Hand-Hewn

It was cut down in eighteen hundred seven, a chestnut tall, stretched half to heaven, hand-hewn with axes by Georgia pioneers, to build up a barn for pigs and steers. Still standing today, a miracle that, browned by time, spans spaces vast, the mere size of the log does amaze, you just don’t see twelve by twelve these days. Wedge-shaped marks along it’s sides, the scar of axes, by strong men plied, a signature of their years on Earth, doubt they thought we’d admire their work. For so long has this great beam stood, American Chestnut was one hell of a wood. How many beasts slept beneath in bays? And what of the teens seeking rolls-in-the-hay? All clasped tight by some wooden pegs, the outside done up in classic red, and still in use, after all these years, almost brings a history buff to tears. But this is no paean to some lost past, just appreciation for things that last, Could you imagine the price of house and land if all the work was still done by hand?! I just think we should reserve spaces for the masterpieces of bygone ages, because it’s sublime to run fingers through a building made of logs hand-hewn.