Quieter, crustier

Salvage yards are infinitely more satisfying than going and buying new timber. You can’t have a quick wee while checking out the timber at Bunnings. I could rest my case right there, but there’s more. Salvage yards are usually quieter, crustier places. Timber and metal lying around having already ridden the gentle curve of birth, life and death, ready to be reborn and start again. And there’s timbers you can’t find anywhere else. Big things that look like they came from a bridge or a mine, dull grey exteriors belying the beauty inside. Always take a tape measure.


I went to our local salvage yard this morning on the way into work in Port. I was looking for something I could use for some tricky architraves that I have been putting off for a long time. I found what I needed near the front gate, long pieces leaning up against a rusty cage, a bit damp and weathered but sound enough, straight and true. Enough to do three doors for twenty dollars.

Sue and Rob took Noah into preschool today. He’s started going two days a week since his cousin and regular playmate Sophie is in the US. It gave mum and me a chance to work some more on the architraves. I did some prep early and then left mum to paint while I went into town. On the way home I stopped in at my neighbour’s house to talk about riding on his block tomorrow, looking for an old sawmill, overgrown and buried in the forest.


Noah was happy to see me, telling me about his day, showing me stuff. After his shower he was being rebellious when I was trying to dry his hair so I started playfully smacking him on the bum. He loved it and we kept it up for quite some time, by the end of which he had a glowing red bottom. I REALLY wanted to get a photo and post it on here but I was worried I’d get done for child abuse.

“I’m grateful that I went to preschool and got one egg and dropped the other one and throwed it to the chooks.”
(Confused? Look)