photo by steve_gobeil.

Old wood makes me think of the basics: wood stoves, candlelight or kerosene lanterns, horse-drawn wagons, working the land, and going to school a one-room schoolhouse.

My dad grew up like that. He lived in rural Colorado and grew up on a dairy farm. He worked the farm with his parents for most of his childhood.

My grandfather has regaled us with stories of the farm. I think he loved it. He seems to have fond memories of it.

Even the bad things don’t seem so bad.

My grandfather lost a finger while working the farm. He would tell us all kinds of fanciful tales about losing his finger until we were old enough to hear the truth.

They had horses and the horses were kept in pens that had those big metal locking gates. One of the horses was acting up when my grandpa was trying to put it back in the pen. When he went to slam the gate closed, his finger got in the way and was totally severed. His pinky finger.

I can see his hand even today, when I haven’t seen him in a few years. His freckled hand that is so reminiscent of my own. His gold wedding band standing out more distinctly because there is no finger next to it. I can smell his scent…a mix of cologne and that “grandpa” smell that I associate with him.

Old wood. Horses. Scents. Grandpa.

Back to basics.