Page 33 of Not Looking
“Three-quarter ton?”
He laughed as I passed over the first board. “Half.”
“You think it’ll only take three loads?” I asked as he settled the board against one of the wheel wells.
“Oh yeah.” He stood and patted the cab roof. “She looks old, but she can handle it.”
I nodded. “Ok.”
“So I thought you were a turner,” I continued as I handed him the next board. “What’s with all the planks?”
“Turning is what I love to do,” he replied. “But charcuterie and cutting boards sell faster than thousand-dollar bowls. So I supplement with them.”
I eyed the load and remembered there were two more.
“You sell that many?”
He accepted another board and nodded. “Between gift shops, a few markets, online orders, and catering services, they do pretty well. Plus, there are other projects thrown in.”
“Fancy river tables?”
He snorted. “I might make a river board, but furniture really isn’t my thing.”
I picked up the next board and noticed details in the wood that would pop as soon as a finish was applied. I passed it over. “Oscar said the trees were yours?”
“Yep. Got eighteen acres of forest facing Sable Lake. I take down anywhere between fifteen and twenty trees a year, sometimes a few more.”
I furrowed my brow. “There’s no way fifteen trees was this little.”
He doubled over in laughter. “Oh hell no. I cut some into oval flats, others I prepare for turning. But most of it becomes firewood for my cabin.”
“Sounds like you have a place to dry it all then. Why have us do it?”
He stood, stretched his back, then smiled down at me. “Got one of those lasers a few years back. Turns out people like having their names burned into the wood. Suddenly, I was goingthrough it faster than it was drying. I decided it was worth the investment to do it this way.”
I nodded, then grabbed another plank. “And the eight-foot length? Do you sell enough this long?”
Another burst of laughter.
It was wonderful—a sound I wanted to hear every day.
“I sell one or two six-footers a year for banquet services. But it’s better to have wood to cut down than boards shorter than I need. I think there’s also a load of four and six-foot lengths. Had some gambel oak that came down and gave me some nice straight sections.”
“You got gambel long enough for six?”
“Naw, I think they maxed at four. But I’ll take ‘em.”
I grinned. “I hear ya. They’re more like overgrown bushes than trees.”
“Ain’t that the truth, but they’re gorgeous when I get pieces big enough to work with.”
We continued the small talk as I passed him boards. The suspension creaked, and the tires looked swollen from the weight on them as we finished and he secured the load.
I handed him the bucket with stickers and the additional bag I’d gotten for him. He nestled them in and closed the squeaky tailgate.
I swallowed, realizing he was about to leave. “You sure you don’t need a hand unloading?” I asked. “We close in a few hours, and…”
He waved me off. “Nobody will be around to help when it’s time to work with them. Gotta lug them around by myself then, so it makes sense to do it myself now.”
