The New Studio

It has been almost a year since we moved out of our old facility to set up shop in our new studio. The previous post tells some of this story.

There is no question that a tremendous amount of work goes into moving a woodworking shop such as this, because the effort involves not only the transport of many tons of heavy machinery but also the moving and storage of tens of thousands of square feet of wood.

Some significant preparation had be done, ranging from 3-phase electrical work to pouring reinforced slabs to take the weight of some of the heaviest machines.

A copper penny from 1967 was embedded into this concrete slab, because that is the year our family business was established. The thirteens in the date are a lucky coincidence, because 13 is a lucky number.

The process of growing our shop smaller also compelled us to come to terms with almost 50 years worth of paperwork and old records that were stored away in a 40′ container. I personally spent several weeks sorting through box after box of documents to determine what could be shredded and what was worth keeping.

Old job cards, drawings and related project information we decided to keep because, quite frankly, I enjoy having a historical record of all the custom work we have done over the years.

Some long forgotten bits of family history also surfaced in the course of doing this purge, and I was especially surprised to find the original copy of my father’s cabinetmaker’s certificate from when he graduated trade school in Holland.

At one end of the studio we set up our Casati veneer guillotine and Italpresse hot press.

This SCM sliding table saw has always been a work horse in our shop. The precision of this machine remains phenomenal, even after many decades of use.

Smaller machines such as this 900 lb. vintage Poitras bandsaw were mounted on heavy duty Shop Fox bases, to make them mobile and, thereby, more versatile.

Kevin’s bench is set up in a brightly lit corner, and a ‘Great Wall of Clampage’ has been created along one side. Although Bessey clamps have always been used predominantly in our shop, I truly had no idea how many we owned until they were all gathered together in one spot.

My own bench is surrounded by windows on two sides, with additional light coming from a large skylight located above.

My built-in desk from the old shop was reconfigured to fit the new space. The desk is made from Narra, and this wood actually comes from some of the very first trees to be sustainably harvested on the Solomon Islands in the 1990s. (The FSC was doing a beta test of its standards there at the time).

Fitted into the credenza behind my desk is customized storage for my collection of Fine Woodworking magazines.

The left side of this bookcase is actually a secret door that provides access to the hardware room located beyond. Of course, now that I’ve blogged about it the door isn’t much of a secret any more.

A narrow annex located on the far side of the building was converted into a dedicated area for wood turning and tool sharpening. Our vintage (pre Delta) Rockwell lathe seems right at home here, and it seems to bask in the glow of the light from the massive window.

We were recently asked if moving into this smaller studio has meant giving up some of our ability to do complex and finely detailed work. My reply was that the only thing that has changed is the physical size of our shop. During the planning stages of our move we made it our priority to ensure that our reputation for doing fine quality work was not going to be compromised.

To illustrate this point, the photo below is of a custom dining table that was delivered from our studio a few months ago. The top is polished Macassar Ebony, and it was made in one piece to a length of approximately 144″ long. The inlays are a combination of brushed and polished stainless steel.

Growth Redefined

Over the past 46 years our custom furniture making business has typically grown in slow, incremental steps. Today for the first time in almost half a century we have made the conscious decision grow our business smaller, and I can honestly say that I am pleasantly surprised at how good it feels.

In 2001 we moved into a large shop in Port Perry, Ontario that measured almost 13,000 sq. ft. in size.

The vast open space and high ceilings allowed us to create a magnificent facility that at its peak employed as many as 25 artisans working full time to build exquisitely crafted examples of fine quality wood furniture.

Times change, however, and in recent years it has become apparent that in order to remain viable in a now globalized world of craft it is imperative to radically lower operating costs and overhead structures. With that in mind we purchased a small studio in a rural location and set about to radically restructure our business model.

Thankfully all of our machines were already fully paid for, so the key decisions to be made revolved around which machines we would keep vs. which ones had to go. Over a dozen machines were either given away or carted off as scrap because, quite frankly, there is such a glut of old, used machinery on the market today that the secondary market for them is all but non existent.

Our Holz-her edgebander and SCM sander were sold, but only because we didn’t have room for them in the new studio. It was sad to see them go, because in many ways they had become like old friends.

Much of our inventory of vintage woods was crated and packed into containers, and moved to an offsite location for storage.

The best machines we decided to keep, with the result being that our tool collection has now been pared down to roughly two dozen pieces of equipment, ranging from a vintage 1940s Beaver cast iron bandsaw to an old but still productive Thermwood 5-axis machining centre.

There is no question that moving the machines into a smaller studio presented more than its share of challenges. But even when we only had inches of room to spare it was gratifying to be able to find a way to thread the proverbial needle with tons of heavy iron.


