The story of building a deck is the story of gluing stuff together with epoxy: It begins with quarter-inch strips of African mahogany to a plywood hull. But soon you realize it’s your fingers.
YOU’D BE DOWN THE BLOCK WITH FRIENDS, POURING KEROSENE ON THE FIREANT HILLS. SUDDENLY THE ROAR OF DAD’S POWERTOOLS WOULD CEASE TO ECHO OFF THE LONGLEAF PINES AND ALL THE NEIGHBORS WOULD VISIBLY RELAX. THIS MEANT IT WAS DINNERTIME, SO YOU’D BEST POCKET THOSE MATCHES AND GET YOUR BUTT HOME. YEARS LATER WHEN DAD ASKED ME TO HELP HIM LAY THE MAHOGANY DECK, WE OFTENTIMES WOULDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO STOP FOR DINNER… IT WAS THAT MUCH FUN. THANKS, DAD!
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
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The story of building a deck is the story of gluing stuff together with epoxy: It begins with quarter-inch strips of African mahogany to a plywood hull. But soon you realize it’s your fingers.
V. African mahogany
Unlike the notorious Africanized bees that tormented California in the 80's, African Mahogany doesn't lurk in your Dr Pepper so it can sting your tongue. But it is exotic. And if you don't watch out it will give you splinters.
For a variety of reasons this will earn you no sympathy from Dad: First, he is a doctor and has pulled spikes from people’s heads. Second, he planed off two of his own fingers a few years ago while building a dobro guitar. His wife was out of town when it happened. I drove up from Seattle and found him laying there all bandaged up on the couch. Then I went out to the garage and picked all the little bone and skin fragments off the wall and floor, laying them in a neat little pile on the workbench. Ours is no family of cowards.
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