New Bark Canoe

"'Where the crooked knife was, the bark canoe was,' he said. 'People from Maine recognize the crooked knife. People from New Hampshire do not. All they knew was the drawknife. The God-damned drawknife–what a bummer.'" – McPhee, ...Bark Canoe







Nov. 1

Vaillancourt said he wanted to see every birchbark canoe still existence. He had read of them up in Quebec, one that the author had seen hanging on a wall at a resort in Maine, and said it was on his list to see and that they should embark on a spring journey. The author, McPhee, a canoer since childhood, swooned, as he said, like a drunk at the prospect. Part of it all was the dedication to the craft. Henri might be seen by five in the morning out there chipping away some potential piece, looking out over the lake, a loon in the distance making its eerily ancient cry. He did much of his work by whim, this art, and simply eyeballed like a great painter certain measurements because he knew and understood the potential elasticity of the materials. Part of it was to serve as a corrective to misinformation about many of the existing canoes. That had to be part of it. Any thing that is a native craft is subject to the possibility of limited true and traditional instruction, understanding, so that many canoes might be out there in the world incorrect information behind it, wrong tribe, wrong distinguishing features, so why not get it right. Another part is the investment in the canoes themselves as they become, we learn, something like family members, part of a great chain legacy of care and creation. Wouldn't you want to see the three cousins you never met? You read of Henri, and you read for the style of McPhee, and it is a revelation in considering the difference between this entire life dedicated to the process of laying hands on trees for the sake of things that will live along while and that are useful, and all the things that we spend our hours on nearing 2020. As real crafts and trades do disappear, it must be remembered that it is far easier to make claim that they are outdated, hokey, silly, and tag down the phrase onto them, 'who has time for such things?' As we get far enough away from being capable of uniting time and purpose in culture, the equation becomes sheer irony. The more urgent question becomes, 'who doesn't need, more than ever, the time to put something together?' The difference between these two responses is only one thing, just like any other...do it, then it becomes the thing you want to do.