Not long after we moved into this house, the couple behind us tore out their big beautiful deck and put in a fairly basic concrete patio.

Looking out from my own two-tiered deck, I was perplexed.

I am perplexed no longer.

I realize that, had I asked Frank why, he would have said something along the lines of, "You'll see why."

I have seen the light. And the carpenter ant damage.

More:Most decks need fall maintenance to last through winter and beyond

Our first house, back in central Pennsylvania, was a tiny post-war brick ranch with a tiny concrete patio.

I loved that place, but our new home in Ohio felt like a serious upgrade. It was 15 years old, not 50. There were two stories, more square footage, a great front porch and that big deck out back that was nicely shaded by two silver maples.

I knew nothing of decks or their maintenance then, but even I could see that this one hadn't been kept up. A neighbor told me that a previous owner had thrown it up fairly quickly before a move, apparently to add some value. One corner post had sunk by a few inches, but the rest of it had stayed level.

But it hadn't been stained or painted in a long time, as far as I could tell.

No matter, I figured. I would get that done next summer and that would be that.

In the past 16 years I have become intimately acquainted with the quintessential human folly, the backyard deck.

I have learned much since I pried loose that first board, turned it over, and said quietly to myself, "yikes."

First, I learned that the previous owner had used untreated lumber to save money.

After that I learned to tell termite damage from carpenter ant damage, and wet rot from dry rot. By now I do not see spring's arrival in the bloom of the crocus. Rather, I hear it in the roar of the pressure washer. I spend the first weekends of every May obliterating mildew and maple buds, maple twigs and maple helicopters.

Maples, by the way, are a scourge inflicted upon us by Canadians intent to destroy America. When the wind rustles their leaves just so, I realize that not only are they littering my deck with detritus, but they are laughing at the human wielding the circular saw.

"Get a load of that hoser, eh?" one whispers to the other.

As the springs passed me by, the number of original deck boards that remained grew smaller. And this year, a prophecy I had shared with my wife long ago finally proved true.

You watch, I told her. One day I'll yank out the last board and replace it, only to start all over again.

Through all this I've gleaned a few bits of wisdom, not the least of which is to make sure to always have enough Aleve in the medicine cabinet to get you through to June.

Here are a few other observations:

But the greatest lesson I've learned through deck ownership goes back to that prophecy of mine. As the last board is replaced, so shall the first board rot.

I've heard that an inscription on the temple of Athena in Athens reads, "All human things are a circle."

As it goes with humans, so it goes with their raised outdoor seating areas.

Or ashes to ashes, should I finally decide to tear the whole thing out, burn the rotting pile of lumber in a funeral pyre, and put in a concrete patio.

Theodore Decker is the metro columnist at The Columbus Dispatch. You can reach him at tdecker@dispatch.com or follow him on Twitter at @Theodore_Decker.