Sam Maloof Does Not Own a Basketball Team

I am not a woodworker but I know a grizzly bear who is.

Had I been a woodworker I might have known that I have recently relocated to the town where once lived one of the greatest woodworkers of all time. Now that last descriptor is all mine, neither the woodworker nor the grizzly made that claim, but I am sticking with it. The man won a MacArthur Fellowship for heaven’s sake. Most of us call the MacArthur Fellowship the “Genius Awards”. I saw hanging on a wall in his house, a legit certificate certifying that this woodworker was in fact a genius.

This woodworker, the famous one not the grizzly, was Sam Maloof.

“No, this guy didn’t own the Kings. He made a rocking chair. Yes a rocking chair. So do you wanna go with me to his house or what? No, its a cool rocking chair. Shut up. Do you wanna go or not?”

I think that’s pretty much how the conversation went. While generally an idiot I am occasionally smart enough to listen to Kaleo Kala and we drove down the street to visit the house Sam Maloof. Good heavens am I glad I did because this guy, this carpenter from Chino, if judged by his house, was the coolest man to ever live.

Okay that may be an overstatement, but his house is almost exactly what I wish for when I drift off to my happy place.

Its not just the house, its everything about the house. Its everything in the house. It is a house that became a museum the day the inhabitant passed away. This means that this guy created a space and place to live, and did it so well, that everyone else wanted to come and see it. And so we did.

When I say created I mean he built the house. He designed it bit by bit, adding on to it with time and when funds became available. It isn’t a box to live in, because it grew with time, grew out of his mind, it became this organic living thing. It became… interesting. I crave interesting.

Interesting was everywhere in that place.

The furniture was all custom, the art on the walls was all original, and every item had a story behind it. It looked good. It was comfortable. It was interesting and t was real.

Real. Real like the Navajo rugs were obtained from a Navajo down on the reservation. The bell up on that bell tower was salvaged from an old church down in New Mexico. The kachina dolls were from a Hopi not a factory. Well, except one kachina that he made himself. But the idea that he made one adds to the interest of the item. There was pottery from Egypt, that he got in Egypt, African masks that he got in Africa, and the most beautiful wood canoe I have ever seen hanging from a vaulted ceiling. It was a real canoe, hand made by some guy but I don’t think it ever made it into a body of water. It was a useful item made so beautifully that it became art.

There were books everywhere. Family photos. Dishes and silverware that had never seen the inside of a big box store. There was stained glass, old things, new things. Straight lines and curved lines. Al of this stuff that spoke and told stories despite the man having passed.

Mr. Maloof and I never met. I know little of how he treated people, but I think I want to be him. Or at least I want to be the kind of guy who can create the sort of things he created, either directly or by assembly. Man did he do it right.

Have you ever been to a candy store, when you don’t really like candy, but there was a kid there and it was fun to watch? I haven’t, but I’m guessing it would be much the same as seeing Kaleo at Sam Maloof’s house. Its like I, and most all of us, are ducks, then we go to Mr. Maloof’s house and I look over next to me and doggone it if Kaleo isn’t really a swan. Its fun to watch a swan in its element.

He was the only one in our tour group that was more excited to see the wood shed than the actual house.

Mancation: Cape Cod

2 slices wheat bread, well buttered

generous amount of brie’

1 slice grilled ham

2 slices wheat bread well buttered

generous amount of brie

crème and peach infused stilton

grill and enjoy…

The woods gave way to Boston, which then faded into clap board cottages and crab shacks.

Having established an Americana theme of sorts we had to stop where it all started.

Having seen the rock and while walking along the main strip, Kaleo and Preston looked at each other and one of them said, “I thought there would be, I don’t know, something better.” everyone agreed Plymouth was a bit of a dissapointment.

On to the Cape.

Hyannis Port seemed as good as anywhere else so we pulled past the sign that announced opening day was tomorrow. We sat in the sand and pulled out a maple seltzer, Vermont root beer, and some other concoction brewed in no where Vermont. Whatever that “other” soda was, it was better than the others, but we still drank it all.

