The west coast is shrouded in forest, and the beaches are scattered with driftwood; big logs, backed three to five deep, high on the beach, many the careless discards of human industry as the old growth forests were irreplaceably ravaged during the fifties and sixties. I didn’t know this then. But I knew the logs; Douglas fir, sitka spruce, hemlock, red and yellow cedar and western maple, and I could identify them by their colour and texture. Rough or smooth, new and still golden brown, bearing scattered patches of bark, or aging, bleached towards white or grey by sun and salt, they wandered with each rain-lashed winter storm, from beach to beach. Piled and pushed sufficiently high up the shingle by the season’s last big waves, the logs would remain as the weather turned to summer

Most of our houses were made of wood. The timber home that my parents built for themselves was a short walk from the beaches where I spent most of my free time. We children climbed among the logs, built forts under them, and if one could gather enough friends to roll a couple of the smaller logs down the beach, a raft could even be made! Drift timbers; new or ragged 2x4’s or 2x6’s, or even big flat boards, for fort walls and raft crossbars, could always be found. A fortune in wood, by today’s reckoning, was to be had. Most of it came from barge spills, or was lost in loading, or was dumped as construction trash. Sometimes, more rarely, we would find exotic pieces of hardwood brought by ocean currents all the way from Asia. Worn grey and unprepossessing on the outside, when taken home and set to the table saw, they showed red, gold, or chocolate brown, with wondrous grain patterns and unfamiliar scents. I was commanded to find and bring home what I could of these riches, because my Dad built sailboats.

I was always underfoot in his basement workshop, and fortunately he was patient with me. I loved the hiss of a plane along yellow cedar, and plugged my ears against the screech of the table saw as it cut through plywood. I learned to use all the tools: the handsaw, bit and brace, the noisy table saw, the chisels, planes, drawknives, and even the rather scary big adze. I rummaged among the brass screws, copper and bronze boat fittings, plain nails and screws kept for household projects. I watched as my Dad chiseled and filed rigging cleats and ‘knees’ from hardwoods, often from ones I found on the beach. The shop walls were lined with tools acquired during Dad’s English pre-war shipyard apprenticeship — and on the “Clyde.” In those days there were still old hands that had learned their craft building the last of the square-riggers, at the end of the era of the sailing ships. Dad made practical smaller boats of his own design, with elegant lines and little ornament, but built to work. In our basement the scent of new boats filled the air.

He used clear Douglas fir plywood, which was immensely strong, and mountain yellow cedar with wood smooth and golden as butter, and red cedar from the massive feathery trees all around us at sea level, the wood crisp and so resistant to decay. I still have some balks of cedar today, that I split back then from logs on the beach, with a Swede saw and wedges. Cedar splits so well, but you want to minimize damage to the saws from the salt and grit that is always pounded into beach logs.

Red cedar was the material used by the west coast aboriginal peoples in all aspects of their lives. It was soft enough to be worked with stone, antler or beaver teeth, long before iron was brought to the new world. Easily split into huge planks for houses, or into smaller ones to steam-bend into boxes, cedar was the wealth of a great culture. It was my high school art teacher who told me on a museum field trip, ‘This is world class sculpture’! I knew he was right. This was and is, art that could proudly represent humanity anywhere. I am lucky to have had such a high standard of workmanship as a backdrop to my world, a design language made to be used and lived with, to enhance both the everyday and the spiritual aspects of life.

When I was young, I collected wood everywhere, and in my teens I wanted to learn traditional carving, but ironically, I could not find any teachers. Life took me down other paths for a long time; usually paths made of too much concrete and metal. But I always favoured wooden furniture, kept my stash of wood for ‘someday, just in case’, and always carried my tools with me. I have learned many things over the years, and to my surprise some of them have brought me nearer to where I always wanted to be, even if not by the path I had expected. Carving isn’t the only thing I want to do, but I hope I will continue to put my stash to good use.

click on any doll to see a larger view

I would really like to see more modern Canadian doll artists making wooden dolls. Wood is part of our heritage, and so beautiful, but it can often feel inaccessible. There are all those unfamiliar terms, and so many tools and skills seem to be needed. Also there’s the “guy/girl thingy”; a wood-shop is so traditionally a male territory. Fortunately, these days, there are more ladies learning to design and work in wood all the time! So, if you would like to make wooden dolls, there are two ways to go. Your first option is to team up with some woodworker you know, who is looking for a new project. He or she, can make, or partially make, the wooden parts of your doll, and then you can finish, paint and dress it. Your second choice is to do it all yourself — yes you can! Keep in mind that the first try at anything really new requires simplicity, and somewhat lower expectations, since the final results can be a tad wide of the mark. Expect to ‘enjoy’ stumbling through a few repeats of some partsof the same project before the ‘I’ve got it!’ kicks in. But you will see, even a somewhat wobbly wooden doll tends to have a rich charm.