bulb in a porcelain fixture outside a little square window into the dressing room. The sauna i s too hot for a standard light fixture, so this arrangement made sense. Later, after I started building saunas, I learned that this was a more modern incarnation of the original candle window, which was literally a window into the dressing room with a shelf for a candle to sit on. These are common in Finland in freestanding saunas away from the house. The window allows for a special kind of spiritual, summoning light into the sauna. Especially on those dark winter nights.

In the sauna tradition, we slow down. The flickering candle light seen from the bench in the sauna, lures you to relax and reflect. Life and relativity. Could there be a more tranquil way to release the stresses of the day?  

Although it is this quality of the light that is so important, the candle is totally pragmatic in a very Finnish way. A candle in the sauna room would melt even if not lit, so this was an obvious solution to the problem of lighting the dark interior of the hot room. Despite its pragmatic origins, I find it is also a chance for a little expressive design: it can be round or square, arched or colored. It can have an organic flare to it. Now, with cheap, battery-operated, multi colored LED lights and even fake candles that look real, the light can be more than a simple bulb on a pull-chain porcelain fixture, and be safe. Even if the sauna has built-in electric lighting, the candle window can be a signature element, one that distinguishes a personalized custom sauna from a generic kit.

It’s in the details.

Finnish pragmatic design inspiration comes from making use of what is available at hand and letting that material influence your design. There are many places to incorporate little details and personal touches: stick hardware towel pegs, stone faced stove wall with stones from your backyard, thresholds of locally cut locust, round windows, etc. Think of decorative elements you can hang above the mantle. In my sauna building plans you can purchase and download, there is more about windows, framing information as well as tips on using windows safely in mobile saunas.

wood burning sauna with candle window to dressing room

Here is a collection of the candle window design and builds over the years in and around the Finger Lakes and New York State.

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