Inherited Passions 9/19/2021

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

A conversation with my coworker gave me the content for this blog.  It was one of those conversations that I am famous for that may start off innocently about football or maybe even work (we do occasionally talk about that at work, not often but it happens) and somehow the train of thought migrated around the world and ended up at wood.  I know that is a random subject matter.  I actually realized that it was when I was going a bit more in depth on the subject matter than I could tell my coworker really cared to discuss. When you get a bit too much into wood grain and color variation of staining I suppose I get it. If that isn’t really your cup of tea then it would make sense that you weren’t super keen to drink it.  But it made me think, why in the world DO I know about and care about wood? That would be all my dad.  Then I thought of other topics of interest that were very specifically passed down by someone special.  As I meandered down that road in my mind I thought to myself, eh well, why not write about it?  And here we are, another mental rabbit trail in and of itself I suppose.

I could identify, with pretty decent accuracy, what type of wood a piece of furniture was made from at a pretty early age.  To my limited knowledge, I don’t think that qualifies as a standard little girl trait. I have written before about my father loving woodwork.  I love it too I just don’t have the dedication to actually attempt to become prolific in it.  He on the other hand has always done it and continues to expand his horizons in the craft. I can always remember growing up with dining tables, stools, cabinets and end tables that my dad built.  I cannot say whether this was due to necessity or convenience but it is how it was.  These days though, in his retirement he has begun to lean more to the artistic side of woodworking and produces all sorts of pieces that frequently impress.  He has now taken to turning wood making the likes of bowls and candlesticks. He has also made several fiddles, a guitar or two I think and if I am not mistaken at least one mandolin.  So you see his love of wood isn’t just limited to generic carpentry. We are talking full blown infatuation here. He and I can get what would likely be called unnecessarily excited about the potential of some burled oak or tiger maple.  I daresay he could tell you right this minute what my favorite wood for furniture would be. (It’s walnut, pretty sure it will always be walnut. Not that you care all that much but, I’m sharing so…I shared.)  I was so excited when I found a gentleman locally who makes knives both the blade and the handle because he used some really lovely and somewhat exotic woods and I knew that one of these would be exactly up my dad’s street.  I was right.  Just like I was when I found out that wooden wristwatches are a thing.  I was so right on that one that I am probably going to have to replace the one I got him soon because he is going to wear it slap out. (If you happen to be reading this and are unfamiliar, to wear something “slap out” is definitely a good thing if it is concerning a gift you gave someone.  That was probably obvious but, you never know.)  So the fact that he and I can share at least the love for wood as a medium for creation is definitely a passed down quality. Sadly I don’t seem to have gotten the talent for it he has but at least we have a good topic of conversation that I can always bring up if I need his eyes to sparkle.  I know he’s reading this right now.  Ten dollars says his eyes are sparkling.

Now from my mother, came the love of plants.  I may have been one of the few kids in elementary school who, when we would be in the Smoky Mountains on vacation, could point out the difference in the blooms of the rhododendrons and the mountain laurel, which trees in the luxurious mountain forests were clearly sourwood, poplar and maple and also throw in identification of some butterfly weed, asters and jewelweed from their blooms on the side of the road.  I don’t think most adults do that either though really.  I would also like to add a disclaimer right now that these are making me sound like a really strange somewhat know-it-all child. I promise I wasn’t.  Well, I don’t think I was a know-it-all.  Strange might be another story.  But I digress. My mother loves plants.  I can’t decide if trees or flowers are her favorite.  If I ever had a question about anything that grew, most likely she could answer it.  She adores springtime when things are blooming.  She loves summer when growth is at its peak and everything is at its most lush and verdant.  She also cherishes the fall when leaves become showy displays of all the shades of warmth one can imagine.  I tend to agree with her sentiment wholeheartedly, well other than the fact that I am not a fan of the blasted heat of the summer and it doesn’t bother her but that’s neither here nor there. She passed on to me this love for all things growing and I cannot fathom my life if I didn’t have it. I think, and she can correct me if I am wrong, she probably feels that great trees and beautiful blossoms are some of the best examples of a God-given gift with definite aesthetics as one of its main components that one could easily stumble upon. She is reading this now so either she is nodding or raising an eyebrow at that analysis.  Only time and the comments will tell.

I have probably rambled on too much in this post. If you have humored me and made it all the way to the end of this piece then first off, thank you.  Secondly, take a moment to consider some fondness that someone near and dear to your heart has passed along.  I myself am going to put in some concerted effort to think of more legacies that I have inherited. I can actually think of several more to add to the two previously mentioned contributors.  Is there really anything better than having someone be really passionate about something and them instilling that love into the heart of another?  Truly it is a gift that is downright invaluable.  Even if it is something simple and seemingly insignificant, if someone can plant the seed within you and it grows to an affection the two of you can share it can only serve to strengthen your bond.  And that’s the type of ardor that neither time, distance or even death itself can dampen.  In this sense of the word, a love shared is a love everlasting.  Hmm.  Perhaps we all need to find a passion to pass along.