What you can't find at Walmart

Having lived for the last ten years in a 35 foot sailboat our stuff took some serious downsizing.  Now that we had moved back into a more conventional lifestyle, we needed to rethink furniture.

Where do we sleep?  Eat?  Sit?

Our first choice was to find used.  Recycled.  Maybe even free.

It helps when you can access Kijiji, and one weekend in Winnipeg filled a U-haul with a plethora of beds, dressers, a desk, kitchen table and chairs including two sitting chairs for the living room.

And we spent under $500.00.

Not too shabby for some craftmanship and style.

A journey is but one thousand steps

Having recently relocated my family from Alaska back to Canada's middle province of Manitoba the steps have at times seemed like one thousand.

The packing, loading and inventory for Canada Customs.

The last minute maintenance on the van.

And the driving.  Lots of driving.  On ice, snow, gravel, and sand.

But every day was a step.  And every step brought progress, and progress brought renewed strength and clarity.

Not unlike the rest of our life - our character, our integrity, our morality.

Our children used to train with a renowned sensai, Katsutaka Tenaka, in Anchorage.

One of his daily mantras he had the kids repeat was

“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

Because every step is taking you somewhere.

Active Waiting

We don't often enjoy waiting.

Waiting for transit, waiting at a light, waiting in a waiting room.

Yet sometimes we manage to turn waiting into a relaxing pastime.

We recently stopped by Wabasca AB on our travels south to visit family.

It was a beautiful day.

We spent one afternoon watching the kids idly casting a line into the unknown, waiting for the faintest twitch on the rod.

Eventually it came, the bite and the excitement, the line buzzing out as a nine pounder took the lure.

Not bad for an afternoon of practicing patience.

Going where no kitchen has gone before

Three weeks in Cordova isn't a lot of time.  Not when you're remodeling a basement room into a functioning kitchen suite.  But with perseverance, some help, and a whole lot of work, amazing things can happen.

We relocated temporarily back to Cordova from Anchorage while Theresa was studying for her board exam and I could do some house maintenance for a friend.  This is one of those times when you feel good about being able to bless someone that has spent her whole life giving to her community; in service, support, or encouragement.  But this time grace comes not from her giving, but from receiving.

Too often we have trouble with the receiving part.  We can make it on our own.  We don't need help.  We're fine.

But the truth is in being able to live with both hands open - one to give, and one to receive.  If either hand becomes clenched, then our lives become unbalanced; either from only taking what society has to offer and giving nothing back, or from giving and never being able to receive.

Both take work.

Both have their reward.

Both define community.

Those Golden Hills

A short drive north from Anchorage puts you in the Talkeetna Mountains.  These rugged, granite peaks jut viciously into the air proclaiming their dominance over the landscape, inspiring awe and reverence to anyone that ventures into their valleys.  We drove up into Hatcher Pass this past week and spent a few days in the majestic beauty of this area of Alaska.

Robert Lee Hatcher staked the first gold claim in this valley in 1906, and the next thirty five years saw his claim develop into a booming mining consortium that at its peak mined 34,416 ounces of gold in one year with over two hundred men blasting away miles and miles of tunnels into the rock.

The remains of the Independence Mine is mostly in ruins, but some of the buildings have been restored as a heritage site.  An interpretive trail winds through the rubble giving a brief, unique glimpse into the lives of families that lived in these hills prior to World War Two.

Children played and taught themselves to ski in the surrounding hills after a day of learning in the small schoolhouse that was incorporated into the mining camp.

The sawyers found time to make them toys in between milling timbers for cribbing in the mine shafts.

 

And the men cycled routinely through the underground, blasting, pounding, and loading their ore into buckets and hoppers in search of the flakes of gold that swept them all into this forlorn, isolated valley in the far north.

Today the hills are silent with only a placard or two adorning the rusty old equipment remaining as a witness to the vibrant, thriving community that once found its future in this valley.

As we drive away, the image of an Atlas Imperial inline 8 cylinder diesel generator, producing 275 hp at 514 rpm tugs at my mind.

