Window Restoration: The Study Pt. 1

Windows

99 Years in the Same Window

Restoring One of House 173's Original Double-Hung Windows

I've Never Done One of These Before 

After nearly three decades of working on House 173, you'd think I'd be running out of firsts.

Nope.

This time I'm tackling something I've somehow managed to avoid since we bought the house in 1997: completely dismantling and restoring one of 173's old double-hung sash windows.

And when I say completely dismantling, I mean completely dismantling.

Both sashes out. Stops removed. Parting beads removed. Sash cords disconnected. Hardware removed. Old glazing removed. Paint scraped off.

Basically, I've taken a perfectly recognizable window and converted it into approximately 47 individual pieces scattered around my workshop and the study.

What could possibly go wrong?

There's a Good Chance This Window Is 99 Years Old

House 173 was built in 1927, which makes her 99 years old this year.

And from everything I can see, these double-hung windows appear to be original to the house.

I can't prove that somebody didn't replace them in 1934 or something, but the construction, hardware, woodwork, and layers of finish certainly aren't giving me any reason to think they're replacements.

More interestingly, while stripping the exterior surfaces of the sash, I found something that connects pretty nicely with what we know about the history of 173.

Green.

And only green.

Beneath the later weathering and deterioration, the only actual paint color I've encountered on these sash frames is an old green.

That's significant because it's consistent with what members of the Mosher family, the original family of House 173, have told us about the house. For many years before we bought it, green was part of the exterior color scheme.

I always enjoy finding little bits of physical evidence like this.

It's one thing to hear somebody tell you what a house looked like decades ago.

It's another thing to scrape through ninety-nine years of paint and have the house say, Yep. They remembered correctly.

These Windows Are Worth Saving

Obviously, replacing old windows would be easier.

Well...

Maybe.

We've replaced windows elsewhere at 173 over the years when circumstances called for it. Back in 1998, for example, we replaced the deteriorated basement windows, which themselves appeared to have been original to the house.  You know, these old things:

But we've always tried to preserve original parts of 173 when it makes sense.

And these windows are different.

The interior woodwork at 173 is one of the things we love most about the house. The window casings, jambs, baseboards and other trim have survived nearly a century, and much of it still retains its old finish.

I don't want to lose that.  So I'm approaching this restoration with one overriding rule:

Don't screw up the woodwork.

That sounds simple enough until you realize that virtually everything you're trying to remove has been nailed, painted, wedged, screwed or otherwise attached to something else for somewhere approaching a century.

How an Old Double-Hung Window Actually Works

One of the interesting things about taking one of these apart is realizing just how elegantly simple the old design is.

There are two wooden sashes, the lower sash and upper sash, each holding one large pane of glass.

The sashes ride in channels created by the stops and parting beads. Sash cords run from the sides of the windows, over pulleys hidden near the top of the jamb, and down inside pockets in the wall where they're attached to cast-iron counterweights.

Those weights approximately balance the sash.  You raise the window and the weights go down.  Lower the window and the weights go up.

No electronics.

No springs.

No plastic tracks.

No proprietary replacement parts.

Just wood, rope, pulleys, iron and gravity.

And after 99 years, the basic system still works.

That's pretty impressive.

First, Take Everything Apart

Restoring an old double-hung window generally means removing the stops, carefully freeing the lower sash, disconnecting its sash cords, removing the parting beads, then doing the same thing with the upper sash.

Simple.

That's what the articles and videos say anyway.  They apparently weren't working on my window.  Some pieces came apart reasonably well.  Others seemed to have made a blood oath in 1927 never to leave the house.

And because I want to preserve the original wood and finish wherever possible, I couldn't simply pry everything apart like a gorilla.

So this became a slow process.

Very slow.

As everything came apart, I labeled it.

And I mean everything.

Left. 
Right.

Upper.
Lower.

Inside.
Outside.

Wherever I thought there was even the slightest possibility that Future George might stand in the workshop holding a piece of wood and say, Where the hell did this come from?, Present George wrote something on it.

I've met Future George... and He needs all the help he can get.

This is the title sentence or intro sentence in ArialSMALL BOLD
∙ Replacing the Old Kitchen Windows - 2019
∙ Repairing the Window Screens - 2024
∙ Window Work - What Was I Thinking - 2018
∙ Back Porch Rehab - 2024
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
A little bonus: Repurposing an Old Basement Window

Then Came the Glazing

Once both sashes were safely out of the opening, I could begin removing the old glazing.

I've done this before on old windows from 173. Years ago, I saved several of the original basement windows after we replaced them, and one eventually ended up in the shed. I later restored that window using my heat gun to remove the old glazing before sanding, priming and reglazing it.

