The Day the House Became a Hanok Again

Day twenty-seven. The tiling crew set the ridge line and the decorative end-tiles, stepped back — and the roof was done.

Two moments that got us. Hauling the accumulated debris for today’s waste run, I flashed back to day one and the first mountain of demolition sacks — that was the first lump in the throat. The second came looking up: with the ridge complete, the house suddenly held itself like a hanok again, posture restored after decades under that steel canopy. And a quieter relief underneath both: from tonight, rain is just weather. No more tarp-rigging, no more checking forecasts like a sailor.

The arithmetic. Leftover materials — about fifty tiles plus ridge stock, 1.5 pallets — go back for refund. The waste run was the priciest yet: a heaping one-ton load of mixed waste at ₩230,000 disposal (mixed waste rates dwarf sorted-waste rates — this is why we sorted for two months) plus ₩70,000 transport. Expensive, but the reclaimed working space pays it back daily.

Micro-sealing the annex. Inside, we audited the annex insulation: trimmed the over-expanded urethane, then chased every remaining gap — around the main beam, along each rafter seat — with three more cans of foam. Insulation is finished at the seams, not the surfaces.

A mentor walks the site. The owner of Minujae — who runs hanok stays in Seochon and Gyeongju — visited and left us three pieces of operating wisdom: scrub the carpenter’s ink lines off the posts before any oil stain touches them; paint interiors in warm-toned white, never cold white, because hanok timber demands warmth; and — delivered with a knowing smile — “another crisis comes when you start the bathrooms.”

We wrote it all down. Tomorrow, for the first time in twenty-seven days: rest.