When I was a young boy, around 12, I found this stick in the garden of a house we lived at. I was obsessed with it, and would pretend it was a wizard wand, a weapon, a gift from Zeus or whatever I felt like on the day. I used to keep it in random spots in my room and for some reason I just loved it. My mother was always trying to get rid of it, thinking I was just collecting rubbish and didn’t understand. Once it almost got thrown away and I fished it out of the pile of things to be disposed of, and rescued my favourite stick, much to her chagrin.

We moved house a couple of times after, and I always kept the stick in a box or in my wardrobe, even into my twenties. Then I bought my own place and the stick came with me here too, and I started spending more and more time woodworking and woodcarving, learning along the way. I decided it was time to treat this stick with the respect it deserved, and gave it a good sanding to a ridiculous level of smoothness, followed by a couple of oiling sessions to bring out the grain and nourish the wood somewhat.

It’s just a stick, and nothing particularly beautiful to look at, but for me it signifies my first interest in wood, in respecting what nature gives us, and holding on to something that gave me joy for so long. Whenever I see it, it reminds me of good times, being carefree and much younger, and is one of the oldest things I’ve held on to. It’s weird how a bit of tree can make us so happy, but it’s equally wonderful too. Just wanted to share!