Just in case.
One of the greatest life lessons mom and dad taught was “waste not, want not.” Both parents were product of the Great Depression. As such they were able to make do with what was at hand. Most often, that wasn’t much. A daily reminder was the mass of rubber bands around the front door handle. Every morning’s newspaper would add another to the mess of mass. The eldest and deepest dried and cracked with age, brittle beyond any function. But by golly, if you needed one, mom’s permission was non-negotiable. These were hers and she guarded them closely.
Dad too was reluctant to part with anything that might have some eventual use. Any and every leftover piece, mattered not electrical, plumbing, wood, metal, concrete, etc. His workshop overflowing. And in the 80s he moved it all to Indiahoma. And added another 40 years to the collection.
In the last year I’ve made a dent in a barn full of what can only be described as chaos. Every tool imaginable to start with, in triplicate. Every plug, point, pump, brake, hydraulic, hose, tire, motor, doohickie and whatnot from every piece of machinery that had repairs. Trim, base, and endless board feet of remnant from every cabinet and door and remodel from his heyday. Waiting patiently for me.
And so it is/was with me. I’ve downsized three times in the last 10 years. Drastically. From my own barn to a mere closet. Keeping only the things that might have some eventual use, coming more clear all the time.
This old mimosa had seen its best days long before the strapping was introduced.
Got after it with the 21″ Stihl Farm Boss.
Teaching myself whittling, paring down to only the barest necessities. The old tree’s destiny as future furniture now in my hands.
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