The little round woodstove.
Posted on September 20, 2007
I liked to climb onto the little bench and look out the window of the small woodworking shop of my Dad. On that day the garden was blanketed with snow and the wind was blowing and whistling. It was winter. Right behind me, to my right, there was the little stove to warm up the room. My duty was to take care that the stove had always fuel, in other words wood to burn. There were plenty offcut pieces but I like to feed the stove with those very long woodshaving my Dad made with his hand planer and I clearly remember having been fascinated by the fact that some shaving, and some other coming from a different species of wood, burned differently. My dad was planing and shaving some pieces of acacia to make oxcart wheels. This really was his specialty and I wonder where the easel went and all the drawknifes he used for carving the wheels spokes. But what I like to remember most, and this is something that stood with me for ever, is the beautiful smell of pinewood or oak. Till today I cannot touch pine or oak wihtout having to think at my Dad in his woodworking shop. Something else reminds me of those days with my Dad; the smell of cold smoking sausages or ham in most houses of the village, and the song of the cuckoo in the forest near by. My Dad was a very patient person, never ever raising his voice and always happy to help and explain. I always knew that I ow my skill to my Dad but he knew how to work with both wood and metal whereby I never likes metal work. How would they say in this country ?…My Dad was my hero. Yes I always, always looked up to him and always paid great respect.
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