OUR STORY
The day I was born my father was cutting firewood, and the day my son was born I was cutting firewood. My dad heated our house in Tahoe with wood. He was the village wood hound. We practically collected the wood before the tree hit the ground. I spent a lot of time helping him collect rounds for the winter. He taught me how to use a chainsaw and instilled in me a kind of reverence for wood.
But my love for wood, in fact, our love for wood started much earlier. Humankind’s romance with the forest began when we were living in the trees, and since we came down from that canopy, we have longed to connect with the wood that gave us our existence. In some ways many of us have lost that connection, but the draw is always there to reconnect with the trees. There is a reason people like splitting kindling, whittling a stick, or just sitting on a log in the bush. These acts give us a respite from our over industrialized world.