In the name of seeing more of what the cape had to offer we later sat and watched the Nantucket Ferry come and go. Doing nothing, just watching.

While sitting doing nothing three wise man can solve all the world’s problems, upset each other over political issues, and solve that too. We did all of that and still accomplished nothing. That was our intent. I think that makes us the same as congress. Except Kaleo has a cool beard. Congress hasn’t had those for decades.

It is a pity.

Again, shewed away to a truck stop by suspicious onlookers, we slept for the fourth time. Tired.

Mancation: Joseph Smith and an old Navy Pilot

We woke Sunday morning having slept in the car at a highway rest stop. The night before we attempted to get a spot at Camp Joseph. I knocked on the door of a cabin and a confused gentleman explained it was after hours and reservations must be made in advance. He wished us luck and we drove off looking for an inconspicuous place to sleep. We were tired.

This same man saw us parked in the church parking lot early the next morning. He strolled past, paused, then came back and inquired how we were. We said we were great. He asked where we spent the night. As Kaleo answered him, the man’s face fell. Kaleo ensured him we were fine, but the man entered the church building with newly slumped shoulders.

Having guessed at the start time of services, we arrived more than an hour early. This was fine with us, church wasn’t the only reason we were here.

Sharon Vermont is the birthplace of the prophet Joseph Smith. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has constructed a visitors center and a sort of memorial on the site of the Smith’s ancestral home. It wasn’t yet open that morning but a grey haired man wearing a missionary name tag, neck tie in hand, emerged from a side door as we crossed the lot.

With an honest smile he waved us over, fishing in his pocket for a set of keys. “Come on, come on. Let me open things up for you. I was headed to choir practice but I think they can wait a minute or two.” The man, without asking us our religious affiliation, pulled us in and commenced to giving us the tour complete with explanations of the roots of Mormonism. Half way through he paused and asked us how much we already knew about the church. Learning our answer he paused, chuckled a little, then launched right back into his explanations. The man was sincere, informative, and in an incredibly good mood for having opened up shop more than four hours early. After giving us the lay of the land, he headed off for choir practice, and we headed off into the woods.

The woods where Joseph was born 208 years ago are green and rocky. The family had 100 acres that sat alongside a ‘highway’, complete with babbling brook. The moss growing over the stone foundations of a home long gone was reminiscent of a Tolkien novel and we half expected to meet a hobbit, or maybe a talking lion. We met none of those things, but once we made it to church we did meet possibly the coolest guy ever.

Wearing the same clothes from yesterday we sat near the back of a crowded chapel. A voice from the row behind us loudly asked, “Where did you get that tan?” directing his question toward Kaleo.

“I’m Hawaiian”.

The voice came from a grey haired man with a chiseled jaw. He wore a tweed jacket, sported bushy eyebrows rivaling the infomercial juicer guy, and spoke a little too loudly. Hard of hearing perhaps.

“I used to own a hundred acres on the big island; worked as a ranch hand. I was a pilot flying the one plane that used to go between the big island and Oahu.”

“You should have held on to that. Its probably worth a lot of money now.”

“People used to try to get me to sell that property all the time. There was this one guy from Japan, he bought up all the acres on the coast and I sold to him. He built a resort there and every day he flies in a plane full of people from Tokyo. I had put into the contract that I would have a free room in the resort for the rest of my life. I’ve never used it.”

With these two paragraphs our aged friend cemented his place as forever cooler than any of the three of us will ever be.

Preston’s curiosity was piqued and he asked when he started flying.

“Flew in the navy in World War 2, but I don’t talk about the navy.”

Preston offered that his grandfather-in-law flew in the navy. “I do not talk about the navy.” was his direct reply.

With that the services began. As the prelude music started up, our new friend began belting out an unintended solo, unaware that the chorister up front had not yet waved in the congregation. The old man did not care and we added a couple more cool points to his ledger.

Kaleo fell asleep during sacrament meeting.