So I wasn't completely unfamiliar with the process.  This window, however, apparently took that as a challenge.

The glazing was in terrible condition.

Some of it was cracked and falling away.  Some practically surrendered.  And some had apparently transformed itself during the last century into a substance possessing approximately the same hardness as concrete.

 The problem was that each sash contains one large pane of glass, and that made me extremely cautious.

Breaking one little pane in a six-light window would be annoying.  Breaking this pane would mean replacing basically the entire window's glass.

So I took my time.

And then I took some more time.

Dental Picks. Because Apparently We're Doing Surgery Now.

For the really stubborn glazing, I brought out the heat gun.

Very carefully.

Too much concentrated heat against old glass can crack it, so I worked slowly, warming small sections just enough to soften the glazing without overheating the pane.

That helped.

But even then, there were stubborn little pieces wedged down between the glass and the wood.  Eventually I found myself using steel dental picks to carefully tease those bits out.

Yes.  Dental picks.  At some point this project apparently crossed over from carpentry into oral surgery.

I intentionally left the existing glazier's points in place while I worked.

Those little metal points are what mechanically secure the glass to the sash, and with the glazing removed I wanted the panes to remain as stable as possible while I scraped and cleaned around them.

The goal throughout this process has been pretty simple:

Preserve the sash.
Preserve the glass.
Preserve my sanity.

So far we're three for three.

Mostly.

Down to 1927

Once the glazing was finally out, I began scraping and sanding away the old paint.  This was the part I had really been looking forward to.

Underneath that cracked old green paint was wood that probably hadn't seen daylight since Calvin Coolidge was president.

And there it was.

I kept scraping.  Then sanding.  Then scraping some more.  And eventually both sash frames were stripped down to bare wood.

Ninety-nine-year-old wood.

There's something incredibly satisfying about reaching that point.

The glazing is gone.  The failing paint is gone.  The dirt and accumulated crud are gone.

And what's left is the actual material somebody shaped and assembled when House 173 was being built.

I know it's just a window.  But I think that's pretty damn cool.

Not Quite Perfect Underneath

Of course, ninety-nine years haven't passed without leaving a few scars.

The lower sash had some looseness that needed attention, so I reinforced the weakened joint with a dowel. There were also damaged and deteriorated areas that needed wood filler before the sash could eventually be primed, reglazed and painted.

I'm trying to strike a balance here. I don't want these windows to look brand new.

They're not.

I want them to look like well-cared-for 99-year-old windows.

There's a difference.

Little marks, slight imperfections and evidence of age don't bother me. They're part of the window's history. Rot, loose joints and missing wood, however, don't get grandfathered in just because they're old.

Those get fixed.

Next Up: The Window Well

With both sash frames stripped and the glass safely intact, I've started turning my attention back to the opening itself.

I'm calling it the window well, although I'm not entirely certain that's technically what this particular part is called.

The same philosophy applies here.

I'm scraping away the failing paint and loose material while trying to preserve as much of the original wood and finish as possible.

That's going to take some time.

There are almost a century's worth of little corners, channels and crevices in there, and old windows apparently have an unlimited supply of places where paint can hide.

But that's where I'm wrapping up this first part of the project.

Two sashes removed.

Old glazing finally gone.

Glass intact.

Paint stripped.

Repairs underway.

And some pretty beautiful 99-year-old wood seeing daylight again.

Ninety-Nine Years and Counting

I've worked on plenty of windows around 173 over the years.

We've replaced some.

Repaired some.

I've even repurposed old basement windows into other projects because apparently I'm incapable of throwing away anything that might someday become useful.

But this one feels different.

This is the first time I've completely dismantled and begun restoring one of the original double-hung sash windows in the house.

And there's something satisfying about knowing that instead of pulling it out and replacing it, we're giving it another chance.

Someone built this window around 1927.

The Mosher family opened and closed it for decades.

We've looked through it since 1997.

Now, for the first time in who knows how many years, its sashes are sitting naked on my workbench with their original wood exposed again.

There's still plenty to do.

The opening needs to be cleaned and repaired. The sash needs final preparation. Everything needs to be primed. The glass needs to be reglazed. The exterior needs paint. The sash cords and hardware need attention. And eventually I have to take all those carefully labeled pieces and somehow turn them back into a functioning window.

Fortunately, I labeled everything.

Unfortunately, I'm the person who has to decipher the labels.

We'll see how that goes.

For now, though, the glass isn't broken, the woodwork isn't destroyed, and I haven't made anything appreciably worse than it was when I started.

Here at House 173, I believe that qualifies as an extremely successful first installment.

Hey, thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time!