|Silent soldiers ready to report for duty|
All the recycled wood I use carry memories of their own. Oh, what they must have witnessed. The stories they could tell. Much of it comes donated by local Vermont farmers. Or tradesmen. Or practical, no nonsense folk.
But I'm reminded of my great uncle's home. Or my family's hope chest in the attic. The summer camp (before remodeling). Walking trails as a kid in the woods....
Long gone memories jarred back to life while standing at my bandsaw, 'just doing my job.'
How is it that these scents can bring me to that time? Do you know what I mean? It's always a surprise when nostaglia joins me while I'm at work. Nice company.