All Things have a Soul – Papa’s Hobel
This old hand tool – Papa’s plane – is a memento of my father, one of the very few things I took with me over the ocean after his death at age 67. It sits on the low bench of my big living room window. Very alive, ready to create, beautify, be useful. Lastingly solid and at the same time soft – its sculptural quality emanates my father’s soul.
I was 40 years old, pierced by his early leaving, my grief was immeasurable back then. The continent of my upbringing and that of my life in America so far apart. Now I am two years past his life span. It all feels like one huge gift. Life, his legacy, my heritage, the “tools” I was gifted.
meaning discovery – here the unseen beneath the surface is exposed…
American planes are made of metal, in old Germany these tools were made of wood – a sharp metal blade inserted and held in place with a wooden wedge – used for shaving, evening out, smoothing, leveling. A simple tool. As a young child I admired it nestled my father’s hands, the back-and-forth movements. He was creating all of our furniture on the few weekends he was home. All with hand tools, many years designing and building, repairing and improving. Being allowed to watch, help, hold, fetch – his hands edged into my soul.
The Hobel in my hands, the wood feels soft, its rounded handle smooth and well-worn. Whispering to me about my father, his soul and hands. How wondrous are those memories, so alive that I can smell the fragrance of wood shavings. When a bit older – now able to use the plane with Papa’s instructions – I cherished the feel and sound of the metal blade going over the wooden surface. Him taking the blade out once in a while to sharpen it, me again listening closely to the music of creation.
a friend gifted me for lighting my pellet stove, now not anymore in action….
Warmth in the heart – all things have a Soul…
... can you feel it?
Here is a comment by my beloved brother Matthias (only 11 months younger than me). Translating from German i hope i did justice to his words :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Karina –
For your feeling and remembering, this photo of our father’s plane brings me to my own memories. His hands loved to use this tool for smoothing the wood. It was a very sharp instrument, I remember that. I can see myself as a young boy, astonished by the effect and sounds of the plane and wood. The spirals of the shavings I also admired. And these spirals were then used by our mother as locks of hair on angels and other puppets she made.
Your sensitive way of remembering, of writing and diving into life’s signatures, is an encouragement for me to preserve the treasure of memories and early childhood imprints. Thank you for your associations and loving gaze, they work as a form of “breathing life” into life, and with it saying “Yes” to life.
Your brother in Germany,
Matthias
"...his hands edged into my soul." A love poem to your father. It makes my being thrum with tenderness and love when I think of my loved ones and to hold them in the way you hold your father's plane.
ReplyDeleteabsolutely beautiful and intimate portrait of your father, a life and story emanating from a beloved object, from your words, and the sweet translation of your brothers reflections. this plane says so much of your father's character from the soft roundness of it's features, years of being worked, to determined blade. your writing also leaves trails of memories unsaid, but still has spacious impressions...makes me think about the saying a picture is worth a thousand words. this object has so many stories in it's relationship & likeness to your father, I can see you easily reaching a thousand words and surpassing.
ReplyDelete