Yesterday I pressed a big red button inside my workshop and the entire birdhouse assembly line slowly rolled to a halt. The shop fell silent.
"Time out," I said to my one and only employee.
I thoughtfully looked at the western cedar logs and slats on my work bench, then passed a few pieces from one hand to the other. I put one particular piece to my nose, took a deep whiff and recalled how the beautiful lumber came into my possession:
My older son called me on the phone in early spring and told me he was helping tear a neighbour's dock apart, that it would cost a fortune to deliver it - one pickup load at a time - to the local landfill site. He asked me if I wanted the cedar. I said I'd take a look at it next time I visited him, and I visited him shortly thereafter and I said I'd take it all after a cursory glance.
I'm as happy as a clam. The entire (very large) pile outside my shop is a mountain of adventure. And it smells delicious.
Yesterday, after a few quiet seconds passed, I said, "Good one, Gordie."
Then I pressed the red button and went back to work.
Link to The Workshop