Skip to main content

That's burl, dude...

“That’s burl, dude, just saying,” has to be said with a slight upward head nod and a lot of cool attitude.

Now, I must admit that I had not heard the word “burl” used like that until a few nights ago.  We were with some friends who are from Colorado, and it was a phrase they used, kind of like “gnarly, dude.”  As we talked, we all agreed that a burl on a tree is really what life sometimes feels like.

gnarly, exquisite burl
burls are lumps, knots and warty looking growths probably caused by injury or a fungal disease

Wow, that’s a lovely image to float around in your head, like an annoying song that gets stuck in your brain for days and days.  Eventually, though you embrace the tune as your fave.

Life is full of unexpected rough, ragged junk, but not all junk needs to be carted off to the nearest dumpster; which is kind of the case with burls.  Because of the disfiguration, strong, intricate, mind-boggling patterns grow in the wood.  Burls are appreciated and crafted into startling pieces.

I guess it’s all in how we view the stuff that comes our way, and it will come our way.  Burls create character, uniqueness and strength…just saying, dude.

peace, love … burl ~ Missy

If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance.





Comments

  1. Yes, burls are necessary in our lives, but can turn into things of beauty as God intends

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm guessing that there are quite a few on the trees in your area...are they something you could have sliced and painted on? Just kind of thinking out loud, wondering?

      Delete
  2. Great post Missy. I learned something new today. Had no idea how burl wood was formed, only that I love the look of it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I do too. Lonny has worked with wood for so many years, that I have a great appreciation for the patterns that form - so interesting and amazing! Have a great trip ... and Happy Thanksgiving.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

wild world: facing the wind

The page furled in the wind, several, actually as I struggled to control my notebook. The wind was crisp; it blew hair out of my face. A cerulean sky hung over head; the sun casting low.

I watered my potted plants, perhaps for the last time until spring. Snow’s in the 10 day forecast, which seems odd since only a few days ago it was 70 degrees.

Birds were chirping, squirrels doing their thing. They know the season is changing to the dormant time where food will be scarce and only the flimsy bare branches will shelter.

It’s November. We’re on the cusp of winter. Temperatures will be harsh. My thoughts turn to the outside folks; those who live in tents or boxes, occasionally scoring a room at the local shelter. It’s easier…when the weather is fair, but never easy.

Cat Stevens’ “Wild World” blares rather loudly from my Sonos. Two lines rattle for attention:

a lot of nice things turn bad out there you know I’ve seen a lot of what the world can do

Things are wild out there – the wind messi…

the lights just clicked on

The lights just clicked on. The ones we hung outside last Friday when the day was bright and fair. Today it’s cloudy and cold. It’s dark earlier. So, the lights just clicked on.

It’s pretty. If I squint, the white fairy lights look like tiny gleaming stars. Bordering on gazing at an inky sky, dotted and specked with minute bursts of light.

Two Moravian stars with multi-faceted points hang. They sway with the breeze. Moving to the wind’s breathed music. They reflect in the open window; mirror images, star duets.

Santa arrives in a helicopter descent at the Old Mill. He sets up shop, elves and reindeer to join later. High fives, and shy giggles, the kids approach. Innocent, bright eyes wide open and hopeful.

It’s a magical and expectant season. It’s Advent.

Advent – the arrival of the awaited One – is more than my lights clicking on, the Moravian stars dancing and my grandkids’ wonder at the arrival of Santa. I love each of these experiences and the specialness of the memories.

A baby sh…

pieces of me

We went away for the weekend; a quick getaway stolen to breathe. Stolen to rest. Stolen to connect, with each other, maybe with random encounters.

The sea was stormy, but we could walk on the beach without being soaked or blown away. Experiencing the power of the waves, noticing stones and debris, some quite large, tossed like one would toss Pick-up Stix. Sunny beach days are glorious, but for me, there’s a special appeal in the moodiness of a storm.

Our paths crossed with vendors and servers and other visitors such as ourselves. Two encounters were different, no actually three.

The initial encounter was with the servers at our first breakfast joint. The guy behind the counter was polite and refined in his jeans, t-shirt and Vans. The restaurant only accepts cash. Who carries much of that anymore? We had some, but needed to pay attention to what we ordered since we weren’t prepared. The gal said, “No worries, it happens all the time. Just stop back and pay us later.” Who says that now…