Rings upon rings and the spirit within

There it was, over 13 feet of stone rising from the floor to the ceiling, a sturdy mantel crossing it about two-thirds of the way up made from a large hand-wrought beam from the old 1840s farmhouse that used to be at this site. Visible signs remained of the making of this beam, from the chips of an adze and ax, to artifacts of its original use with mortise and tenons closed up but left visible, like scars of prior wounds that were necessary to hold the original home together built so long ago.

I can relate to that.

The iron brackets holding it steady to the limestone plinths had another life, too, starting out as bar stools too heavy and dangerous for young grandchildren who would play beside the countertop. Now cut apart and honed into a new life, with forged steel and cut stone, it would serve as support for the mantel.

One light, perfectly placed, made visible the large lathe-turned big leaf maple burl platter, carved, and reimagined as art, reflecting circles upon circles of inner burl knots. With rings upon rings reflecting outer universes to be admired from afar, you become awestruck if you dare to look too long. You won’t be able to look away, for you can’t help but see the spirit within the wood reaching back into your heart. It was the work of my husband Keith, a master woodturner, who left me this treasure, along with a promise not to sell this property.

You won’t be able to look away, for you can’t help but see the spirit within the wood reaching back into your heart.

You won’t be able to look away, for you can’t help but see the spirit within the wood reaching back into your heart.

Sitting on this mantel, now glowing with the light above, against the stone that carries your eyes so high, is a trefoil ceramic vase, three sided and glazed blue with a depth of tiny black speckles, and a silvery copper edging where each side meets. My husband Steven made this piece, along with the iron brackets that support the mantel that it sits upon. He was a master of his crafts, too. And he is also gone. But Steve gave me my next launch to dig deep for an inner strength that I would need to keep moving forward.

I had designed this home. A sketch on a napkin at first. A larger drawing later. It was a vision I’d seen in what seems like a lifetime ago sitting on the hillside with Keith when we first bought this property. Only the old farmhouse is gone now, except for the mantel on the fireplace.

I saw a treehouse view in my head, a house jutting out from the hill. I hoped to share it with my husband. I’d even made a drawing of this very fireplace, watercolors and pens – long before we’d ever broke ground.

I sit here in this room in my home, so hard-won, so many hardships, so much loss. And I acknowledge one truth… that to see the visions come to life and follow them through to completion required a strength of faith I didn’t really know I had within me.

The vision I’d painted on paper was a bittersweet reality now, turned to stone, and metal, and wood and glass. And I can share it with others here among the living. But perhaps not the ones who were either of my spiritual partners, the ones whose love helped stoke my courage to keep moving forward.

Looking up at the scene of the now completed monument to the dreams of my lovers, I wailed and my tears flowed. And then they stopped.

I think I can still do this.