I picked up the piece of inlaid wooden artwork that
has been in our lives since we married. It was made by my
father-in-law and was a part of our wedding gift. I sat
holding it and thinking of all the places it had been with
us, all the pictures of family occasions where it could be
seen in the background, of the time it was too near the
fireplace and came apart in a few of the seams leaving me in
tears but a few hours away from the heat it resumed it’s
form again. What a wonderful relief!
It is difficult to
describe this piece of art. For my daughter it has been a
holder for a glass candy collection, for my son a place to
put his guitar picks. It has also been a holder of a rose on
the coffee table, and has been polished with care, and
definitely treasured for thirty-seven years. It is the same
for my husband, son and daughter. I found it hard to believe
that of all the photos I have taken over the years, but I
had yet to photograph this artistic gift of Poppy’s
woodwork. It is not a vase as such, nor is it able to hold
water without damaging it, and I am of the conclusion that
the Master of Woodwork, Poppy Lowe, made it of his own
design. It is original, about eight inches high and contains
many different types of woods of Newfoundland. The juniper,
maple, pine, birch and fir of our province are all perfectly
inlaid in this woodwork. My imagination does not have to
stretch far to see the maker of this art rubbing it with his
withered hands, smoothing it over and over, and hearing the
sound of the lathe and the smell of fresh wood in his
workshop as he carefully put this gift for us together
perfectly.
It happened to be one of our winter ‘snow-bomb’ days,
with the country lane leading to our house a sheet of
glittering ice, and the temperatures so low skin would
freeze in minutes, so I had decided to take on the task of
rearranging and generally having a ‘throw out’ time. I was
home alone so nobody could stop me from discarding
everything that had no special purpose. It was just
heavenly, because I am known for my obsessive neatness and
throwing away anything remotely resembling ‘clutter’. But
when I picked up ‘the treasure’ my rearranging came to an
end, and after half an hour of soul searching, I started
photographing it. I took all sorts of photos of our wedding
gift, even adding a ‘Newfoundland Tartan Rock’, a gift from
my sister-in-law, to it for one shot, knowing that Poppy
would heartily laugh if he could see it, his sense of
laughter and fun being one of his family legacies.
What was he thinking as he worked on this gift in his
workshop? Knowing him as I did, I think he would be
reflecting on his son being married, and on me, the
bride-to-be. We were friends, Poppy and I, right from the
moment we met, when I was not quite nineteen years old. He
would be thinking of his son, once his small child, but now
a man and a police officer, and of me, now a nurse, and of
us leaving our province, a necessity for my fiancé
in order for him to pursue his career as a Canadian Federal
Police Officer. He definitely would be thinking of our
upcoming wedding, and would want the gift to be perfect,
which it is. Yes, he would have poured his heart into the
gift he was making, and would be so proud of his work once
it was completed.
We were thrilled when we opened his gift some months
later after the wedding, and knew it would occupy a special
place in our lives because he had made it. He, the giver of
the gift, was overjoyed that we loved it so much.
Sometimes over the years when times were difficult, the
wooden holder held our sadness, at other times our laughter,
and was always in a prominent place regardless of where we
lived. Maybe that is what its maker wanted it to be, a
holder for our emotions, a piece of himself to be there
through the good and the bad. It worked, never failed us,
and still doesn’t. He had to have chosen it’s specific
design for a reason and that is the reason I have decided it
was, and continues to be.
Both of my husband’s parents are gone now, but the
workshop is still used by my husband, and is clearly off
limits to me, just as it was for the first Nanny Lowe living
on this land. Poppy Lowe allowed me to snoop around, but not
this new Poppy Lowe, for him I am not to be ‘picking
around’. It is just the way it is, ‘a Poppy’s space’, and to
be left alone as Poppy wants it to be.
‘The Treasure’ is polished, and sits holding a red china
rose, but is still prepared to hold our laughter, tears,
sadness, fun, music or whatever the case may be. It is a
‘Treasure’, and I feel appalled that it has sometimes the
meaning of it has been overlooked.
It will never be overlooked again, for now I know, after
much contemplation, that it was a special man’s way to be
with us throughout our lives, a presence reminding us Nanny
and Poppy’s love for us, and reminding us of our love for
them.
How often we overlook the special ‘treasures’ in our
lives in today’s busy world. But I know now that this
particular gift will never be neglected again, and am so
thankful that I realized its importance in our lives and in
the lives of those who come behind us.
How fortunate we were to have these special people in our
lives. It can be summed up in one small sentence which says
‘And the greatest of these is love’.