As we left our tour guide from earlier ran to catch us. “I have to tell you how happy it made me when I saw you three waltz in to the services in your street clothes. You looked completely comfortable.” He has obviously never been to my home church in Philly.

We loaded back up.

“So where exactly is Cape Cod?”

“I’m not sure,” Preston answered, “…but that’s where we are headed.”

Mancation: Center for Furniture Craftsmanship

Kaleo took control of the GPS and started barking out directions. The man now had purpose. We had a destination.

The Center for Furniture Craftsmanship in Rockport Maine.

We parked in a dirt lot and walked a gravel path and into a manicured collection of cabin like buildings.

The place appeared well cared for but deserted. The door was open but the lights were off. We went into a gallery filled with wooden works of art and started nosing around. It did not take long before a well dressed woman to welcome us and inquire as to our intentions.

Kaleo dropped two names and she pretty much handed us the keys to place.

Again, well done were-bear.

We wandered in and out of workshops and class rooms. Chairs half made and projects half done were littered about. Students and craftsmen nodded hello as we made our inspection. We stopped and chatted with some.

Kaleo studied furniture design at a similar school in Tasmania. These folks here in Maine knew his folks over in Australia. Small furniture world I guess. So small that our unplanned arrival caused us to just miss one of Kaleo’s old instructors. He had just dropped off a new piece for an upcoming show. A piece that had not yet been revealed to the public.

When we finished our rounds the well dressed woman fetched a set of keys and led us to the back of the main building. She opened the cellar and led us underground for a sneak peek. Under a blanket in a basement that looks very much like my own (messy), she pulled a blanket off a wood crafted octopus/spider that doubles as a desk.

Kaleo touched the tentacles, pulled out the drawers, inspected the joints. Preston and I just watched Kaleo as he looked.

Sufficiently impressed we remounted our ride and readied for the next locale. “How long doe sit take to get to Eric’s over in Vermont?”

“Six hours.”

“We better get going.”

Mancation Movie Trailer

A must see.

Mancation: Lie-Nielson Tool Works

Portland Maine is a nice town, even in the rain. Having realized that we hardy campers failed to pack a tent, the early evening was spent wandering the cobble stone streets, happily wasting time. We had no tent but we did have time. And Portland has plenty of pubs and eateries. Our kind of pubs.

As the night wore on, we wore out, and the rain persisted. We found a rest stop a few miles north of town and considered the last parking spot, the one farthest from the street light, our camp. As I turned off the ignition Dr. Chadwick happily said, “Well. I forgot to bring a rain jacket, but I remembered my ear plugs.” After which he promptly curled up on the back seat and slept. I looked over at the were-bear as he reclined the passenger seat, not yet knowing his nocturnal secret. I would soon find out. It must have been a full moon because not long after that seat laid back I was amazed as this docile furniture designer transformed into an aggressively grunting and snorting beast.

At about 7am the next morning, on the shore of a foggy inlet, the beast was quickly forgiven. Were-bears are apparently great hunters because this one produced 2 lbs of butcher cut apple smoked bacon. Good bear. We ate, I sipped mate and watched fog roll across the water, and by 8am we were back in the car looking blankly at each other.

North?

Why not.

Around 9:30, with no destination, not really knowing where we were, Kaleo’s face hit the window like a kid spotting Disney world and ordered us to pull over. Fortunate happenstance, serendipity, or maybe fate. We happened upon Lie-Nielson Tool Works.

In 1981 Thomas Lie-Nielson left his job at a NY based company that made hand tools, moved to Maine, and started making hand planes himself. What was once a small one man shop, is now a 13,000 square foot world renowned producer of woodworking tools. So much so that when three wanderers arrived in the middle of no where and wanted to take a tour, they were not just prepared for us, but were obviously used to visitors.

Wandering through the warehouse, watching people toil at machines, I half expected everyone to break out into a seven dwarves sort of song and dance number. These were laborers, craftsmen and women, one with a tattoo of a spider on his bald head, and they looked as if they -wait for it- liked their jobs.

