Earlier this week I happened upon an antique building.

A little visual inspection led me to the conclusion that there was a dire need for extensive repair or total reconstruction in the oldest portion of the building.

These observations got me thinking about what goes into forming a foundation and how these “solid” materials could be eroded enough that a decision between total demolition followed by reconstruction or continued patchwork with the hope that the entire building (additions included) won’t fall under a brisk wind must be made.

The basic elements of a foundation must be chosen for strength under extreme pressure, longevity, and feasibility to interact with various other materials in the building’s frame, as well as additions, without serious consequences due to incompatibility.

Construction experts select concrete and brick for their strength, yet without a steel framework to support these materials, they would crack and collapse under their own weight.

It seems ironic (no cynical female pop singer reference intended) that the very materials that are the basis for a structure can serve as its destruction if another element doesn’t permeate the material and hold the structure together.

What type of forces could have dilapidated the central frame to the point of collapse, and why weren’t repairs made as these forces first began to take their toll on the structure?

Well, nature has many weapons at its disposal and these instruments not only attack the surface defects, but penetrate into hidden weakness and exploit these faults from the inside out.

The summers bring a constant bombardment of high temperatures to weaken internal bonds; fall soaks the old structure to the point of saturation with wind and rain that is frozen and thawed with the coming of winter and spring.

This cycle passes year after year with only slight changes of the external face. Yet inside, where the foundation lies, a metamorphosis of natures needed to break down man-made features into their primitive parts slowly degrades the solidity of the frame and creates a false sense of security to the external observer.

Thus it seems that because we cannot see the core of a structure, we can only replace broken windows or patch the occasional brick when it is knocked lose from the surrounding wall.

These are the elemental effects that we see and thus we replace and restore the surface to create a more presentable front when the soul of the structure is neglected and tarnished by time.

Perhaps if we could somehow spend as much effort on the core of a structure as we do on the exterior, then fewer great buildings would have to be totally rebuilt before their time.

As superficial a society as we are, it amazes me that nature hasn’t laughed in our faces more often for our attempts to establish man-created structure and tradition in the face of an order like Mother Nature.

So what of the newer renovations that were added years after the initial construction?

It appears these sections are attached to the central portion yet they each have an individual base of their own upon which the majority of their weight is distributed.

This fact allows for construction (be it renovation or to totally rebuild) on the oldest section without any serious effects to the surrounding subsections.

Thus the statement that starting over would destroy both the old and new sections is not an acceptable excuse for neglecting a decision.

Now that we know the newer improvements will be only slightly affected, the question remains, should the neglected base be rebuilt or should the tradition of maintaining outward appearances with only basic patchwork to the foundation be continued?

The decision is obvious, yet it seems easier to patch and continue on.

This will suffice until the day when nothing is left to support the polished surface, as perhaps the steel frame has rusted or, in the hurry to build the base, was never given a sufficient center, and collapse will create a void in the building,s reality.

No one can predict this day of reckoning, and perhaps it will never come, yet in order to maintain what fragments remain, the foundation needs work.

I will give my dying breath to the renovation of the structure or a total reconstruction with new materials, yet I cannot stand by idly and watch as the foundation crumbles and destroys the years of living because the building’s owners will not admit the problem and seek help from those who can offer it.

“And so castles made of sand melt into the sea, eventually” (Jimi).

Ryan McCammon is a sophomore in animal science/pre-vet from Mason City.