Recently I previewed one of those custom-built ramblers from the middle of last century. Retro we call them now. You have seen plenty: hip-roof over a single-level structure that is often faced in Roman brick. A wide overhang hunkers over the entryway. The clean rambler lines suggest Japanese tea houses, especially in a misty setting of Northwest cedars and pines. This one was custom-built, so we got the grand tour.
Glowing oak floors and mahogany millwork - the real stuff, no veneer or parquet wood here - a custom sink - avocado of course, and a sleek faucet mount years ahead of its time. The kitchen was done in varnished mahogany. The floor plan followed the contour of the lot and looked out on absolutely throbbing views of the entire north-end of Seattle.
All three bedrooms sported cedar-lined closets. Aromatic cedar, to be sure, the kind that masks the smell of wool and so keeps clothes moths away. If you rub them with very fine sandpaper from time to time, they can do their job for a few more centuries.
Here comes my ah-ha moment - that sudden discovery of a purpose hidden right in front of your eyes. The builders took such pains to install closet windows (what builder would take the time now) not merely to provide light, but to keep the moths out.You don't usually see clothes moths because they prefer dark, undisturbed places, like the top shelf of your closets. They conceal themselves there, avoiding the light in the hems of your clothes or the folds of your sweaters.
Dah! Why didn’t I think of that! Our technically unsophisticated builders of yesteryear knew a thing or two about the habits of the insects they had to live with. They avoided the toxic doses we are exposed to from moth balls and all sorts of petroleum derived poisons.
If you want more info on how to cope with some of these critters, the September 2002 issue of the Missouri Conservationist is full of good ideas.
