The heft and feel of a well-worn handle,
The sight of shavings that curl from a blade;
The logs in the woodpile, the sentiment of huge
beams in an old-fashioned house;
The smell of fresh cut timber and the pungent
fragrance of burning leaves;
The crackle of kindling and the hiss of burning logs.
Abundant to all the needs of man, how poor the world
would be without wood.
---Everard Hinrichs

A friend sent me this poem this morning. The photo is taken on my workbench of a Stanley No. 5 at work on walnut. We may be moving to an age in which wood becomes irrelevant except as a source of biomass for fuel and toilet paper. Can you imagine human beings living in such poverty of spirit? Can you imagine children growing up without the tools and processes through which generations past have discovered such beauty?