"Peckerwood" is the name my father gave this place due to the many varieties of woodpeckers inhabiting the woods around our family place. Frankly, the name has always been kind of funny to me, and I have no doubt Daddy thought the same. None-the-less, I like that our home has a name even if I think it’s rather humorous. There is something almost Southern Gothic, assuming I am using that phrase correctly, about naming the place where you live.
A hundred plus years ago, my great grandparents named their home in Eureka Springs "Ravenwood", which I always have thought was just about the coolest thing ever. It sounded grand to me, like Southfork. They reared their 7 children at Ravenwood, and my parents reared their brood of 7 at Peckerwood. I enjoy that parallel. And just so you don’t think I am living in some Arkansan version of the Dynasty house, let me be clear. This house is no manse adorned with columns and an oak-lined drive. It is, however, full of its own charms and a wealth of memory fills its walls. I never imagined I would be living here again, but here am I and happily so.
It has been a very busy past two weeks at work and at home. While all of my stuff has been stored in Mama's house since I moved from Dallas, it was all boxed up. It has taken me far longer than I anticipated to unpack, which is due in part to the ridiculous amount of crap I have accumulated over the years. Really, some of this stuff I look at and think, "Seriously? How did this not get pitched? Why did I ever buy this thing?" Ah...the privilege of having too much.
I've thought quite a good bit about the "stuff" I’ve gathered. I've wondered why I don't live with less. Why do we hang things on our walls? Why do we have rugs on our floors? Why do I think I need 497 wine glasses? There is a line between reflection on what I need & want and what I call a sense of overwrought American guilt. Still, I can't help but be reminded of all the people both in our own country and around the world and what they need and don't have. Once my mind gets going on this track I sometimes find myself thinking crazy things like, “I should get rid of it all! Shouldn’t I be doing something different here?” After all Jesus told his disciples to sell their possessions and give to the poor. Whoa! Once I get rolling… say “hello” to OCD BriGuy! After I dig myself out of this morass of musings, I decide I can't help where I was born; it's not really a moral issue that I have a lot of table lamps, and I go on about my merry way. Sound exhausting? Well, it sure can be, but it’s who I am, how I’m wired.
It is a crisp morning. I awoke earlier than usual, started my coffee and took a hot cup out on the back deck which overlooks a wooded and densely underbrush-filled two or so acres. Just after walking outside, I spied a deer running through the woods, except I didn’t know it was a deer. He was really going at a quite a clip considering the tangles of honeysuckle and all the walls of privet hedge he was pushing through. At first I thought it was the neighbors’ dog, Nick. I called out “Nick”, and the deer stopped and turned to face me, and then I knew it was a deer. He was a pretty deer (or should I say handsome?). He had 3 points on the left side of his rack and 2 on the right and two center points. My first thought was "I wish I had a shotgun." Really? Where did that come from? The last time I was in the deer woods I was probably 11 or 12. I've never been a hunter, so it was so strange that my first thought was about shooting the deer. My friends in Pittsburgh whose yard is overrun with the creatures probably have the same thought but more in an extermination kind of way, whereas I was thinking about how good fresh venison would be. Again, really? So not BriGuy....or is it? Is this BriGuy's new self in Arkansas?
As I have told my friends in Steel City, you can keep deer out of your yard by peeing outside, but to-date they have not heeded my counsel. I learned this handy trick from the mother of one of my dearest friends. Once, while visiting their home, my friend’s mother announced to all the men in the house that if we needed to use the bathroom, we were to go outside and pee around her garden because the deer were eating up her veggies. This happened just before she took me outside to meet her crows which by the way came to her “caw”ling. It was rather impressive. Is that Southern Gothic?
The framing biz is going well, and I continue to enjoy the work. Owner has been super helpful in her instruction. Whenever there is a problem with a frame, which can happen due to warped moulding, moulding construction etc., I tend to think I jacked it up. Thankfully, Owner has been able to determine where the issues truly lie, which has not been with my methods, and give me good instruction on how to navigate around similar icebergs I might encounter in the future.
I continue to be amazed at the number of people who trust me to make decisions for them about mats and frames. Not in a thousand years would I let someone else do that for me. I take it as a compliment, but I do find myself wondering, “what if they hate it?” Well, I just have to redo it I suppose. Having someone give me control of which frame and mat will be used does tend to make me go into creative hyper-drive. I find myself thinking about how I could craft a new moulding or refinish an existing moulding, or how I could create a new mat. While that might sound completely insane, and probably is a bit, I actually love that part of it. A friend here in town is going to teach me how to make moulding, and I can hardly wait. I will have to get over my fear of bladed, potentially limb-removing power tools, but I can do that.
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