Cherokee Sage Woman

"Whatcha doin' Daddy?'
"Jes whittlin'.."
"How come?"
"Cause it helps me think."
"Kin I whittle?"
"Nah.. the knife's too sharp. You'll cut yerself."
~~~
50 years have passed since I had that conversation with my Dad.
He has long since passed over into the Big Woods in the Sky, & I assume (& trust) that he is creating intricate woodworks never even believed possible.
And in some weird fluke of fate, I have inherited that man's dream here on earth.
I am living in the log cabin he always achingly longed for. That cabin is located on top of a mountain he only read about in Louis L'Amour books.
He once told my brother that if he could live in a cabin on top of a mountain, he would keep a bucket of stones handy.. so that he could throw them at anyone who would dare try to invade his 'nirvana'.
I find that so comical, that I'm tempted to place a galvanized bucket on the porch, with a goodly supply of Tennessee sandstones.. to represent the battle against the 'intruders' that my Dad saw as modernization.
I'll label it 'Daddy's Rocks'.

Today Dan cut me a nice green branch to begin my 1st 'walking stick'.. because I am so fond of collecting them.
They represent protection, strength, stamina, & Spirit to me.
I went to my meditation room & inside the spiritual 'shrine' I took out my Dad's little Old Timer pocket knife. I blessed that little knife & walked out to the pasture where a nice fire was glowing in the firepit.
I started whittling away at the bark of my walking stick.. wishing that I could be as prolific as my Dad when he would curl up a foot long section of shaving all in one fell swoop. But I'm a beginner, & it's all baby steps.

~~~

"Ya know what, Daddy?"
"What Sande Gaye?"
"I think if the world's leaders would whittle more.. they'd be fightin' less. It might help them think.."
"Maybe so.. but they'd probly cut themselves."