Windows in the District of Columbia are often the front and rear of a rowhouse, because the sides are party walls with little glass. Wood sash, tall and painted, still faces many streets. English-basement hoppers and alley windows take splash and neglect. Detached houses on the ridges have more elevations and more tree shade. Humid summers swell wood. A freeze finds every gap in a single thickness of glass. Say which face of the house is failing.
The brick opening matters as much as the pane. A soft stool means water has passed the trim, and a new sash alone will not finish it. Fogged insulated glass in a later insert is a different job from weights that have failed in an original frame. Painted-shut meeting rails and locks that no longer catch are their own complaints. Iron rails and masonry sills deserve a plain description so the repair fits the block.
Top-floor sash bakes in the heat island. A bath window that sweats onto plaster is tied to the room, not only to the glass. Basement windows in areaways clog with leaves and hold water against the frame. On a wooded lot the problem may be shade, rot, and a sill that never dries. Say the floor, the direction, and whether the sash moves. An end unit has a side wall of windows a mid-block house does not.
You do not need a full count to call. Say street front, garden side, basement, or the whole house. Mention trim you want kept and old paint that will be disturbed. Screens and hardware matter when they are actually broken. This is the District: brick, humidity, and a real winter, not a beach and not a mountain cabin. Describe the opening you have.
Look at the lower rail and the inside stool. Windows in the District of Columbia fail where brick, damp air, and tired sash meet, with alley splash at the back and sun on the top floor. Call the number on this page.