Now we understand why they keep paddles in trunks. Luckliy, if you row, the taxi fare is 40 percent off. 

With Bob praying at the planer alter, the rest of the crew stays busy not noticing. 

The roti wagon brings lunch and conversation. This was a good chicken day. 

Suriname, where the thrills are cheap... 

...and the bunnies are evil. 

Bob having his brain untwisted. Now being left-handed, should Jarral turn to the left or the right? 

A load of Brownheart from the interior, delivered with a hearty salute. 

What is she thinking? 

It has to be really hot for Donna to behave like this. 

We spent a day in town and became enamoured of the mannequins. Here are two. 

Adrienne took this picture of a parking attendent. I like it a lot. 

This is Michael again. Now he's taken up orthoscopic surgery. 

There's Michael beginning to work out our peg making process. 

With the headphones plugged into the saw, I guess Adrienne enjoys a more industrial sound. 

One of the more common sights in Parbo is the caged bird on nearly every man's bike, scooter, or hand. This is an intensely competitive sport wherin male birds display terratorial singing when near each other. Birds are awarded points on number of complete songs sung and uniqueness of song. This bird, Toko II, won the Sunday we watched. 

Gustav, the man who owns the mill where we're working, shows us some finer points of working with Brownheart. 

Unconventional to the core, Donna works out a joinery detail. 

Go Adrienne, go!!! 

Our first glimpse of the project's wood. In another life, these would be telephone poles. Of course, in another life we would be smarter.

 

In the ground, ground which receives 93 inches of rain a year, temperatures hovering around 90 degrees Fahrenheit, and equatorial UV radiation, these will last about 40 years.
 

This is padi udu, or paddle wood. In large specimans, the natives like to cut off the ribs of this tree to fashion their paddles. The neat thing about this is that the tree survives. The bad thing about this is that Chuck would like us to use four of these in the atrium area. 

What can I say that those eyes don't say already. (The rhetorical nature of the previous sentence is indicated by the punctuation.) Perhaps I should say that our impression was that after hewing these pieces, they were roped to a skidder and dragged through the deepest, most anaerobic slime holes nearby, then shipped to a gravel pit to be rolled in a special concoction of sand, clay, and small stones designed to cling to every crack, check, and crevice on the timber. 

While it's hard to capture, you are witnessing the timber ballet. Wesley is bringing the 26 foot posts into a 20 foot bay while dodging the downspout, the "multiple ripper", and several piles of plant stakes whle also watching the mast's top for bottom chord collisions. He is doing this on a forklift with solid rubber wheels caked in clay. Adrienne and I can appreciate his artistry for what it is. 

Another option... Alaskan milled telephone poles. This really is beautiful wood. 

Is this a fine line, or am I a whiner? These are all 8 by 8's and they involve a lot of our principle joinery. Hence today's theme: what would Will do?