If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?



Saturday, January 1, 2011

Warm and Beautiful

Yesterday was warm and beautiful and I was out in short sleeves, working the saw-mill.

I enjoy the mill: The physical labor, the weight of the wood and the brilliant colors in a fresh-open log. She’s noisy, but I love the language of the machine: the sounds of strain against knots and twisted, wet, wood; the bogging down against the teeth of a dull blade and the perfect hiss of a fresh set. I love the calculating, the guessing, the attempts to have every cut count and waste nothing of the tree.

It’s base work mostly, even primal at times. The tools have changed little over the years: steel and wood, saw and axe, pole and muscle. Mine have worn to my hands. They feel reliable there. I know I will break under the stresses, long before they do and if cared for, they will go on feeling reliable in the hands of generations to come.

I’m sure there’s something of the conquered giant stirring there, too, in my pleasure; though I hate admitting this bit of machismo. A sawyer knows a strange mix of death and love and struggle and beauty and respect. The things, I suppose, that make life seem ‘full’.

Anyway, yesterday was warm and beautiful and I was out in short sleeves, working the saw-mill.


  1. I now that feeling and I know the empty hollow feeling that comes without having a fix once and a while. Sometimes just touching the tools helps but only momentary.
    It sometimes leads to other satisfying endeavors such as putting a collection of words together to describe it.
    Nicely done. I not only got the feeling of working in the sawmill but the enjoyment of seeing how a wordsmith describes it.
    You've started the New Year well.

  2. Process.. of doing with your hands and mind and body...a challenge worth undertaking and the reward of how it makes you feel deep down in your body's senses.. see it, feel it.. and at the end of the day, know it..

    ... warmth has moved here also... 22C in a sunny sheltered spot.. oh did it feel good.

    Your writing comes from your heart... it is beautiful..


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