One humid Saturday morning back in late spring, I stood in the yard with a cold drink, realizing our beautiful deck looked like it was hovering over a landfill. Between the tangled weeds, the neighbor’s cat using the crawlspace as a fortress, and the dusty red clay, the 'ugly space' was officially ruining the vibe of our North Carolina fixer-upper. We’d spent so much time on the top side of the deck that we’d completely ignored the disaster underneath.
It’s that classic DIY trap—you finish the main structure and think you’re done. But building the deck was only 90% of the job. The exposed structural posts and my growing collection of 'maybe useful' scrap wood piled underneath were an eyesore. We needed a custom skirting solution that didn't look like a cheap afterthought. We didn't want the flimsy plastic lattice you see at the big-box stores; we wanted something that felt like it belonged to the house.
The Great Lattice Debate: Why We Chose Horizontal Boards
She spent a few evenings scrolling through design blogs while I cleaned sawdust off the miter saw. We debated between the standard lattice and a more modern horizontal board look. Lattice is easy, sure, but it screams 'builder grade.' We wanted something with more weight. We eventually landed on using 1x6 pressure-treated boards. They match the rustic-modern aesthetic we’re going for with our workshop-in-progress and provide a much cleaner line against the horizon.
One thing we learned early on in our rural NC adventures is that the ground here is never, ever level. If you’re planning a similar project, you might find yourself looking at How to Build a Floating Deck for a Ground Level Seating Area for some foundation inspiration, but for skirting, you’re dealing with whatever slope the universe gave you. In our case, it was a steady drop toward the woods that made every vertical support a different height.
Before we bought a single board, we had to talk about airflow. This is where most people mess up. They seal their deck skirting airtight to hide the mess, but that’s a recipe for rot. If air can’t move, moisture gets trapped. We followed the International Residential Code guideline for crawl space ventilation, aiming for a minimum ventilation area of 1 square foot per 150 square feet of under-deck space. This meant intentional gaps were not just a style choice—they were a survival requirement for our joists.
Materials and the Magic of UC4A Lumber
By late June, we were ready to haul the lumber home. When you’re buying wood for skirting, you can’t just grab the cheapest pressure-treated stuff on the stack. Because the bottom boards would be sitting right against our red clay, we looked specifically for the UC4A rating. According to the American Wood Protection Association, UC4A is the standard for lumber intended for direct ground contact. If you use standard above-ground rated wood for the bottom trim, it’ll be mush in three years.
We also had to account for the actual dimensions of our wood. A nominal 1x6 board has an actual width of 5.5 inches. She did the math (thankfully), calculating how many rows we’d need to cover the three-foot gap at the highest point of the deck. We decided on a gap the width of a carpenter’s pencil between each board. This allows for wood expansion when the North Carolina humidity hits 90% and ensures that crucial airflow we talked about.
The Struggle with the Red Clay Slope
The real work started after a few weekends of procrastination in July. We had to install vertical 2x4 cleats (support posts) every four feet behind the deck rim joist to give our horizontal boards something to nail into. This was the 'fun' part. Dealing with the uneven North Carolina red clay slope meant that no two vertical support cleats were the same length.
I was down in the dirt, wrestling with the level, while she held the tape measure. I remember the grit of red Carolina dust between my teeth and the sharp, piney scent of fresh pressure-treated sawdust sticking to my sweaty arms. It’s a very specific kind of DIY misery that you somehow miss the second you go back inside to the AC. We had to dig small trenches for some of the cleats just to get them to sit plumb. It was a frustrating afternoon of 'measure three times, cut once, and still find it’s crooked.'
We actually hit a major wall about halfway through. We realized we installed the first four boards upside down—or rather, we started from the top down without accounting for how the slope would meet the bottom board. It looked like a staircase in reverse. We had to do a full teardown of the first section because it just looked... wrong. The boards need to follow the line of the deck, not the line of the ground, unless you want your house to look like it’s sliding into a ditch.
Installation: Spacing and Screws
Once we got the rhythm down in early August, things moved faster. We used 2-inch stainless steel trim screws. They’re more expensive than the galvanized stuff, but they don’t leave those ugly black streaks on the wood over time. Plus, the small heads disappear into the grain, which makes the whole thing look much more professional than it actually is.
As we moved along the front of the porch, we kept our carpenter’s pencil handy. We’d set a board, pop the pencil on top, and set the next one. It’s a low-tech way to keep a consistent gap, but it works better than any fancy spacer I’ve tried. If you’ve read our piece on Choosing the Best Deck Railing for a Safe Backyard Build, you know we’re big fans of consistency. It’s the difference between a project that looks 'DIY' and one that looks 'Handmade.'
The most important part of the installation was the 'intentional gaps' angle. I know it’s tempting to shove those boards tight together to hide the old lawnmower and the bags of concrete you swore you’d use last year. Don’t do it. Without those gaps, the air underneath becomes a swamp. That swamp will eventually eat your deck from the inside out. We chose to embrace the gaps as a design feature, and honestly, the shadow lines they create look fantastic at sunset.
Reflecting on the Finished 'Ugly Space'
Stepping back in the late afternoon sun of early August, I finally saw a cohesive, finished porch. It finally looks like it was built by people who knew what they were doing, even if we were just winging it with a level and some stubbornness for most of the summer. The 'hovering landfill' is gone, replaced by clean, horizontal lines that ground the house to the lot.
Looking back, we probably spent more time arguing about the slope of the dirt than actually driving screws. But that’s the reality of a fixer-upper. You spend half your time fixing the mistakes of the previous owner (or your own mistakes from two weekends ago). If you're feeling overwhelmed by your own backyard projects, you might relate to how we stopped wasting lumber and sanity by finally accepting that 'perfect' is the enemy of 'finished.'
Our deck skirting isn't just about hiding the ugly stuff anymore. It’s a ventilated, ground-rated barrier that protects the structure and gives the neighbor's cat one less place to start a revolution. Now, if I could just finish that workshop, we might actually be able to park a car in the garage again. But that’s a story for another beer.