Here in the top left corner of urban North America, we have a special relationship with wood. We live in it, sit on it, eat off it, and burn it for warmth and pleasure. Also, as part of Cottage Life, walk by the sea to admire the portions cast up.
Well, and ephemeral log-draperies, where “ephemeral” means from the last high tide to the next.
Consider the randomness: Each year’s climactic variation with input from surrounding soils and companions of every size (bear to microorganism); then after the tree found itself accidentally afloat subject to each wave’s attentions, the grinding against the rocks, then in stillness the light and wind put the final polish on what you see.
I believe the label below says “DC7 003”, an artifact of the Big Business that is behind the availability of more or less all wooden things. I loathe this business because it would reduce Pacific Northwest forests, the older and more untouched the better, to industrial-chemical-soaked plantations to the extent we allow that to happen. And because it maims and cripples an unreasonable number of the young men (sorry, standing up for my gender on this one) who work for it.
My position is hypocritical in that I love sitting on wood, eating off wood, and even occasionally building the things I use.
There’s an evil face lurking in this one, or am I imagining things?
Time spent by the ocean, listening to it and looking carefully at the pieces of trees it leaves us; such time is never wasted.