A rare find, two large burls in one tree

December 9, 2020 - Wednesday

30 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Sargie and I were talking yesterday afternoon about our childhood days and somehow got on the subject of memorizing multiplication tables. 

The subject of memorizing spurred something in my mind and before I knew it, I was traveling back to a Christmas long long ago.

It was a Christmas play at church in which I had the lead role. It was sixty or more years ago.

I was in the lower grades, give or take a year, and was chosen to play Joseph at our annual Christmas Eve service. Given carefully scripted lines to memorize, I took my part seriously and with grubby hands, took the script home to memorize.

Initially, several of us auditioned for the part. I later found it was given to me because I was the only boy in our Sunday school class who was taller than Mary. 

I worked hard trying to memorize my two lines and still remember the script.

Joseph knocks on the door of the inn where it is answered by the inn keeper. Joseph then says:

Joseph: Couldst thou give my wife and me lodging for the night. She is with child and I'm sore afraid it is to be born this eve.

Back to the present day. 

I remember thinking, WHO TALKS LIKE THAT? Is "couldst" even a word? And sore afraid? Sore? Ouch, that hurts. 

As much as I tried, the lines refused to stick in my head. Dad quizzed me night after night and as soon as I made a mistake, he'd say, "WRONG! Now go work on your part."

A thespian I wasn't cut out to be.

Christmas Eve arrived. I ran from the car to the church basement where Mrs. Golden, the token, blue haired, hundred year old, church lady whose perfume permeated the entire congregation and choir, met me at the door. She draped a sheet over me, threw some sort of fashioned pillow case on my head, and stuck one of her deceased husband's canes in my hand, evidently to serve as a shepherds crook.

It was show time.

The narrator stumbled over the words and lost her place in the script. I looked at Mary. She looked at me and shrugged. 

Easy for her. She didn't have any lines.

Where was Mrs. Golden when we needed her? Though I could smell her, she wasn't in sight.

Oh no, the paper mache donkey was already by the manger. We were late... or were we?

I grabbed Mary and for good, bad, or ugly, made our way across the sanctuary to the paper inn. Oh Lord, there must have been ten thousand people watching, or at least a hundred or less.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

No one answered. Where was the inn keeper?

I knocked louder on the paper covered wooden frame.

Evidently, my friend in real life, Kenny, who played the inn keeper, hadn't heard the narrator either. 

About to exit in search of another inn, the door finally opened. 

I was on.

"Coulds't you... I mean, thou, give me, ah, us, a room? Ah.. darn it, lodging tonight, no for the night. My wife is sore, no I'm sore...." and so on.

I stumbled through my two line script and before I knew it, we were surrounded by bales of hay and Baby Jesus, played by a Chatty Cathy doll, suddenly appeared in a baby cradle. 

Evidently it all worked. We received a rousing applause and I even gave Mary a big hug in front of everyone. 

Dad, who'd worked so hard with me, said, "It's a good thing you like fishing, Charlie."

Odd that he brought up fishing on Christmas Eve. It took a few years to figure out what he meant. 

And with that, in the early 60's, the prime of my youth, I left acting forever.

Tuesday was a busy one on Pentoga Road. Arriving home from my walk, I brought the splitter out from the shed and worked up the maple firewood we'd cut the day before. 

 

Six beautifully spalted pieces were saved. Try as I may to split each, I just couldn't. You may see a log. I see a bowl, platter, or plate.

Moving into the shop, I gave the bowl one last coat of finish and let it slowly spin on the lathe while drying to ensure an even coat.

After drying, it was separated from the tenon, had the bottom sanded, finished, buffed, and called good 'nuff.

Most of the shop time was spent on the dog, carving, shaping, and sanding.

By afternoon's end, all the pieces, shaped and reassembled, began resembling a pooch.

Sargie was busy in the house. Tired of being cooped up inside, I took off for the far side of the property. I hadn't walked through that side of the woods for quite some time and enjoyed my solitary stroll.

There are several trees with burls, some quite large. Those will be harvested in years to come. Some I will keep, others I'll give to Mississippi Brother Garry from which to make bowls.

Last night was a yawner spent in front of the television. 

Sister-in-law, Debbie, is coming for a visit today. We're looking forward to catching up on the news from her side of life. After lunch, I think I'll let the girls talk while I slip out to the shop and try to finish the pup. Failing that, I may head out and find another tree to cut for firewood. I'm enjoying these fall like activities in the dead of winter.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

I couldn't resist.

If you know anything about our Governor, you'll understand.