Whether that is true or not, people love their tools.

11 am. Back in the car. Where too?

North some more.

Mancation: Inception

I think maybe it was the phone calls.

I get a lot of phone calls but there are these certain types that after I hang up I just sort of stare off into space for a while. In my role in church I get told things that I then have to keep. I don’t get to talk about them, its kind of like confession. So I just sit there and stare while the phone call sinks into my soul like lead. I started getting a lot of those calls.

“You should call your friends and go on a trip.”

I can’t really raise one eyebrow, but if I could, I would have.

We talked. I listened. No; I think I complained and she listened. It was decided I needed a vacation.

How does one vacation? No. Wrong way to think about this. What do I want to do? Right. Thats a better way to go about it. As I sit and think I am annoyed with the need to think and plan. Thinking and planning is what I need a vacation from. Forget it. Forget planning. I’m not planning this.

I sent a text to the guys. They were in, but they weren’t going to plan it either.

I soon realized that to travel without planning I would still need to plan a little. I emailed out a spreadsheet with the supply list: tent, cooler, a canoe, ya know, just the basics. Off to one side was a list of possible destinations: Leatherheads workshop, cheese farm, Root Soda bottling plant, somewhere up north not near anyone, just the basics. Then, up top, I wrote out some ground rules:

No internet

No hotel/motel

No more than one purchased meal per day and only if it is specific to location (ie Maine lobster)

If we come upon a natural body of water 3+ feet deep, we must swim

If any of us almost die Dr. Chadwick must save them

And that was it.

Early Thursday morning I drove over the bridge to the Dr.s house and shortly thereafter the were-bear (half man half bear) arrived.

The Kala Beverages boys were back together. We loaded up the rented Xterra and pointed north.

Because He is Good at What He Does: Kala Studios

I didn’t think it was all that long ago that we were sitting in my office watching youtube videos on how to get soda from a keg into a bottle without it foaming over and losing carbonation. We eventually figured it out (the trick is keeping the hoses in the freezer) and since then, he has figured out a few other things as well.

showroom — New Showroom in Fredericksburg VA

We drove south on I-95, got off in Fredericksburg, then kept driving off into the trees. Set back in the woods, on a dirt road, is a workshop full of saws and tools and two skilled hands.

When he left Philly for the woods our beverage venture crumbled. He brewed a good root beer but that was never meant to be his art. Next week his art finds a new home when the Kala Studios open on the main strip in Fredericksburg’s old town. the sneak peak was worth the trip.

Rummaging through the stuff in his shop I barraged him with my ideas of what he could make out of different scraps of wood. He and I both know I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about and he pretends I’m not annoying. I appreciate that.

He is winning praise from interior designers in the D.C. area and developing a bit of a following. I’m not in that area but I’m part of his following. He builds a chair I have always loved but never been able to afford. If you have more money than you know what to do with and want to surprise me for Christmas, call Kaleo.

Kala

Kala brand beverages are getting harder and harder to find. Why?

www.dalynart.com

Because the proprietors and craftsmen who brew these fine beverages are renaissance men on dark ages budgets. We three explore, develop, and learn, and then have to provide. We are not upset, it is a choice we make willingly.

Where is a Medici when you need one?

Just know that should you want some, your best bet is to find yourself at an event where Kaleo, Dalyn, or Preston are in attendance. BE warned, these are very exclusive engagements.

Tis the Time of Year When my Family Looses Friends

We meet them, we like them, we grow close, then they leave. At first it was exciting meeting new people, then it was sort of sad, then it got tiring. I’m not exactly sure what it is now.

You know that feeling of being the new kid? You move, show up not knowing anybody and hope you make friends. My kid goes through this every year but we aren’t the ones moving. Kids appear tough and resilient, but I fear they are not.

We say we will visit, and we do want to, but deep down it feels like yearbook day, “Stay cool, have a great summer, let’s hang out.” The youthful desire and wishful intent is there, but the naiveté is gone; replaced by budgets, schedules, and a touch of defeated sadness.