It’s taken me so long to get back to this. There has been a tremendous amount going on in my life and frankly I’m not really sure anyone even cares about this. But I do, and today has been a rough day, so I am turning to my old friend writing to work it out. This won’t be as colorful or nostalgic or sweet as the previous post, but that’s partly by design. (Incidentally I did add two photos to the previous post.)
The gazebo was delivered in a moving van, deconstructed. It was shockingly chipped and rusted. Our handyman at the time – who I also considered a dear friend – helped us not only find someone to sandblast and powder coat it, but also transported it to the location for the work to be done. Many months passed. As we tried to decide where the gazebo would look most beautiful, we discovered a beautiful, 40-foot split evergreen tree in our front yard had to be removed, much to our dismay. One half of it was dead and the other half was dying, and if it fell, it would fall on our house. We asked the tree specialists to wait until a time when the least animals would be affected by the felling, and when it was down, it left a tremendous empty spot in our front yard, devoid of grass or vegetation. The spot to place the gazebo was suddenly obvious.
Our handyman applied for a permit to place the gazebo on a concrete foundation, which was how my grandfather had erected it in New Hampshire, but was denied on the basis of “impervious surface,” a term I was unfamiliar with (but know all about now). The idea is that if rainwater is blocked from reaching the ground, it can create a real problem for anyone downhill from the blockage. “Can we circumvent that issue by placing the gazebo on pylons?” I asked naively. He told me yes, that was a solution. He laid a gravel bed for the gazebo and built a wooden platform on concrete pylons. He then retrieved the newly painted gazebo and began building it, piece by piece. Each day I would admire it, sitting on the platform, basking in the warm glow of nostalgia. My children sat with me, laughing, making plans for picnics and tea parties, a grand unveiling.

Just before he began to build the roof, as I sat one warm June day doing work in my office, our handyman came to me silently, his face long, and silently handed me a slip of paper. I have it somewhere, but really, the particulars are not important enough that I need to transcribe them word for word; it was a Stop Work Order from Lower Merion Township. The gazebo, it said, was being erected illegally; it seemed my handyman had never applied for another permit after the first one was denied. “Can we apply for a permit now?” I asked him. “You can,” he told me, “but they told me it’s a waste of time, that it will be denied.” The form indicated not only the issue of impervious surface, but also a regulation that we both were unaware of – several years ago, the Township code was rewritten, and now no homeowner may erect any “structure” from the facade of their house to the street.
(I am realizing as I write this that this tale is so long it will certainly require a part 3. Buckle up.)
I immediately began reaching out to people – the officer who issued the stop work order (which demanded the gazebo be deconstructed in five days!); the structural engineer I’d previously worked with regarding some issues with a kitchen remodel; an attorney the engineer recommended. I soon discovered that impervious surface applied to ANYTHING with a roof, regardless of its base or sides. I met with the attorney and the structural engineer, who told me I could appeal the decision before the zoning board and ask for relief. In order to do that, I would, of course, have to shell out money both to the attorney and to the Township, but in spite of this I chose to move forward. The attorney informed me it would be useful to get letters of support from neighbors and a letter of non-objection from the local historical society. I was already somewhat familiar with the local historical society because I had joined when we moved here and had also offered to volunteer (although I’d not heard back from them). I immediately set to work obtaining these documents. He also suggested I try to pin down the history of the gazebo – the majority of which I have already included in the previous post.
Almost all of my neighbors were immediately and incredibly supportive. One neighbor even offered to come with me to the zoning meeting. No one said they objected or voiced any concerns whatsoever. I also heard back from someone at the historical society fairly quickly. He said he would be happy to write me a letter of non-objection, and then revealed that we had actually already met – he was (and still is) the director of a local historic property I support. While drafting the letter, he discovered something absolutely remarkable – the gazebo has a twin, and the twin is at the very historic property where he works.

My uncle had been helping me research the iron forge that originally produced the gazebo, and we suspected it had been created somewhere in Mississippi, where it was originally erected, or perhaps Louisiana. Having found its twin, I learned something truly amazing. It was forged here, in Philadelphia, by .
My little gazebo had come home. I still get chills and a little teary-eyed when I think of its long, almost 200-year journey to end up less than 10 miles from where it was born.
Sadly, I am out of time for now. I will try to continue this weekend, although I warn you, this tale doesn’t have a happy ending.
At least not yet.