Gave a wooden chain to a little fellow, our grand nephew Parker. Cut the chain with him in mind, and when I gave it to him he was surprised and a little entralled. My great uncle carved a wooden chain that I spotted at a 6-year-old in the 50s, and I always wondered how that was done. A few years ago I learned the process and have been making them for several years.
As an 8-year-old I remember seeing a long, larger linked wooden chain over the doorway of my Great Uncle Olaf Haugerud. It meant little to me at the time except it stayed in my head, the idea that someone could make a chain from wood. Whenever I walked through Olaf and Louise’s house, I looked at that chain, in wonder.
A number of years ago, with the benefit of the world wide web, I searched for the wooden chain instructions. It made sense, and at some point I had all the machinery and tools to make a chain. Cutting the original piece was touchy, but wood was cheap and I could experiment and use the trial-and-error method.
For several years I made a variety of wooden chains, some with delicate links and others almost looking like they could do the work of a chain. I had them hanging in our basement at the farm we lived in a few years ago, and it appeared to the newcomer to be a dungeon of some sort. Boxes of chains, chains to look through, touch, examine anew, and then it dawned on me (a slow learner). Someone could use and appreciate these chains.
The chains went to good friends, two pastors, a variety of relatives, and others who would benefit and enjoy them. To someone in an office, pastor or other person, the chain could be used as a reference to show connectivity and cohesion.
At the wedding of my cousin in Norway, Elin marrying Kjell Even, I presented them with one of my favorite chains. In speaking to the reception gathered, I told them I hoped it was a sign of family and unity, of that enjoyable event of a wedding, OR:
“Maybe it’s just a wooden chain you can hang in your house somewhere.”