02/04/2024
The Apple, the tree,
at an outset, what cannot be fathomed
are repercussions taking the bite.
Bait, red~curiosity~indifference suddenly shattered by first blood.
Unmistakeable is the metal in it. Almondlike aftertang of the seed inside. The sensation, the pain, the curious detachment from either or.
This fleshy part and the old cold steel, acquainted now warm, gentle.
A book arrived this week I’ve known about over 25 years. Originally written in 1967. Translation and last printed edition 1995.
I was living in Hawaii, and had determined to live off the land.
One doesn’t exactly know how to begin this, but some diving and swimming out into unknown waters is good for starts.
Many iterations of the same spirit have sent me far and wide to understand the urge for simplicity. Satisfaction of trying regardless the promises and disappointments.
Apple and book, seeds.
Now my hands have dug much earth, turned many stones, peeled and eaten much food.
This book popped up again, then again, along dark roads twisting along salt air, lighthouses far between, decommissioned since for brighter shinier things.
By now I’ve grown knee deep in handling trouble, challenge, unparticularly unafraid.
Some things become normal after time.
Yet, as time flew, the book kept showing up out of reach. By now, used copies scarce, and start at $250 tattered.
That’s a lot of tools and now the tome amounted to the price of nice chisels and other obligations while it could also be found in pdf form online.
I’m old school. Meat and potatoes are different than cooking shows. So the book, finally showed up for sale, Like New it said.
Being old school, I contacted the seller and spoke with them. We chatted about books, libraries, reading under trees, falling asleep, pages ruffled in the sun and wind. Afterthoughts of things settling in. We negotiated a price, then I waited.
Despite the various access I might have had over those years, I had never read the book. Some matters are worth waiting for or leaving alone all together. There are many books and paths to venture after all.
So it’s Saturday night. My kids amuse themselves throughout the house with things that entertain their enjoyment. I’m starting to accept some of our differences, after all they are apples and well, maybe I’ve become a tree. They may roll off the hill, yet the seed will have the same almondesque.
So, page one, as first pages in such sorts of books are inclined, said as much in fewer words than mine.
4th paragraph:
line 1 ~
“I strongly suggest that one enter into this work with a kind of boldness and take the plunge, but I also caution the reader that one cannot learn alone. One can learn something, and that’s good, but by the use of this manual alone one will not become a Japanese carpenter.”
Book:
THE COMPLETE JAPANESE JOINERY:
Japanese Woodworking by Hideo Sato and
Japanese Joinery by Yasua Nakahara.
My respect to Harry Reithman, nextdoor neighbor during childhood, a carpenter. And Jeanette Weaver, grade school librarian, another neighbor across the street, whose gentle attention gave me books to discover anything my heart found direction through.
RIP.
Harry passed yesterday.
