She had bought, or actually was given, a redwood cant. A rough slice from the outside of a tree with the remains of the bark on the bottom and tapering to a knife edge. Useless scrap wood from a normal standpoint, but very pretty grain. She'd had it for years. No one else would touch it.

But she's my neighbor and a darling girl so I made it work.

Squared up the back and crosscut the ends square to that to have something to go from.  Planed, then scraped, then sanded the top to silky softness.  Curl, quilt, chatoyance galore interspersed with small knots and a couple small cracks.  Genuine clear through.

Made some curved brackets, not too plain, not too fancy.  No stain.  Stain you use when you are ashamed of the wood. Let the brackets into the ends with large deep curving rabbits, showing major contrast between the redwood and the fir brackets.  Laid a small plank of old blue stained sugar pine in, to corral the brackets.  Blind rabbits from the back so nothing would show.  Some soaking thinned shellac on the bark side to seal and hopefully keep what was left of the bark intact (ok, I brass brushed off all the moss first) then a few regular coats of lemon shellac over the rest for depth.  A couple coats of poly on top to have something to polish and to take the dusting and scrubbing it will see for the rest of her life.

I exchanged a couple letters with George Nakashima back in the day.  He could have done no better and would have been most happy to see it.

Brought it over her place yesterday afternoon. Kitty and me.

Found her husband, my friend, in the garden when we got there.  He was chopping brush with hedge trimmers.  Caught his attention and when he looked up, held it out without a word.  He lit up like a Christmas tree!  Big grin from ear to ear.  He runs over for a closer look, looking like a pup with a brand new bone.  Practically hopping.

"Let's surprise her" he beams, and heads for the house unable to contain himself a second longer.  Straight in we go and down the hall, trying to keep up with him.  She's on the phone, still working.  Last customer of the day.  He walks to the doorway (casting a large shadow, he's a healthy boy) looking in, and she looks up.  Fairly cross as she's desperately trying to concentrate.  He steps aside.  I lean around into full view and she goes from irritated to a quizzical expression.

I can't help but smile, feeling sorry for her frustration, but gee, what a shame. From behind my back, I pull out the shelf.

She freezes right there for a second. Takes a couple big rapid breaths... Then melts.  I saw her heart break wide open.

A terrible battle then ensues inside her own head and she's hanging onto the demanding customer with whatever little concentration is left over and the most of her is just about to burst.  Eyes locked dead on the project, one hand reaching, half up on her feet, straining for it, but still tethered to the work week at the end of the line.

I'm not exactly sure what the word Kahlinga! means, repeated over and over past freely tear stained cheeks... but it can't be bad.

yours, Scott
Happy Camp, CA
October, 2007
email:  Scott Grandstaff

P.S.

I'm just an entertainer. The needleheads of hyper specific, over anal, reproduction work have nothing to fear from me.  I build what needs to be built, for love or for fun, never just because I can.  I copy no one, do it with a smile.  Only real, is real.  The reason behind is too important.