At least a dozen times, I thought to myself, “I should have worn a hat.”

If you own a home, you know the work never ends. There is always something to do; something to spend more money on; something that will demand time, effort and hard-earned cash. Something will always need to be improved or remodeled. It’s a fact of life. It’s a fact of home ownership.

We had to have our roof replaced recently because of the severe storms we had early this year. I hate when that happens, but that’s why we all carry insurance on our homes. So, I hired a contractor and he brought some hard-working guys over and they worked during the heat of the summer to completely replace the beat-up, old roof.

He told me they had shingles that were guaranteed for 15 years or 20 years. They even had 30-year shingles. I told him, “Well, I’m 65. So, if I go with a 30-year roof, I’ll never have to worry about it again.”

It made sense to us. Because of that, Debbie and I started thinking about getting a lot older and what we would need around the house to accommodate us in our twilight years. We have room for a downstairs bedroom, but we would also need a complete, full downstairs bathroom.

With the help of our contractor, we decided what to do and how to convert a half-bath to a full-bath. We lost a closet and had to redo the plumbing to make it possible, but we were able to install a new downstairs shower. We like it.

Of course, the contractor had to access the crawlspace beneath our house to install new drains and to relocate some water pipes. It required some major work, but they did a great job.

The access hatch to our crawlspace is usually covered with dirt and mulch. I like it that way. Most people would never know it was there. I had to uncover the hatch for the contractors to get beneath the house and do their work. When they were finished, I told them to leave it open. I knew I would have to go down there.

About a month after they left, just a few weeks ago. I ventured down into the abyss that is our crawlspace.

I should have worn a hat.

The plumbing and contractor work was complete and very well done. Yet, I needed to take the plunge to check for termites, water, mold and any manner of subterranean critters that could make my future life miserable.

So, I replaced the batteries in my Maglite, strapped a small headlamp-flashlight onto my head, lifted the scuttle-hatch that led into the dampness and gloom of the crawlspace and bent myself down into the small grit-and-grim-filled hole that led under the house. Crawlspace is the right word.

You have to crawl on your hands and knees over the pea-sized gravel and you have to duck low enough to keep from bashing your head on the beams that support the house. Spider webs filled the entire space. Not the neat, geometric spider webs what decorate the deck and the garden, but thick, dark spider webs that could catch and hold a small, household pet. These webs were huge. They were gross. They were Jurassic spider webs.

I should have worn a hat.

Long, skinny bugs with 500 legs on each side of their skinny, brown bodies looked at me as I squeezed into that narrow space. I saw spiders. Not the small skinny variety that you sometimes see on the kitchen floor. No, these where the large, hairy species that have eyes and fangs. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I think there was fresh meat and flesh hanging from their spidery teeth. I should have brought a hammer.

For a while, I ducked and dodged. Finally, I just gave up and crawled head first through the maze of webs. I sure wish I had worn a hat and brought a hammer. A fly swatter would not have been enough.

I examined every foot of footer that holds our house off the ground. Besides the centipedes and ghastly spiders, I didn’t see a single sign of termites. The crawlspace was dry. I saw nothing that made me think that new, unexpected housing expense were in our near future.

It had been years since I had ventured into the abyss beneath our house. It was the type of space; dark, dank and nasty, that we never like to think about. I hope that I don’t have to twist and squirm my way into the crawlspace again, but, if I do, I’ll definitely wear a hat.

Ahhh … the joy of home ownership.

Randy Riley is President of Council of Wilmington.