the grandfather at work

a cabinetmaker for forty-seven years, in a workshop that smelled of pine and oil and, faintly, of the river behind it. the photograph catches him at the bench, planing a length of beech for a drawer-front. he is wearing the apron that is now hung somewhere, folded, in a house he no longer lives in.

he did not like being photographed and arranged most rooms so that he was facing away from a possible camera. this one was taken from the doorway by his nephew while he was thinking about something else, which is the only way to take a photograph of him.

field-note the light is the lane window at four o'clock. he stopped at five every day except in winter. he said the wood told him when to stop. i never asked what it said.

the workbench a plane grandfather carpentry uncle alfred