A long time ago I was taught to shingle a house. My Dad taught me. I put myself through college one summer, shingling houses. I hate it with a passion. Putting a roof on a house is hot, demanding work. I've roofed a couple of houses since then, and the pride of craftmanship was always tempered with an earnest dislike for the job. But, I never cut corners and always did the best job I knew how to do.
This past winter my wife and I bought a house. We fell in love with the place and it was a new beginning for both of us. Then the shingles started falling off. A half dozen at a time, the shingles would turn loose in a high wind and hit the ground. Luckily, I was able to match the color and style of the shingle (I have Rustic Black, if anyone cares). The first time it happened, I used half a bundle. An hour ago, some more fell off in a high wind and I used the other half bundle. This weekend, I'll go to the lumber yard and buy another bundle.
This house is only three years old, and shingles shouldn't be falling off. If you do the job right, you will only start losing shingles in a hurricane, and being in Louisiana, I can identify a hurricane. The guys who roofed this house did a terrible job, and they should be taken out and shot. - - No, better, they should be taken out and nailed to a roof with their own nail guns. Only problem is, they would probably fall off in just a few days.
I gotta get a shower and go to work.
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