STRIKE ANYWHERE - Ted Lyddon Hatten
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Strike Anywhere
I
Gather the firewood,
circle the chairs - the good ones,
preferably ladder-back,
because good stories deserve good chairs,
and a ladder-back chair is a good chair -
sturdy, honest, a ready-made axis mundi.
Vincent knew as much. He painted an empty ladder-back chair
as a self-portrait. Yellow, like the sunflowers, made from rough pine,
the cane seat holding his pipe and tobacco
as if he’d stepped away to fetch a match.
Van Gogh was a storyteller. He knew that a well-told story
could change the way people see,
opening them up to slivers of beauty they might otherwise overlook.
turning them toward the light
swirling overhead and flickering from within.
II
The story of the phillumenist chair begins in an aspen grove,
the source for the wood used to make matchsticks.
Quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides) burns slowly,
something to appreciate as 700°C creeps toward your fingertips
while you wait for the candlewick to catch.
The leaves of a quaking aspen are seldom silent,
applauding even the slightest breeze.
It reproduces via cloning, making endless copies
of itself year after year - some for thousands of years,
offering a steady stream of wood for popsicle sticks, tongue depressors,
and, to the phillumenists’ delight, matchsticks.
Phillumeny, the verb, literally means “light-loving,”
(phil=loving + lumen=light), refers to the hobby devoted to matchbooks, matchboxes, and all things that make up to the world of matches.
The story of the phillumenist chair will end with melted glass.
The red tip of a wooden matchstick contains powdered glass
that melts upon ignition. The ash produced by the process
is trapped as the glass cools,
making it safer to incinerate.
III
If you get caught in the wilderness when a storm strikes,
and darkness swallows the path,
a quaking aspen matchstick could save your life.
And one is all you need.
The same is true of a story.
When wilderness and darkness swallow you whole,
one good story and a good chair,
preferably ladder-back,
could save your life.
So, for the love of light,
gather the firewood,
circle the chairs,
strike anywhere.
AGAIN
Again, a pin oak (Quercus palustris) branch landed in my front yard after losing an argument with the wind.
Sprawled across the driveway and most of the lawn,
the limb was laden with leaves,
and heavy with life,
begging me to look.
Oak trees support more insect life than most other trees -
534 species of butterflies and moths, according to those who count such things. The insects bring the birds and the birds bring a song which rides the air flush with oxygen flowing
from leaf to lung.
When compared to those still attached to the trunk and soaring overhead, this particular branch was undersized - less than 6” / 15.24cm diameter, with 40 annual growth rings.
Most of it went to the woodpile and will eventually find the fire-pit, but I took a few pieces to my studio to see
what sort of beauty might be lurking beneath the bark. When I looked inside
at the dark heartwood surrounded by warm sapwood,
I found a ladder-back chair,
and a pair of birds.
The wind and the tree will resume their brawl again. And again.
And branches are bound to fall to the ground again. And again, they will be heavy with life and laden with beauty,
landing on the lawn and begging you to look. Again.
