Like an old cairn,
Schmitty pointed the way
through impassable terrains.
Use the power of the wedge,
he’d say, and I learned
to fell twisted trees.

The notched beam logs
rolled easily into place
atop the cabin walls.
Smile breaking my face, I tacked
a sprig of yew to the peak.
Then stood back
and just looked.

Good job!

I was astonished, even unbelieving when I first learned about the parbuckling technique. Building a log home was, I used to say, an experience in controlled terror. There was only so much money and time, nothing is standard in log construction, and I had very little experience. Every now and then I’d hit a snag that just stopped me.

One such time had to do with how to get large roof beams (purlins) up on top of a two and a half story log shell. I couldn’t afford a crane, and my back-to-the-land ethic refused to permit such a consideration in any case. Schmitty, a farmer, science/math teacher, Einstein afficianado, and man of the woods, came to my rescue any number of times. He had a certain Pythagorean elegance, and was a fine teacher.

The “sprig of yew” refers to a branch of the yew tree, the hardest of hardwoods in the Puget Sound lowlands. One of many pieces of lore about home building has it that placement of a strong branch on the peak of a new house confers strength and permanency to the structure. I’ve seen fir trees attached to the tops of new skyscrapers in downtown Seattle.