There’s no sound, except those made by the work of
my hands. The blade of my knife slides along the length of the still
green stave, shaving strips of wet bark away. Live wood is best, if
harvested with respect. No dry rot or insects, no cracks or breaks.
And live wood still carries with it the spirit of the tree that gifted it to
the craftsman. With a final stroke, the last of bark is gone. Two
staves down, two to go. It isn’t hard work; that will come later.
But care must be taken not to nick the soft wood underneath or else cracks and
splinters may form as the wood dries, and the knots must be trimmed and
smoothed now while they are easier to work.