Conversations with strangers #2
reflections on old lives and new ones
This week, I met a man who makes furniture out of reclaimed wood. He gathers materials that people are throwing out and turns them into one-of-a-kind pieces, many of which have found homes in boutique apartments in the city.
He showed me pictures of tables with the raw edges of the trees they were made from, the grain of the timber flowing through them like a river. They are polished, the gaps filled with resin, and I think about these broken pieces of nature scattered amongst the cool concrete and glass of their new homes. I wonder how it feels to be a wild thing living inside a man-made box, a space so far removed from the earth, and then I remember that I already know.
I love that he lets the wood keep its personality. In its new life, perhaps it still remembers who it once was. In its time beyond the forest, it still has a purpose. It has been rescued from the rubbish pile and lovingly crafted into something new.
And it is beautiful.
A side story:
We met at the dog park, when Tim walked in cradling a small black dog in his arms like a baby. It had a cone around its head and its right leg was shaved. The dog, Zane, trembled as he watched the other dogs running around.
‘He’s just had surgery,’ Tim said. ‘And he’s never been outside before.’
Zane is an eight-year-old foster dog, rescued from a house where there were 27 other dogs kept in one room.
‘The world’s all new to him,’ Tim said. ‘He’s only just learned to recognise food and water in a bowl.’
Zane looked so curious, but also afraid, but also safe as he nestled in Tim’s arms while we spoke. He was quiet and gentle, sniffing my hand and leaning in for a pat.
‘He’s living the good life now,’ Tim said. ‘Got the best room in the house, don’t ya boy?’
He’s a foster dog, but I saw the way they looked at each other. ‘He’s staying with you forever, isn’t he?’ I said.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ Tim replied.
Eight years, I left thinking. The day we met, the sun was shining.
Till next time,
Amy