Custom woodworking and art
In the beginning:
I was woken up this morning by the sound of sleet being tossed against the old single glazed windows. As I swing my feet over the edge of the bed my feet make first contact with the frigid old pine floors. I stumble into the living room the beagle still asleep on the couch nothing visible but her nose poking out of the blanket like a snorkel. I light the gas space heaters and thus the day begins.
It was simple:
I text dad in an effort to get a handle on the days work.
Me: It’s pretty bad weather here I wonder if I should wait to get those logs until we have .. ….better weather
Dad: When did you tell him that you would pick up the logs?
Me: I told him this week if weather permitted.
Me: Whats the weather look like in your direction?
Dad: It looks like a good day to be in the woods.
Good enough for me lets roll.
So it begins I throw my gear (chainsaw,bar oil,gas,gloves,chaps and my axe) into the back of the Dodge. Say goodbye to the family and out the door I go. Why the axe your asking?
The axe is essential not because its needed for this job because the sharp chain on the blade of my chainsaw works swiftly. No I bring the axe out of respect and it represents a symbol. I believe that a tree would much rather meet its end with an axe swung by man than a screaming chainsaw. The axe may bring more pain but demands the respect of man. One that swings the axe must pay respect with every muscle in the body to the brilliance and strength that lay beneath the bark. Though todays trip into the woods the felling is not necessary the trees lay in wait.
My new Hobbit hole is set on a hill amongst rolling prairie land that’s scattered with woods. Like any good hobbit hole it has multiple exits in which to get to either work or play. This morning I choose the dark wooded path which consist of a curvy road with overhanging live oak trees that create a wooden tunnel over the road. The majority of the trees most likely are several hundred years old and their appearance demands respect.
So I wind my way along this path bearing down on the clutch and shifting my tired and cold diesel truck through the curves. In reality to a casual observer it may look like a carpenter in his work worn truck. Inside the cab we feel simultaneously like batman hurdling his way to the bat cave in the bat mobile and like a horseman galloping faster and faster down the ever constricting tree lined tunnel and as the tunnel gets darker and more narrow the light at the end of the tunnel gets larger. The horse quickens his pace and just like that we break on through to the other side and there is the highway. Time to snap out of my time travel and start to focus because its the time of day when the moon is tipping its hat to the sun and there’s many miles to go.
I spent lots of time in my early twenties in the woods milling trees. In fact almost all of the furniture in my house was built from trees I milled. This simple act of harvesting some forgotten trees deep in the woods with my father has awoken something. Something I had forgotten. Taking something from the forest and turning it into something else something unexpected. Well there is nothing like it. These fallen trees represent pure potentiality.