Published 11:31 pm Sunday, September 15, 2024 By Joshua Windus I remember carving wood in my early teens. When I was first given a knife, I would start by whittling the ends of sticks to a point. Later I would take on more complex projects, building a puppet’s hand out of wood, which I subsequently attached strings too, which were, unfortunately, never attached to a steam engine to form a mostly wooden robot.
More practical attempts at woodworking came later, when I started building beehive boxes with table saw and router. Unfortunately, modern pine wood rots quickly, even when painted, fewer of these early examples have lasted than I would like to admit. Only one colony of bees has, being a species prone to ingratitude and dying off.
Most of my wood projects never got finished, like the cabinet that, unfortunately, would not fit in my sister’s bathroom. My sisters have all left home anyway. A few honey dippers made on a lathe are still at home, and I sold a few.
Perhaps they are somewhere still in use. But despite rather lackluster results, my attempts have given me a strong appreciation for woodgrain. The beautiful colors of tulip popular, mellowing to a golden brown.
The lovely pink of dogwood, which often spalts, creating crazy designs. I’ll even find myself remarking on an occasional old growth piece of pine, pointing out how tight the rings are compared to modern lumber, which you can dent with a fingernail. I still have one woodworking project left that would tempt me to risk missing fingers and sawdust getting in my eyes.
On several occasions, I would find exceptionally large dogwood trees in trash piles in the City, and I would carefully scrounge them. I even found someone who would cut them, despite their short size, by using two long planks between the jaws of a sawmill to accommodate for their lack of reach. I think he broke several blades.
Tough as hickory, or there about, the spalted pieces are quite a sight. Small powder post beetles have made long, meandering tracks in them, and parts of the pinkish grain almost shimmer. They sit up in the barn still,.
