MORE PRECIOUS COMMODITIES

Tangible, less tangible and recognizing the soul.

It was remarkable. The olfactory senses took over and swept me to my childhood in the woods. As soon as the truck and trailer turned the corner, a hundred yards away, the sweet smell wafted, like a Christmas tree, when, a generation ago (or two already?), it was cut down and thawed in the living room, awaiting adornment. It’s an unmistakable memory and frankly I was surprised that this reclaimed Old Growth Long Leaf Yellow Pine smelled the same as those precious childhood recollections. The impressive yellow boards almost glowed underneath a dark layer of threatening clouds. I peered through the truck window, back in time, to see curious expressions from an elderly couple largely unfamiliar with boatyards and those who occupy them. Nonetheless, we all smiled.

Reclaim. Reuse. Recycle. At left, the huge factory beams.

Slanting rain came down harder and colder, causing the weird sciences of capillary action, surface tension and adhesion to make the twenty-two-foot-long, ten-inch wide, two-inch thick timbers even more determined not to cooperate. It was mid-morning but had not turned daylight as I climbed onto the flatbed and tried valiantly to be helpful. I don’t usually groan, but in this case it was justified as all my might barely budged the raw material we will use to replace STEADFAST’s planking. The truck driver and the Sailor on the other end definitely took the brunt of the weight, dragging each huge slab onto crosspieces just an inch above the muddy, puddled gravel. When they fell, they seemed to shake the very earth.

Halfway through I stood upright, attempting to straighten my weaker-than-I-thought-it-was, weaker-than-I-thought-it-should-be back. I turned to grasp the next plank, ready to fight the tensions Mother Nature and gravity were creating, and found myself gazing down at a perfectly hand-stitched bonnet atop a silver-gray bun, damp, stray tendrils escaping. An unprotected hand reached toward the course wood in the most polite attempt to assist I have seen in a very long time. Maybe ever. “No,” I said to her, smiling, soaked through, water dripping off the brim of my tattered baseball hat. She was the picture of hard-working, old-fashioned, pious femininity in her long dress and apron. “No. Thank you, please get back in the truck.” I stated the obvious, “It’s raining.” Hesitantly, she nodded, agreed, and did as I requested, glancing back with apprehension as she shirked responsibilities that were not hers. Our worlds could not possibly have been more different, yet here was a human display of empathy that struck me, resonated, stayed.

She and her husband had left their home in a predominantly Mennonite area of Pennsylvania at 4:30 that morning to make our delivery. It was his retirement job, the giant, gentle man told us. He’d been a dairy farmer for forty years. He, like his understated companion, had pitched in simply because we needed some help. That, in itself, is a PRECIOUS COMMODITY.

When we finished unloading, he put his hands on his hips, unfazed by what had become an even more substantial downpour. “You building a whole boat?” he asked. We explained our situation and he absorbed that, frowning. “So you spend a lot of time on the water?” We nodded, “Years.” Silence. “Well, what do you do out there?” his puzzlement was evident, his manners restrained him from any further commentary. “She’s our retirement home,” I told him. That clearly did not make us any less crazy, and, smiling once again at the respectful gap in culture, we shook hands, gratefully accepting each other’s eccentricities and preferences. Theirs was a simpler life than ours, we concluded later, clearly successful, productive and happy.

STEADFAST is 56’, which gives you an idea how big that stack is….

Twenty-three had never seemed like a large number, but it did that day. We changed into foul weather gear, sorted and restacked each board carefully, amazed at the pure heft. The aroma engulfed us (and still does), reminding me also of Ponderosa stumps out west that you can light with a match. Pitch Pine, we called it, coveted as firestarter for cold winter nights and campfires.

We rested, savored hot coffee and fell to speculating how far these boards had traveled, where they were harvested and when. Mother Nature made them strong enough to withstand their previous responsibilities for a century or two and now they move on, ensuring our safety, integrity and seaworthiness. This great nation over harvested Long Leaf Yellow Pine and there is no more… making these even more precious.

My last post, if you haven’t had the opportunity, please see it here, was about two natural commodities. Duncan the Boatbuilder successfully shaped and fit our exquisite Purpleheart into the crucial knee of our boat the old-fashioned way; it is stately and distinctive in its new environment. The progress is pure relief regardless of the challenges that lie ahead. I hated to paint that as requested, I have to admit, ironically hiding Mother Nature’s stunning hue from exposure to a September solstice sun. That entire PRECIOUS COMMODITY will eventually be hidden from sight for what I hope is far longer than I own this vessel.

Wooden boat building takes technique, brawn & attention to detail. A sea of Purpleheart surrounds the work site.

Today the sunlight hours match the darkness, and that has become the most precious commodity of all, time. I celebrated another birthday this week and it does not seem possible that all those years have passed, accelerating as they go.

However, I have stories and memories that, in themselves, are PRECIOUS COMMODITIES. Friends from all over the planet reached out, remembered the connections, sent peace and good wishes. While I love the solitary grounding of my daily sunrise and other practices, there is little more precious than the simple recognition of another person’s soul.

Here’s your weekly sunrise, or moment of zen or whatever you want to call it. Mother Nature rocked this one. You can see them every morning on YACHTING STEADFAST. Join us.

SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE writes itself inside my head, which is another year older this week. Fortunately it is absolutely youthful enough to write these stories and get them edited in time for your SUNDAY MORNING READ after our week filled with sanding and lumber and chisels.

Thanks for following along and writing such interesting comments! I learn from all of you. If you’re truly intrigued, please click on the little heart and share this post with some other lover of connections between Mother Nature and the rest of us who walk the earth.

My work is all free to subscribers and followers alike; making me grateful for those readers who are able to support my work monetarily. Having all of you read what I write means more than even I can put into words. Thank you. J