It's an ill Wind

Written by Gordon Smith

Just short of four years ago, in November 2021, a mature Oak tree in the grounds adjoining our house came down as a result of the prolonged strong Northerly winds of Storm Arwen.

There’s an old saying, dating back to the 16th century that says “it's an ill wind that blows no good" and essentially means that even in bad situations, there can be some positive outcomes. It is often used to suggest that a loss or misfortune can benefit someone in some way.

And so it was with this Oak tree. My neighbours and I had an abundance of limbs from the tree to saw and chop for firewood. But I simply couldn’t face the prospect of all of this magnificent specimen quite literally going up in smoke.

So, four of us decided to get some of the trunk “milled”, which means cutting the trunk, lengthways, into slabs which can be used to make furniture.

The milling is a skilled, but relatively quick, job which gave us plenty of wood to work with but was just the start of a very lengthy process. That’s because all of the timber is still full of moisture and needs to dry, or season, before it can be used.

There’s a rule of thumb that suggests that for each inch of thickness, the slab should be left to season for a year, so with the slabs being 2½ - 3 inches thick we stacked them so as to allow air to circulate through the pile and covered them to stop the sap simply being replaced by rain water.

Fast forward to July 2025 and the slabs have been transformed from this to this...

... with, I hasten to add, the help of a friend, John, way more skilled than I at woodwork.

Aside from making you jealous of my new tabletop, what’s the point of such as tale? Well, it struck me that there are parallels to be drawn between this and life or our life’s experiences.

Firstly, there is the cycle of life. I don’t know how old the tree was, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say around 100 years. A good innings, you might say.

It was still very healthy though, and it was only the prolonged winds coming, unusually, from the North that brought about its untimely demise.

Most of the smaller pieces of wood have been burned and will be finding their way, in one form or another, back to mother earth and the natural elements. And I rather like the thought that the table I now have, was fashioned, and can be seen in all its new glory within sight of the place of its birth and decades of growth, out of my front window.

As well as that though, and within the same timescale since Arwen, I have experienced personal loss and there is, I think a parallel between the seasoning of the wood and grief.

I’m not a fan of the phrase “time is a great healer”, because it’s often said by people who don’t fully understand how thick your slab of grief is. How could they?

But I do think it’s reasonable to think that the more mature the relationship, the longer it might be before what’s left behind to work with can be fashioned into something to be cherished.

There is no rule of thumb for how long the grieving process should last, nor what level of moisture content, typically tears, is acceptable.

I’m confident though, that like my rather beautiful tabletop, with patience and the appropriate level of care, coupled with the support of good friends, I can, one day, appreciate something new while still honouring the beauty and magnificence someone taken too soon.