> Beautiful story for this Holiday Day, John.    In my memory, it will take
> the prominent place now, allowing the Grinch and Charlie Brown find their
> own level of memorability for this day.   Thanks for this Christmas
Present.
>
> Brings up happy memories of when my 7 year old self visited my
Grandparents
> alone for a week on their stately old farm at Phelps, NY.   Mostly I spent
> the days with my ever cheerful Grandma Lena who had eyes that sparkled
like
> a bird's as she appeared to love every minute and every tool in her
kitchen,
> rich with the never ending aromas of preserving or de-preserving farm
foods,
> chopping kindling, stoking coal, tasks she shared with me and let me take
> over responsibility for so I wondered how she would get along with so much
> to do when I was gone.   She didn't say a lot, but taught me to love
washing
> dishes, honouring the process as an essential contribution to make sure
> everyone in the house stayed healthy, and to love the water and not waste
it
> after all the effort of carrying it in buckets from the big pump out in
the
> yard.   However, the highlight of the visit was the day my solemn and
> normally aloof Grandfather took me with him for all day as he worked his
> chores, teaching me the realities of life as we carefully inspected blooms
> and pollen on the trees in the orchard, visited his honey house and put on
> masks while working the hives, fed the cows and shovelled manure, opened
the
> wooden chute from the grain bin upstairs in the barn where his wheat from
> last year was stored so we could grind fresh feed for the chickens with a
> very noisy burr mill run by a belt drive from his tractor and then set the
> grinder a little tighter to make a few pounds of  fresh flour for
> Grandmother's bread baking, and finally, entered his special private
place,
> his woodworking shop with a padlock I had never seen opened before when
the
> gangs of relatives were at the farm for Christmas, Thanksgiving and
Easter,
> and there he taught me how to plane wood in the precious quiet of that
> wonderful smelling room with windows all along the back of the workbench,
> the sound of the freshly honed blade singing quietly as long curls of pine
> emerged, and feeling, as I pushed, the warmth and love of where his hand
had
> just before been holding the wooden jack plane.
>
>
> Christmas Cheers across the Continent.
>
> cp in bc
> enjoying the (ever) Present
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "John Leeke, Preservation Consultant"
> <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Sunday, December 25, 2005 10:40 AM
> Subject: [BP] Sky Pilot
>
>
> > At the end of a long winter day's work in the woodshop our practice was
> > to let the fire in the stove die down until it was too cold to work. My
> > dad would remind me to haul in a hod of coal for the morning, then we'd
> > quit and go down to the house. But, occasionally, he would throw another
> > couple lumps in the stove, we'd hug the stove and he'd tell stories or
> > read to us.

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