Wooden Maple Sap Buckets
And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten...
Joel 2:25
How did I jump from release to restore? To release anyone or anything from something has the potential of restoring that person or thing to its previous state.
Once I lived near a ragged looking establishment billed as a place to find antiques or at least old items. Nothing was displayed— everything was stacked in piles that often tipped over. Once tipped they remained that way. The backyard, small, compact, devoid of plants and bushes, worn down to hard scrabble dirt, was a treasure trove of half-broken items.
Old wood sleds, butter churns with missing parts, hand-woven baskets with places where the strands hung listlessly over the side leaned against a listing wood fence.
One day I found two wooden maple sap buckets with wood staves and the metal hook still attached. The staves, no longer secure around the bucket, had slipped half way down. The wood, splintered and rough, made me think that the buckets—once crafted by a cooper—now resembled kindling wood.
"With a little work you could bring them back."
At first I didn't realize that the woman who lived in the house and owned all this watched me when I picked up one of the buckets.
Without any encouragement from me she outlined what I needed to do.
"First, get some Spic and Span and medium and super fine steel wool—not the kind you find in the grocery store. Go into the hardware store and get the proper grades. Mix up the Spic and Span and wash the buckets —first using the medium steel wool. Let the buckets dry away from the sun. When they're dry—wash them again with the super fine steel wool.
"Don't be impatient. Bringing something back takes time. You can't rush."
"Now go and buy polyurethane, Butcher's Wax and very fine grit sandpaper—the finest they sell. Remember you don't want the kind of wax that shines by itself.
When everything is bone dry and I mean completely dry you're ready. Apply one thin layer of polyurethane and then when the bucket is completely dry use the fine sandpaper over every crevice of the bucket. You repeat this four times. I usually do it five times, but four will do. Then you apply the Butcher's Wax. Polish or buff it and apply again."
"That's it." I said. It all sounded too laborious.
"No, once every six months run the shower until the bathroom steams up and take the bucket into the bathroom and let it absorb the steam for ten minutes. That'll keep the staves tight against the bucket sides."
"I'll sell you both for five dollars because it'll cost you a bit to fix them up."
I bought the maple buckets and they sat in my basement for a year. Then one hot steamy summer when I lived in Maryland I decided to at least wash them down with Spic and Span. Over the summer I worked on the buckets—meditatively rubbing them down, moving from one set of directions to the next. I watched the staves tighten themselves up against the sides, the dirt and splinters disappeared, the original color of the wood emerged, and then a smooth satan sheen covered the bucket.
When I moved to New England one bucket held kindling. The other still holds magazines, books, assorted notebooks, and an occasional letter or catalog. The staves, while a bit looser, still tighten up when I remember the steam shower.
I guess I released the buckets from their state of disarray when I restored them to, if not their original state, at least to a functional beauty. Release also means freed or liberated.
To restore means to rejuvenate, to repair, to redeem.
Sometimes we have to be released from something before we are restored. Sometimes the very act of restoration releases us from what has held us.
It's a conundrum, but I think there's a promise implicit in Joel 2:25.
Joel 2:25
How did I jump from release to restore? To release anyone or anything from something has the potential of restoring that person or thing to its previous state.
Once I lived near a ragged looking establishment billed as a place to find antiques or at least old items. Nothing was displayed— everything was stacked in piles that often tipped over. Once tipped they remained that way. The backyard, small, compact, devoid of plants and bushes, worn down to hard scrabble dirt, was a treasure trove of half-broken items.
Old wood sleds, butter churns with missing parts, hand-woven baskets with places where the strands hung listlessly over the side leaned against a listing wood fence.
One day I found two wooden maple sap buckets with wood staves and the metal hook still attached. The staves, no longer secure around the bucket, had slipped half way down. The wood, splintered and rough, made me think that the buckets—once crafted by a cooper—now resembled kindling wood.
"With a little work you could bring them back."
At first I didn't realize that the woman who lived in the house and owned all this watched me when I picked up one of the buckets.
Without any encouragement from me she outlined what I needed to do.
"First, get some Spic and Span and medium and super fine steel wool—not the kind you find in the grocery store. Go into the hardware store and get the proper grades. Mix up the Spic and Span and wash the buckets —first using the medium steel wool. Let the buckets dry away from the sun. When they're dry—wash them again with the super fine steel wool.
"Don't be impatient. Bringing something back takes time. You can't rush."
"Now go and buy polyurethane, Butcher's Wax and very fine grit sandpaper—the finest they sell. Remember you don't want the kind of wax that shines by itself.
When everything is bone dry and I mean completely dry you're ready. Apply one thin layer of polyurethane and then when the bucket is completely dry use the fine sandpaper over every crevice of the bucket. You repeat this four times. I usually do it five times, but four will do. Then you apply the Butcher's Wax. Polish or buff it and apply again."
"That's it." I said. It all sounded too laborious.
"No, once every six months run the shower until the bathroom steams up and take the bucket into the bathroom and let it absorb the steam for ten minutes. That'll keep the staves tight against the bucket sides."
"I'll sell you both for five dollars because it'll cost you a bit to fix them up."
I bought the maple buckets and they sat in my basement for a year. Then one hot steamy summer when I lived in Maryland I decided to at least wash them down with Spic and Span. Over the summer I worked on the buckets—meditatively rubbing them down, moving from one set of directions to the next. I watched the staves tighten themselves up against the sides, the dirt and splinters disappeared, the original color of the wood emerged, and then a smooth satan sheen covered the bucket.
When I moved to New England one bucket held kindling. The other still holds magazines, books, assorted notebooks, and an occasional letter or catalog. The staves, while a bit looser, still tighten up when I remember the steam shower.
I guess I released the buckets from their state of disarray when I restored them to, if not their original state, at least to a functional beauty. Release also means freed or liberated.
To restore means to rejuvenate, to repair, to redeem.
Sometimes we have to be released from something before we are restored. Sometimes the very act of restoration releases us from what has held us.
It's a conundrum, but I think there's a promise implicit in Joel 2:25.
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