Welcome to My Web Site

I have always loved wood and the woods. Actually, the woods before the wood. There is a movie where the theme centered around a river which ran through the memories of a family who lived near the river. For me it was the woods that ran through the memory of my youth.

As a boy I had much enjoyment walking through the alders in the swamp down behind our barn. With a little imagination I was exploring the jungles of some far off continent. You could make whistles out of alder branches in the spring when they were full of sap. They were also good for making sling shots and bows. The arrows were made from cedar blocks meant for fence posts. I learned that alders produced a dye used to colour wool though I never actually saw that happen.

Along the Kennebecasis River, on the south eastern side of our property there were elms, pussy willows, and silver maple often with roots in the water. There were many smaller trees and bushes clumped together along the river banks but I never learned any of there uses, if any. We used the elms along the banks not for wood but for smokes. We broke off the dry elm roots that were exposed by spring freshets and selected pieces that resembled cigars. Though we had never smoked a cigar these seemed like perfect substitutes as they were somewhat hollow. Once lit you could draw in great lung fulls of smoke and blow it out just like the uncles at Christmas. We were so cool but tried not to notice that after only a few puffs and lots of coughing our lips, tongue, throat, and lungs protested violently. They became numb and felt like they were cracking. Regardless, we still thought we were cool.

Along the fence lines of the farm and the lane, short trees and bushes like dog wood, gooseberry, and hazel nut grew tangled among themselves. They were often overshadowed by apple and cherry trees. Their blossoms in the spring indicated summer was on the way. Their fruit in late summer and early fall told us winter was not far off. Some rock maples also grew here and were tapped in the early spring. It was magical that so much water could be inside a tree, but it was not just water it was sap. When this sap was boiled and boiled and boiled you had maple syrup. A treat like no other from the trees on our property.

On the north west side of our property, up in the hills, the maples, poplars, birch (yellow and paper), and beech trees grew. In the winter I saw these trees being cut for firewood and learned to count the rings to tell their age. All were growing long before I was born, some even before my father and my grandfathers’ time. It was there when I was a bit older, I tried my hand at splitting wood. At first, I simply buried the double bitted axe into the wood or had it bounce off barley leaving a mark. Eventually I learned to read the block of wood, spot the weaknesses, and control the axe. The result was a lifelong skill that I still enjoy. Eventually, though I do not remember when, I inherited my grandfather's double bitted axe, a Walter, which I still use today, though I have replaced the handles several times.

Up the road from our farm was a small sawmill that produced lumber for construction and tons of sawdust from trees that only a few weeks before stood tall in local woodlots. I loved going into the mill. The machinery at work fascinated me but what I remember most were the smells. The spruce, fir, hemlock, pines, and cedar each had their own distinctive fragance as they were sawed into planks and boards. I especially loved the smell of the cedar not knowing that years later that smell would dominate my workshop as I crafted wood strip kayaks.

Eventually, education and employment, took me from the farm, the forest, and the trees of my youth. I lived in large cities where trees followed streets or were crowded into parks. I felt no real connection with these domesticated trees and often thought that if you wanted to tame a tree just plant it in a city. I still loved them as trees but missed the forest. It was in this environment that I first purchased some whittling knives and chisels and started “working in wood.” Years and miles later, I am still “working in wood” and continue to use some of those same tools. As I sit in my workshop today, working with various kinds of wood, making some of the things you see on these pages, I often think of the journey I have taken from the woods and the forest of my youth.

I hope you enjoy viewing these items as much as I have enjoyed making them. Cheers -rick