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Got Wood? By Katherine Hepler
They will travel from miles around, to see what the other has, and upon arriving will saunter out to the barn or garage to see the slabbed wood already harvested from a city or forest.. They’ll talk about how they found it, how hard and difficult it was to get and load, how they will cut it, for birdseye or fiddleback grain… what they will make from it, how many chains it took to cut it, and finally unveiling the wood way back in the yard, that few have laid eyes on... a privilege if you will. Usually these pieces would appear to be large, bulky, dirty, muddy stumps filled with rocks and twisted wood. They’ll move it around, look underneath rolling it back and forth. Using their hands like a golf pro, half measuring and proclaiming, "If I cut it like this I’ll get some real pretty grain". The other will chime in, "Yeah but if you position the stump this way you’ll get more pieces." My husband realizes this clown is looking at how many pieces he can get and not for the quality grain. He sighs in resignation. They both stop talking, only staring at the stump for awhile. Both seeing they no longer agree, the stump will rest as it was left. They walk back to the wood slabs, thus starting the banter and barter. The man with the wood will get his price, unless the other initiates barter wood for wood, and that’s when the sparks in the eyes come out… For this is the moment of truth. Will he trade redwood for buckeye large enough to cut two clocks? They hedge, each pointing out the possible problems with the other's wood. Maybe they won’t trade. Then you see them step back, breathe heavy, maybe have a smoke, ask for water as if on a deliberating jury… gathering all of the facts, they square off, each handling the other's wood, then quipping, "Well, okay, but if I trade you my buckeye for redwood I won’t get as much wood as you will in the deal". Well, my husband will counter, my redwood is worth more than your buckeye, besides you can make a mirror out of mine and you’ll make more money. The fellow will whine that mirror costs more than clock mechanisms and nine times out of ten they will complete the deal. Secretly inside they are both quite happy. Screaming with delight, they can hardly wait to call their buddies with burl fever to come over tonight! Like first time fathers proud of their newest edition. Carefully taking possession and saying goodbye, telling the other call you next week! About this time my husband will come through the door to announce that he is now the proud owner of buckeye, enough to make sixteen boxes and fifteen clocks and if he cuts it just right, a table to boot! There is no waste when it comes to my husband. He has had burl fever since we lived in the woods. Back then he would take his trusty bowsaw and cut through knotty burl, like he was uncovering the Mona Lisa. He will do anything to load the massive pieces into our truck. And that’s where the wench will come in. It was his " fishing line" for wood. Then he concocted a trailer hitch on our truck front bumper so he could load the trailer from the front by maneuvering the winch through a snatch block (where do they get these names from?) I have seen Dennis wade out in the surf to get mammoth redwoods, wet sandy stumps, and working for hours to position the stump for loading. We’ve had applause from awe struck observers amazed at what he loaded in his truck. With determination there is no stump too big! I think the city burl fever guys are kept in check. What with neighbors and noise, the two don’t mix. That keeps them from going into total Burl Mania. They only take trees that people don’t want or know what to do with. These guys who will try to act like they are doing the neighbor a favor, when in reality they are jumping in complete and utter joy. Grabbing the phone to call another burl woodsman with all the details of their new prize. Mountain and country men will patrol favorite forests, searching for easy acquisitions, looking forward to the rainy season when they can stalk with other burlwood workers, competing for the redwood jewels that present themselves from the river mouths, landing near the ocean front. The rain transforms what was once seen as a boulder, into a stunning redwood stump. One back-woods guy we knew went to jail for shimmying up a redwood tree, using a strap and chainsaw, a Stihl I believe, and up he went with his chainsaw roaring. He couldn’t help himself he would later say. When he hit the ground, wood at his feet, the Masonite folks were waiting to greet him. Well Walt took off for his truck and would play hide and seek racing around the logging roads that he knew like the palm of his hand. It’s true that Walt stole the wood, he really couldn’t help it, he would get caught and survive his jail stay knowing that his burlwood would be waiting for him long after he had served his time. His was the craziest case of burlwood fever we ever witnessed, but then again… You’ve heard about people up north who grow marijuana protecting their plants with an arsenal of guns. Well, this holds true with some burl fever men as well. Some lowlife would sneak into the other's barn and lift the wood. But word travels fast. These men remember each stump even when it has been slabbed out as a disguise by the thief. Guns have been drawn over this, and that is the most insane we have seen burlwood fever gone over the edge. Most