I would like to have heard it run.

Trying to be French

There is nothing better to soothe and quieten my soul than the repetitive staccato of the pattering rain falling softly from the mist outside my window.  It's a day of gentleness, peacefulness, and contentment.  A day to put my feet up and grab a good book.

If there is but one fault in our family, it is in our obsession with books.  Our kids read books voraciously; we pack them out of our public library by the bagful.  I, in moments of weakness, order them online through half.com or paperback swap.  And at $0.50 per softcover, the local Salvation Army Thrift Store has contributed many times to a rapacious library that I know I can't possibly consume or contain within my lifetime.

Still doesn't change the obsession.  There is something about written thought, preserved on paper, that lures me over and over into a longing to embark on another literary journey.  And without doubt, I have many of such journeys progressing at any one time - all so compelling, all so inviting.  To wander through worlds of stories, ideas, places - each page opening up new avenues and streets I didn't even know were there.  Who can resist such a call?

"The French have a word for this.  When someone goes for a walk with no particular destination in mind, willing to go wherever the wind blows him, that person is a flâneur.  He saunters.  He strolls.  He takes a right out of his apartment building one day, having taken a left yesterday.  He walks until the smell of fresh bread leads him to make his first turn, down a side street with a bakery.  He continues his walk with a fresh Danish in his hand, until a jogger passes him with a sleek gray dog on a leash.  The jogger turns right at the next light so the flâneur does too, going about half a block before he finds himself in front of a stamp and coin store that has always intrigued him.

"Since he is a flâneur he has time to go in.  When he comes back out, he knows that Bhutan, of all places, is known for its postage stamps, which include Walt Disney characters as well as commemorative issues featuring the British royal family.  After that, he chooses his turns based on the associations with the names of the streets, ending up on one he has walked many times before.  This time however, the window boxes in front of one house are full of of freshly planted red geraniums.  He knows the smell so well that he does not know if he is really smelling them or only imagining that he is smelling them.  Either way, life is good for this flâneur.  Because he is going no place in particular, he does not miss a thing.  Plus, this pleasure is affordable.  So far this morning has cost him $1.49, the price of a cherry Danish."  (p. 81 Taylor, Barbara B.  An Altar in the World.  2009 HarperCollins)

Books do that for me.  So today is such a day to embrace the call of the flâneur; pick up that used tome and wander unfettered to see where it will lead.  

Call it a tincture for the soul.

The spattering drizzle is waiting.

It all starts (and ends) with the teeth

I've started a new project in the shop.  It's been nice to have the use of a workbench and garage while we were staying in this house, but since our time in Anchorage is coming to a close and we have no firm destination in view after we leave the city, I began to explore ideas for a bench that could be fairly compact; part storage, part work area, part saw bench.....

Ideas come prolifically once you start looking.  And the final push popped into place when I saw Ron Herman's sawbench in the August issue of Popular Woodworking magazine.  A sawbench you could sit on, carve on, saw on, build on.... it wasn't a long leap from there and my new mini bench was born.

Of course, new projects are always worth diversions into unfamiliar territory and it's the first time I threw the ruler away and simply drew the plans with a pair of dividers.  Using 3:5 and 1:3 ratios I worked up something I liked and managed to incorporate a till into the top for my saws.  And with the addition of a few holes in the sides and top, I might even manage to sneak a few dogs and holdfasts in there as well.  Using my kneecap measurement for the height, I soon had all the calculations plugged into place for a materials list. 

After a trip to the box store for some 2X4X96 fir the work began in earnest.  I would like to build this one as simply and traditionally as possible, and will be planing 1 inch stock to edge glue for the sides and ripping 1/2 inch stuff for the till.  The laminated part of the bench beside the till will be 1.5 X 3 inch sections face glued to add a little heft to the top.

Digging up an old handsaw that has rattled in my toolbox for years then got me struggling with the obscure notions of fleam, rake and set.  It's an old saw, and I definitely need the practice learning to sharpen one.