I pass this logging operation with some degree of regularity. I always want to stop and take photographs, but I tell myself that I’ll do it next time. This happens to me a lot. Well, I finally drove by the other day and then promptly turned around and parked in the dusty lot. One of the owners lumbered (pardon the pun) out to inquire about my presence. A strange woman taking pictures of your recently felled logs is not necessarily a welcome sight in these parts, so I told him I was a designer working on a project about patterns. And would he mind if I snapped a few quick ones. He looked at me as if I were crazy, but then flashed a warm smile and gave me the a-okay. I enjoy the way the timbers are all marked on the ends. But when I see the bigger trees it makes me a little sad. Does anyone know what the notations mean?
No, not the Brooklyn Dodgers. The Hardy Boys. To be clear, this collection of books is not my own. Although I believe we once did have quite a few of them, in addition to many of the Nancy Drew and Bobsey Twins series. I always thought the latter were more insipid and less imaginative than the rest of those adolescent detectives, but they were younger and less experienced, so I’ll let them ride for now. Spotted on a recent trip to Maine, at this wonderful antique store.
Lots of changes afoot here, but will save that for another post.