This morning I went to my favorite reclaimed wood place (Timberstone) to discuss buying some heart pine planks for a table we’re making for our tiny dining room. The young man who keeps the place running while his boss scouts for wood to buy, seems to have the gentlest of hearts. Daniel encourages our ideas for projects, pulls wood down from big stacks for us to audition, waits patiently while we decide on grain, and generally responds with a positivity and grace that inspires my whole day. We made an appointment to come back on Saturday. They are a bit behind in their orders, he told us, because vandals stripped their electrical conduits of all its copper and shut them down a couple of weeks ago. Before we left, he generously jumped into a dumpster to toss us otherwise useless wood pieces for the raised beds in our garden.
I took some of the beams to our garden today, anxious to see how they would lay out. Some, I’m saving for the garden gate I plan to make for the entry. The storms of the last few days and nights have flooded our space. The edging I had carved was six inches deep with rain water and and the remaining soil is as greedy as quicksand. It actually made it a bit easier to etch the ground for placing the wood. I used the longer pieces I was gifted and backfilled with sandy, very degraded mulch, some stones that had been left near the mulch pile and the slushy soil clods I had started to till before the rain.
It drizzled a bit, as I worked, but it feels incredibly good for my back to ache a little as I collaborate with mother nature. There were a couple of other farmers working among the gardens today, but I feel cozy in the damp solitude.
An hour, three wheelbarrows of mulch and lots of slushy digging flew by.
Very wet and abundant leaves were collected for bundling. Some might say “too dead,” but they still have life in them.