The trees in which my spoons hide in, are changing so quickly here, to vibrant oranges, reds and yellows. It’s time for the changing of the seasons again, and the preparing for the next. Mother nature does it so well with the foliage, such splendor, colorful banners waving the geese to warmer places, on there journey south. Myself its not quite as glorious more the replenishing of the root cellar tho… my carrots are a pretty orange, canning everything that I can, tucking the garlic in for the winter and making the transition to more soups for dinner. I welcome it all and the feeling of looking into a full root cellar is comparable to an old maple tree with a set of beautiful vibrant leaves.
It is also the season of cleaning out…. need to get that car into the garage before it starts to snow. Around us we have the town wide yard sale. I am not usually one to go to yard sales looking for trinkets and such. But recently my father gave me some old tools that were tucked away in the back of the barn. The wood was worn from someones palms upon there handles. I think about the carpenter or whittler that used these tools, it wasn’t my father and he was unsure of there origins. What those tools created… there history, the hands they have traveled in.
These are some well kept draw knives I picked up at the town wide yard sale. The edges were freshly sharpened and everything was well oiled without a speck of rust on it. I got them for a bargain. I have one draw knife I purchased new and my jaw almost fell off when I saw how much they go for. These will work just as well, plus they come already knowing how to perform there job, and who knows maybe I’ll absorb some of that knowledge from there past owners through there wooden handles into my palms… one can only hope… right?
This is a tool that I do know some of its history. A wooden mallet with short handle. It was found in a post and beam house in Vermont that my husband’s grandparents purchased way back in the day. My husband spent much of his early childhood there and when they went to re due the ceiling this was tucked up among the beams used originally to hammer the pegs in, that hold the house up. Left on purpose as a job completed or forgotten among the beams, one will never know, but very fascinating never the less.
We leave a path on tools and in life whether its the start with a few footprints or the end with a long winding footpath. This is one of my favorites because its at the beginning of someones path. The wooden tool box that holds all those old and new tools. Some given new to me, some handed down to me, some so beautifully forged and crafted they were worth every penny… They all reside in this wooden tool box crafted by a local young man of 11, who is discovering were to leave his footprints in life. It was built with care and purpose, not machine and mass production. Maybe one day he will be a great wood crafter and I have one of his first pieces… I guess I should get him to sign his work. We choose what imprints we leave in life from palm marks on a tool to the hearts of others.