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Today was my grandfathers birthday. I've been thinking about him a lot lately. He passed away less than a year ago. He was a rather unique character and I miss him dearly.
He was the last of a dying breed. He made his money from the land. Worked extremely hard for everything he ever had and was very old fashioned.
He was born in 1927 in Tampa Florida. When he was a little boy of 3-4 his father passed away. His mother remarried not too long after that. My great grandfather Woody worked for the city of Tampa and on the weekend he built Black Cypress furniture by hand in the back yard. That's where my grandfather learned his trade.
My grandfather grew up into this and it's all he ever really did. He worked some odd construction jobs, but mainly he built cypress furniture by hand and traveled all over the southeast and eastern seaboard selling it. He could sell an Icebox to an Eskimo and he actually made a good living doing this. He supported his wife and six kids with his hands and sweat.
This was a very hard life actually. Cypress grows in swamps. The only way to get it is to go into the swamps and cut it down, then drag it out. Most of the times he would harvest the cypress illegally from state or govt land. That means sometimes he would have to park his truck up to a mile a way from the swamp. He would drag the cypress switches through the snake and gator infested swamps all the while fighting mosquitoes and yellow flies. The old timer was actually bit a few times by cottonmouths over the years spent in the swamp. Imagine how fucked up that must be? Bit by a snake in the swamp to lay up sick for weeks in agony fighting the poison.
Another crazy thing about all this, that is totally unheard of these days is my grandfather never paid a penny of state or govt taxes or social security. I imagine not too many people can say this now a days. It really fucking blows my mind to think of this.
Here is a set of his cypress furniture that's on my porch. This stuff is at least 20 years old and it's screams "Old Florida". It's not very comfortable to sit in, but it's an heirloom and I will cherish it forever.
He was the last of a dying breed. He made his money from the land. Worked extremely hard for everything he ever had and was very old fashioned.
He was born in 1927 in Tampa Florida. When he was a little boy of 3-4 his father passed away. His mother remarried not too long after that. My great grandfather Woody worked for the city of Tampa and on the weekend he built Black Cypress furniture by hand in the back yard. That's where my grandfather learned his trade.
My grandfather grew up into this and it's all he ever really did. He worked some odd construction jobs, but mainly he built cypress furniture by hand and traveled all over the southeast and eastern seaboard selling it. He could sell an Icebox to an Eskimo and he actually made a good living doing this. He supported his wife and six kids with his hands and sweat.
This was a very hard life actually. Cypress grows in swamps. The only way to get it is to go into the swamps and cut it down, then drag it out. Most of the times he would harvest the cypress illegally from state or govt land. That means sometimes he would have to park his truck up to a mile a way from the swamp. He would drag the cypress switches through the snake and gator infested swamps all the while fighting mosquitoes and yellow flies. The old timer was actually bit a few times by cottonmouths over the years spent in the swamp. Imagine how fucked up that must be? Bit by a snake in the swamp to lay up sick for weeks in agony fighting the poison.
Another crazy thing about all this, that is totally unheard of these days is my grandfather never paid a penny of state or govt taxes or social security. I imagine not too many people can say this now a days. It really fucking blows my mind to think of this.
Here is a set of his cypress furniture that's on my porch. This stuff is at least 20 years old and it's screams "Old Florida". It's not very comfortable to sit in, but it's an heirloom and I will cherish it forever.
Lots of good memories though.
I might have to spear a fish in the creek for dinner.
