One of the last projects my father completed before he died was to build a picnic table. I'm not really sure why he decided he wanted one, but he did. So in the summer of 1982, he made a trip to Sears for a new tool whether he needed it or not to build the table. Every project required something new with the Craftsman imprint on it. Dad built the table and made it his spot to read the evening paper until cold weather drove him inside. Looking back and considering the seriousness of his illness, I think he simply wanted to enjoy being outside.
Almost ten years after my father died, my mother remarried and sold the house I grew up in. She didn't want the picnic table at her new house, and so I grabbed a couple of the cousins and absconded with it one Saturday afternoon. After the fire ring was put together, the table got moved to its permanent location. It's a quiet, shady spot to sit and think. I like to take my laptop to the table and do story planning for the next little while.
Well, I used to do that. These days, caring for the spousal unit, my mother, and stepfather eats up writing time. Life is full of seasons. This is the time to be there for them.
The picnic table is part of the northern view from my sunroom office. Behind it is a what around here is called a stone fence. Yes, that wall of stone is as high as it looks. My grandparents were given copies of old deeds to this piece of property when they bought it, which they passed on to me, and the stone fence is listed as the property line going well back into the 1800s. Back then folks farmed this piece of land and the stones the plow dug up were laid along the property line, serving two purposes. Perhaps when I retire and become a lady of leisure, I'll re-stack the stones into a proper wall. Not the entire length of it but at least the section behind the picnic table.
And when I need to take a break from such manual labor I can take a break in the shade sitting at the picnic table my father built.
KC Kendricks
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