Antiques At the Sawmill

Mom has always loved antiques I have never asked her why Perhaps it's the connection to the past Maybe the craftsmanship The smell of ancient wood The curves The fact that they were built to last She turned a passion into a business A few small pieces in her living room A sign on a door Interesting how businesses are born Bob there by her side Together building on her dream There once was an old sawmill Where men had worked with their hands Hard work had its demands Each one did what he could Their strength remains Locked within the wood Those same hands had built mom's home Over one hundred years ago Time dripped on it didn't slow Mom's home became the perfect place To celebrate the past Her home and business Built from things that were made to last The business grew Taking over the home Visits from patrons Calls on the phone Busy all the time No space for them to be alone It became time For them to expand They looked to the future The life they planned Built on their historic land A new addition built from old wood Soaring ceiling Above them stood I remember the beams Spectacular From an old barn hewn from fir Lifted on Bob's wide strong back Formerly they had been just a stack A one of a kind home Filled with love With bedrooms and landing up above The kitchen was the centre piece A place to gather Filled with love and peace Love of the past Hope for the future Has alway been a part of her Together melded and celebrated As a result I appreciate The solid The values The ingenuity Forever engrained in my blood My respect for the old My admiration of antiques Remnants of the business still remain The building sold Mom loves going to auctions She still sells at local Antique Markets Sadly Bob has passed on Thankfully mom has moved on from her sad She too is made of stronger stuff Not unlike Her beloved Antiques An old poem and this one is about old things. For Broken Wings' contest. Written April 13 2013