Mr. Ahrens! Are you still with us? The voice wafted to me through the sound of surf and diving gulls. Eleventh-grade chemistry class was on the second floor with one side of the room completely filled with windows. And outside the windows was a spectacular grove of pecan trees, a march wind sending wave after wave, a pulsing avalanche of green and sunlight across my window. I might have been the only one in the room to notice but I wasn’t looking at waves of leaves. I was lost at sea, absorbed in where I’d been the weekend before and where I was headed tomorrow, Saturday. Pettit Bois Island lay eleven miles south of Mississippi and five miles west of Dauphin Island, Alabama. I was deep in snow white sand, crystal clear water and untouched wildlife. The ultimate weekend adventure, it was wild with a hint of danger, a perfect mix. Especially so since my dad let me plot the course and get us there. Our usual trip was to leave from Dauphin Island and then seven miles down the inside to the end of the island then five miles across the pass, which could be quite rough, to Pettit Bois. It wasn’t until an eraser whizzed past my left ear that I was forced to come back. I was lucky. Major Kilcrease was usually a good shot. Next time I would have to be less obvious or I would again have to visit those pecan trees in a more personal way, marching from one to another with a pack of bricks on my back carrying a heavy musket. Too many chits would land you there.
“What’s the purpose of school, Mr. Ahrens?” I could tell the Major was entering his more serious phase now. My response was met with more than a few snickers. “Not sure Sir. To separate the week ends?” As far as I could tell I lived in two worlds, school and weekends. Sometimes they just merged.
I thought about this this morning as I brushed past Theresa on my way to light the fire in the stove. I must be on the weekend part now I decided. It’s about time. But on approaching my miter saw I thought, no, this is just a new kind of school. Yesterday I had jammed it up and broke something inside. This dream I have with Theresa is hard work and there is no end of things to figure out or fix. As I tore into it, I realized that working and studying has now become my week end part and that is a good thing. It has now been about five years since I started lofting. On the one hand, that seems like a really long time. But on the other, I doubt I’ve ever worked so long on one single project without tiring of it. Theresa has kept my interest, and that is something.
My new mantra is “Make one, put one.” Making a plank section and putting one on takes me about six hours. (Did I mention I am working by myself.) Each run of a plank is made up of at least three sections and there is an inner and an outer. I figure I have eleven rows left or 44 total (counting the inner and outer and each side). That is two runs per week so if I can keep up that pace I would be finished planking in 22 weeks, by August. Of course this leaves no time for fishing, sailing or any of those other things I used to do. So, who knows if I can keep this schedule. But I do know one thing for sure: any day in my shop is better that a day in chemistry class.
A few recent photos:
Drawing in the bottom edge
Fitting the top edge
Cheers,
Dave Ahrens