Windows in Birmingham leak, stick, and sweat in plaster walls on hillsides and in brick ranches on the flatter streets. A wood sash painted shut in a prewar bungalow is not a fogged insulated unit on a later ranch. Tell the truth about which one you are looking at, and which side of the house takes the storm.
The slope facing the valley takes wind-driven rain that runs off a steep roof and blows back at the meeting rail. The downhill wall may have a window close to grade, where splash from red clay and a clogged area well keep the sill wet for days. Street oaks drip long after the rain stops and feed rot on a stool that never sees full sun. Upstairs windows under a hot eave bake their balances until the sash slams.
Thick plaster openings punish a sloppy replacement. If the new frame was foamed and caulked with no sill pan, the next hard storm will wet the same corner the old sash wet. Brick veneer on Roebuck and Huffman houses weeps into the wall when the flange is buried wrong. Ropes and weights in original windows fail, and a painted rail looks closed while the latch misses. Haze between panes means the seal is finished.
After thunder, look under the window, not only at the glass. A bubble in plaster, a soft apron, or millipedes on the sill means water is already in the trim. Condensation that runs all summer is a humidity problem sharing the opening with a failed seal or a cold metal frame. Say whether the unit must open for the fire exit of a bedroom or whether the only goal is to stop the stain.
Call with the floor, the wall that faces the weather, and the neighborhood. A Highland Park stair window is a different opening from a basement hopper on a Bush Hills downhill wall. Say if the sash is wood, metal, or a later vinyl insert. Mention storm damage versus a slow rot you have watched. The first sentence should be the window that let the water in. Call the number on this page.