I like old wood.
I mean really, really old—and really, really like. And with those qualifiers, last week was a special treat.
Susan and I had been looking at a small farm near the acreage we now have. Small, but bigger than our place. We ended up deciding against making an offer, but we spent several afternoons after work walking through the fields and woods.
On our second afternoon there, we “discovered” (the land owners had always known it was there) an overgrown and dilapidated 18th century cabin. Not too dilapidated, and not too overgrown, but well past its prime—by a couple hundred years anyway.
A conversation with the owners, an exchange of green, and suddenly we owned a small log cabin.
And remember, I like old wood.
So, my wife (of twenty-five years this week; a saint of patience!) and I spent the Memorial Day weekend taking down the wonderful 20+ft., 8” by 15” timbers, loading them on a trailer, and transporting them to our place. An adventure, this, including a skirmish with a hive of bumblebees ensconced in one of the logs. (They won the battle; Zot and I won the war.)
Not sure yet how these logs will be used. A guest cabin? Perhaps. Great beams for a pergola over the patio? Potential there. An outdoor table, countertop, and benches? Maybe. But I do know there is real treasure hidden in the hand-hewn oak that for some reason was abandoned, discarded.
Like a lot of kids I know.
Yesterday I received a picture with the title “Mystery Girl” and the question of whether or not I recognized her. I did—immediately—but I also thought how very different she looks today compared to the night I first met her.
She was one of those hidden treasures.
The youngest of four siblings, her mother dead, her father disinterested. A very small, very frightened little girl. Discarded. Abandoned. Left to decay—until she was brought to our City of Youth.
A restoration project if ever there was one! But some houseparents, a teacher or two, perhaps some friends, became the tools the Master used to craft something new and beautiful of her life.
And this week she graduated.
So congratulations, Lyra. You are a treasure!