Wood~~~

I love driftwood found along the shore

Buoys and old fishing lures

Wooden docks that creak beneath my feet

Rowboats swaying to the river’s beat

Tall masts that hoist a canvas sail

Rustic beams devoid of nails

I love fences made of slotted rails

and riding down old logging trails

Wagon wheels that once were used

instead of today’s expensive fuels

Logs piled high for an evening fire

Tree houses and the dreams they inspire

I love sawdust strewn upon the ground

and tools that hammer and pound

Sandpaper and chisels that smooth and plane

and the look and feel of wood grains

These are pages from youth-filled days

Old-fashioned country days and ways~

I grew up in the country, our home in the middle of the pine-scented forests of Maine. I spent summers swimming, fishing, and boating on a lake adjacent to our family-built cabin. In cooler weather, I rode my horse, White Cloud, along old logging trails, dreaming of what it must have been like to live life as an early settler. My father was a carpenter, and as a young girl I spent many hours watching him work in his workshop or make improvements to our country home. Carpentry was not his profession ~ it was his passion. I remember that he always took time to explain a project to me or to answer my never-ending barrage of questions. Perhaps because of this, I learned to love the look and feel of wood. To this day, I admire skilled craftsmen who can take a piece of wood and turn it into a work of art or those who can design and build the house of their dreams. They leave much more than just art or a building ~ they leave a piece of their hearts for those who follow~

Tawhiri

I wish I had wrote that. At Bingham Point the river meets the sea and behind the mangrove line all the flotsom and jetsam piles up high upon the shore. Old timber, aged and grey with beautiful lines that mark its grain, when cut the inside reveals the red of Aussie Iron Bark. Each journey down the river I stop to gather old timber that is fashioned into furniture; retaining its aged look.

Oswego

February 6, 2008

This is a lovely poem, and the words that follow a beautiful evocation of your childhood. What fun-filled summers you had. You are so fortunate. My brother is a skilled woodworker. He builds custom contemporary furniture from design to final product. It is amazing what he can do with wood, and he is an artist as well. Take care, my friend, and thank you so much for your notes.

Soft Paws

My whole life I have longed to have a log cabin tucked in some deep hollow in the Tennessee mountains with a clear water stream flowing near it. With huge rocks covered with lichen and wild flowers blooming among the Evergreens. I love wood and almost everything made of wood. I like to cook with cast iron Dutch Kettles and iron skillet and stir my soups and stews with wooden spoons. When I lived in Galveston, I treasured every little piece of driftwood the sea would gift me with. My first husband, Hank, made me a machette and a friend of ours made a wooden hilt for it out of two hundred year old wood from a sunken Spanish galleon in Galveston Bay. My brother made guitars and grandfather clocks from beautiful wood. I adore fine maple or oak. I think anyone who can work with wood is a very true artist. And, my friend, your beautiful poem and prose is a treasure as well. Thank you for the lovely notes! Blessings, A.

Elle: 2

February 7, 2008

WOW … this is just beautiful … and the feeling expressed ! Smiles,