Several weeks later saw a small herd of us hobby woodworkers out at the farm in south surrey (BC) with chainsaws, pressure washers and knee-high gum boots. The boots were needed to be able to find our way out of Thor's land mines; Thor being an immense (and very real) bull. We cut and rolled logs, we washed the (unmentionable) stuff off them and we propped them up in small cradles made out of smaller logs in preparation for "the mill". after the weekend ended we had 12 or 13 sections ready, each section about eight feet long and varying in diameter from 18" to 30". Tired and sore. We went back to our day jobs.

The next weekend we met Dave early on Saturday morning. Dave had a chain saw that made all of ours look like they were made of Lego. With it he had an Alaskan mill attachment and an entire fleet of chains for the saw. We started to mill. Slab after slab after slab the maple pieces came off the logs in 2 1/24" slices. Log after log was made into sawdust and keepable stock and by the end of a very long day, we were done. Throughout the day we found embedded barbed wire (estimated to be from about 1900) and even managed to find piece with Thor - and he with us. While we were cutting a car pulled up and a lady came over with a very nostalgic look on her face. We got to talking.

It turns out the tree we were milling was "her" tree, and she asked me if I'd like to know the story of the tree, and it's counterparts.

The farm were on was one of the original homesteads in the area and the tree we were milling was once one of many that lined the drive to the long-gone original farm house. It was planted as a seed in about 1885 and was a silver maple. The seeds were carried with the family from their previous home and even though this tree was down, there were (and are) several trees still standing proud.

That history in itself is pretty neat, but it went on. the lady I was speaking to grew up on the farm, and the tree we were unceremoniously converting to planks and sawdust - was her tree. when she was a little girl, she climbed the tree and sat in it's crook. When she was sad, she told the tree why she was sad and when she was happy she shared those stories too. the tree knew about the first pie she baked, and about what she got for Christmas. It knew her what her favourite dress was and knew all about her first kiss. And when she grew up and left the house, the tree was there ever more, welcoming her home.

Until it wasn't. And that saddened her. And when the tree was being cut up for firewood, she didn't want to see it go.

So when her parents called her back to the farm as there was something occurring she may want to see, she had no idea what to expect. And when she drove up the driveway and found it full of cars, trucks and strangers, she was more curious. And when she saw her tree all lined up ready for processing, she knew what was happening, but was leery of changing her emotions.

But as we were talking, and I told her we were a bunch of friends, who met thorough wood, and who loved wood, and who made things from wood for friends, home and family. And when she knew that her tree was to be shared among us and then dispersed as gifts to be spread around the country. And when she knew that each and every slab of that wood would be machined, and squared and planed and cut and glued and sanded and that it would live on as hand made heirlooms built with passion and hard working hands, she smiled. And she told me she was happy. And that her tree would live on. And that it was now OK that her tree had finally succumbed to strong winds and heavy snows for that tree, was about to belong to a whole mess of other people now, and they in turn would continue to care for it.