Yesterday was my birthday—my 36th. It’s not a particularly high number, nor a rounded one, but this year will probably be one of the most memorable for me. You see, last week, I did a thing, a BIG thing. I quit my job of almost 10 years.
Is it autumn yet?
My Paw Paw Kelly (grandfather) liked to work with wood. He had a workshop in a shed beyond the swing set and the garden. He would make fanciful things mostly. My favorite was a little girl in a red dress sitting on a swing. He hung her in the front yard from a tree, and she always made me feel welcomed whenever we visited his bosky home.
Like Paw Paw (and my creative Maw Maw), I’ve always found working with my hands interesting. I like to learn new things and shape something into something else. Sewing, painting, photography, gardening, woodworking, writing, and so on: they all stem from a need to make.
Humans are awesome that way. But, sometimes we make without conscious planning. We gather our materials without wondering about where they came from or how they are created.
My friend Silas Kyler made it his mission to remind us. He took his passion for woodworking and turned it into a beautiful documentary called Felled and a how-to book called The Art and Craft of Wood: A Practical Guide to Harvesting, Choosing, Reclaiming, Preparing, Crafting, and Building with Raw Wood. Both offer a glimpse into craftsmanship from start to finish and a real plea to look at the possibilities in things we take for granted. Like the Lorax, Silas and his colleagues “speak for the trees” and speak through them.
Like my grandfather, they are carrying on a tradition as old as civilization.
I love that smell of sawdust, it evokes so many memories… and possibilities.
Even the smallest of gardens holds a little magic.
I took the youngest kiddo out to the Salt River today to see the result of the water releases from Granite Reef Dam. We saw hummingbirds, bees, cormorants, and burrowing owls. And water, lots of water.
Writers tend to be introverts. Many authors are introverts who’ve learned to talk to strangers. I’m a writer now, but I want to be an author. This isn’t going to be easy.
I grew up in a small town in North Texas and I can honestly say that there are some aspects of living in the big city that make me long for a grassy front yard and a strong old tree to climb. Daily glare from the black top can put me in a somber mood at times. Yet, Phoenix is no ordinary city; it’s several cities. Living in Laveen has certainly satisfied my need to be closer to simpler, natural aspects of life. I can remember attending the community parade near the old Greenville courthouse as a child; one in particular with my Pa Pa (Grandpa), mother, and sisters. The parade was fun to watch but what sticks out in my mind is wandering the downtown area, my Pa Pa carrying my little sister on his shoulders and just being in the pure and beautiful day. Such precious moments bring a few tears to my eyes. I really do miss that sweet man.