Framing One’s Life

Bubbie’s view waxes nostalgic. He has been framing a new porch roof on the ol’ homestead. It has been more than half his life that he has been a carpenter, and though he has moved on in his vocation, he longs for the days when he saw a manifestation of hard labor at the end of a long day.
Sweet Pea had to walk out to the garage to throw some clothes in the dryer, so Bubbie walked out with her ‘cause he knows how she’s scared of the dark. The fall air was cool and fresh as Bubbie tilted his head back to breathe deep the autumn air. The smell of kiln dried pine wisped across his senses and he gazed upon the framing above his head. In a flash he recalls many a cool evening on the porch of his log cabin he built as a young man. He was young and so was his family. Through sweat and determination he nearly single handedly built the cabin in a holler on a mountain top in Newark Valley, New York. Many an evening in those days, he’d sit on the porch and looked at each piece and part of the wooden structure and recalled how he cut and fit each of them together. He was proud that he had crafted such a fine home for his wife and children; he was a man’s man. He dreamed of the day when he could share the love of his craftsmanship with his children so that they might have a glimpse of the capacity of his love for them. And now on his little porch so far from his NY cabin, he feels the same blood pump through his veins as his heart pines away.
He hears the slam of the dryer door as Sweat Pea emerges from the side garage door. She smiles sweetly and Bubbie sees her with his heart; the same sweet girl he loved all those years ago in the cabin on the hill.