burlwood workers don’t forget their wood; even years later they are able to recount a certain piece they had until they made this terrific trade… A person would think they would take pictures of finished creations, a rocking chair or multilevel table, right? Nope, not these guys. Instead they will take pictures of muddy dirty stumps. They’ll document the finding and the loading of them and the cutting of the stumps -- rarely will the finished item be photographed. If I want to keep a piece, I won’t let my husband finish it and I’ll bring it inside the house. My reasoning is simple. If it’s finished he’ll sell it and if it’s in the barn it could be traded, so I keep mine close inside my house unfinished. It’s mine, protected by me. After eighteen years I have a wonderful collection of unfinished redwood bases, table tops and "would be" furniture. One time when visiting with a friend I was complaining we hardly had any wood left to sell, and she pointed to my most precious of belongings, my redwood unfinished furniture that we have moved a dozen times or so. "Those are irreplaceable!" I’d screech.. How could she even dare suggest within earshot that I should sell my beloved treasure! A city girl, need I say more? Okay, yes, I have a fondness, okay maybe a tad of burlwood fever. All right no, not a tad, yes a full-blown case of burl fever! I admit it! I’ve had it all along for some eighteen years now, yep I am out of the closet! I know as much as any man about burl, how hard it is to get. I know about density, drying, and cutting for the best grain. Designing pieces to make, and sanding I know plenty about, which grit to use and getting the scratches out. I know about selling wood finished or raw. I know when to use chain, cable or rope. I’ve used the winch, reversed the truck, put it low lock and hauled Dennis and a redwood root stump up a cliff. Now that’s a tale to tell! I know about Alaskan millsaws, with suicide handles. Me on that end, Dennis near the motor with me stretched to full horizontal position, only to have Dennis ask, "Are you pushing?" With sawdust flying through the air and my mouth wide open, I yell back an indignant "Yes!" laced with that look of mine. I have seen Dennis load our truck way beyond weight capacity with stumps hanging over the side, I’ve watched other drivers on freeways scurry out of our lane, and slink in their seats with a sigh of relief as they watch us plow ahead of them. I could tell you stories that would curl your hair, with regards to redwood trips we have taken. The time when redwood treetops brushing under the truck floorboard with only the hand of God or our angels keeping us up on the curving logging road high up in elevation. Stories of my trying to convince Dennis to let me out of the truck so I could crawl to where he was going. He took that truck where no man or animal had been, he’s had it at angles only a hydraulic should provide. I know Dodge didn’t have scuba in mind when they made this truck -- Dennis did. I’ve seen our truck run under water up to the bottom of the window and top of the seat. The truck kept running with motor and tailpipe gurgling in the deep water. I have seen our truck curtsy its front bumper to the ground with the cable attached to an old olive wood stump. Each dent and scratch telling a story. The arm rest on my passenger side has been worn down from the original 4 inches to a mere one inch thick, the result of my holding on for dear life scaling mountain tops and such. And I can say it now eighteen years later I would do it all over again. Yes, loading the eight tons of redwood, just me Dennis and our truck, with no reverse at the time, and our super winch that really is great (I love how it feels in my hand), the power it has, and I could go on but, yes, I would do it all over again. The very long trips, driving north then south, hauling double loads. Once I awoke with my head in Den’s lap, I looked up at him and asked," How are you doing?" "Fine," he said, "just following that buckeye burl ahead." I gently but seriously woke him up from sleeping even though his eyes were wide open while driving, his eyes pinned on the invisible burl. All the while staying in his lane. I know angels come in different forms, but a buckeye burl? Folks with burl fever are an ingenious breed. Determination is our middle name. There is no piece too wet, or too heavy or too hard to get. We’ll watch a stump for years and plot as to how we will claim it one day. We have seen burl fever in epidemic proportions, we’ve seen it come and go. But it never quite disappears completely. New faces and old ones just catching the bug. We are out here watching and waiting, looking for stumps. Just know that we are out here, an underground society, and the secret password is "GOT WOOD?"
Copyright
© 1999 Hepler Designs. All rights reserved.
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There
is a breed of man out there that is hardly noticed. They are men addicted to wood,
burl, and tree stumps. They are armed with chainsaws, pulleys, and four wheel drive
trucks. It can start as innocently as with a handsaw… but be forewarned, this is the
start of a fever known as "burl fever". Reaching from coast to coast, the
men afflicted can live in the city, but most are in the country. They lurk wherever
a dead tree is in sight. They hunt and stalk for wood, are drawn to each other, and
inevitably will ask the other, almost as a greeting: "Got Wood?