Division of labour
In response to an e-mail discussion today, here is an old poem I put together a while back to explain my (Denise’s) part in the tree making process.
(With sincere apologies to Alfred Joyce Kilmer)
I don’t think you will ever see
a saddle tree that’s been made by me.
Oh, I can select the wood we’ll use
and cut, joint, plane and edge it smooth.
I can glue the wood up square
and I can mark the pattern there.
I can varnish the trees three times before
they’re rawhided, and then twice more.
I can pack them up, ship them away.
I can do all the errands on each town day.
I can do up the books so they work out nice
and when making patterns, I can be precise.
I can generally make sense
when comparing seat length and thigh length
or the height of the gullet with the handhole,
and the front of the horn with the back, you know.
I can always make another chart,
but to build a tree there is an art.
I can do some things, you see
but only Rod can build a tree.