The Native Iowan

The sky is a wash of gray and blue. The world. As far as the eye can see. Muted tones. No bright pastels. Glowing cobalts. Streaks of brilliant light. Not tonight. This eve’s artist is in a gray mood. This eve’s artist is using a minimalist’s pallet. Is using a wide brush. With little color.

A busy day. Woke up late. Didn’t get my usual hour before work. The day was bright then. Bright and hot. A group of guys moving several cubes of timber. The timber is in the depot. I want it in the workshop yard. 10 guys. Several hundred heavy, hardwood boards. They complained of the heat.

They got half way done today. Complained of sore shoulders. The two-by-fours are easy enough. The six-by twos and six-by-threes are a struggle. The ten-by twos and six-by-sixes make them groan. It’s all vitex. The hard, heavy blond timber I love to build with. I joke with them. Playfully complain – you’re only carrying one? –

The sea is flat. Hardly a ripple on the surface. A mirror. Reflecting the gray sky. A squall hides Simbo. Thick and black. No visible movement. No sound. Just a curtain of a darker shade. Hanging. From sea to sky. Drawn across the view. Hiding something? Protecting what? An evil deed? An act in progress?

Did another heavy job last Friday. Good Friday. We were suppose to work half a day. A barge came in with 130 drums of fuel. Had to be unloaded and put away. A big timber-working machine I bought came in too. It weights 1.380 metric tonnes. Over three thousand pounds. Of solid, dead weight.

We greased up a bunch of timbers. Grabbed a couple six-foot steel pry bars. Get the timbers under the crate. Tie a rope around the crate. A couple guys behind, pushing. A couple guys in front, pulling. It did not want to move. 1380kgs resisting our efforts. Qalo said the job would be easy.

 – Easi fo iu ia – as we say in pidgin. Started moving it around 11:30. By 2:00 we had it in the depot. I wanted it through the depot and down the road 50 meters. In the workshop. Out of the crate. I wanted to plug it in. Wanted to play with my new machine.

4pm we had it in front of the workshop. 20 feet, up hill, to the door. A small hill but we were shot. Got a come-along out. Started pulling it in. A truck of drunk Choiseul guys. Celebrating an early Easter. They stop and come to lend a hand. All smiles and noise. It worked.

The breeze is light. Palms moving leisurely. Lazily. Mountains of clouds build the horizon. Stationary. As though guarding. Protecting. Adding to. Accentuating the over all theme. The preponderance of the vague. A minor statement on a grand scale. A statement of majesty and beauty. Understating the power. Building up. Held. Possessed by. The gray clouds.

I got the machine set up over the weekend. It’s a single head planer with a 630-millimeter bed. Bought it to machine my rough sawn timber. The bed is wide enough for slabs. I’m looking forward to my next projects… use the machine to carve rockers for chairs. How’about a rosewood rocking chair?

Or machine ,off cuts, real thin. Dove tail small boxes of light wood. Inlay the thin off cuts into the dark wood. Combine the blond vitex with the dark red rose wood? I also want to experiment with bending the wood. Machine pieces thin. Steam them then bend them into shapes… coat racks? Hall trees?

The darkness is thick. The gray of the eve has led to impenetrable blackness. Frogs sing. Wind has died down. It started raining about 4pm. Came down pretty good. A nice change from the blistering hot day. Looks like it’s here for the night. Be fun to see what my timber carriers complain about tomorrow.