As you can see we are now officially moved out of our old facility.

Please note that our new address is:

Wiggers Custom Furniture Ltd.
P.O. Box 518
Beaverton, Ontario
L0K 1A0

705-426-9141

For the next few months it looks like we’ll be quite busy unpacking and setting up the new studio. Photo updates will follow at a later date.

Interior Woodwork for the Knight XV

In my previous post I described some work we recently completed for the Knight XV – a vehicle considered by many to be the world’s most luxurious armoured SUV.

Because it is difficult to convey a sense of scale about how big the Knight actually is, I thought the following photo of a Knight standing with a Hummer would do the trick.

A current special order for a Knight is being fitted with luxurious interior details, and for this project we were also commissioned to complete a set of custom wood fascias, bezels and trim pieces that are to be inlaid into an all leather interior.

These pieces were crafted from quarter cut Zebrawood and encapsulated in a poured resin finish. After many hours of meticulous hand sanding these pieces were then polished to a mirror-like sheen.

Custom Key Box for the Knight XV

The Knight XV is widely regarded as the world’s most luxurious armoured SUV.

Hand crafted by Conquest Vehicles of Toronto, Ontario these massive machines are exquisitely appointed all the way down to the presentation boxes that are provided for the delivery of vehicle ignition keys.

These boxes are milled out of solid billets of high grade aluminum, with the inlaid rivets on the lid intended to emulate the rugged design of the Knight’s exterior.

We were recently commissioned by Conquest to line the interior of these boxes with custom leather insets.

These insets were vacuum formed out of black Tuscany leather with concave pockets shaped to receive the key.

Lotus Flower Pattern to a Sunburst Top

We have just completed a custom Ellipse II dining table that is due for delivery next week.

The massive 72″ diameter top was made as a one piece sunburst, using flat cut natural Walnut.

I especially love how the radiating grain pattern of the top looks so much like the petals of a Lotus flower.

Aquaria Console – Curly Birds Eye Maple

This example of an Aquaria Console was recently sold to a private collector.

Measuring 42-1/2″ long x 10-1/2″ wide x 29-1/8″ high the apron and legs were constructed of Chestnut Curly Maple and fitted together using mortise and tenon construction. The single drawer at the end was made of dovetailed solid Maple.

Without question the focal point of this console is the spectacular grain pattern on the top, which has been crafted from a rare sampling of Curly Birds Eye Maple veneer that was stained and polished to a high sheen.

Maple is a common species of North American tree, and in rare instances some of these trees will yield unusual grain patterns such as Birds Eye or Curly. Experts are generally baffled as to why certain trees will exhibit this kind of graining, although the prevailing wisdom seems to be that some kind of disease or fungus is the cause.

In reality there are two differing conditions which cause these types of grain patterns to occur.

Curly (or Fiddleback) is the result of tree ring compression, and this most often occurs in trees that are exposed to winds which cause them to sway. This motion, in turn, causes ring compression on the side of the tree opposite the wind, and this manifests as a distinctive crossfire figure to the grain. It makes sense that this type of figure is usually found near the crotch and roots of a tree, since these areas are the ones which experience the most movement due to wind.

Birds Eye, on the other hand, is caused by stunted growth and two primary conditions must exist in order for this type of graining to occur. Namely, a Maple must be growing on the north-east slope of a hill and be closely surrounded by a dense cluster of other trees which compete with it for essential nutrients, moisture and sunlight.

About 15 years ago, during a visit to one of my vendors, I was shown an unusual log of Maple that had both Curly and Birds Eye grain patterns melded together. Although the graining looked spectacular my supplier felt bewildered as to how to sell the log, since it was too Curly to be sold as Birds Eye, and had too much Birds Eye to be sold as Curly.

Needless to say I bought the log without hesitation, since it was too unusual and beautiful to be left behind. Although I had no current project for which to use this wood, I decided to squirrel it away in my core stash of rare woods for use on a select pieces down the road.

To this day this log of Curly Birds Eye is the only example of this type of grain pattern I have ever seen.

It’s unlikely that a log of this calibre and scarcity will ever appear again.

Strong Evidence That Trees Do Have a Higher Intelligence

The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) is an international not-for-profit organization that was founded in 1993 by environmental groups such as Greenpeace, The Sierra Club and World Wildlife Fund. Its mandate is to protect the world’s forests through globally recognized principles of responsible forest stewardship.

Between 2000 and 2004 I served on the board of FSC Canada in a variety of roles, including Treasurer and Chair. In that time I was privileged to meet people with a divergent range of perspectives that were all connected, in one form or another, to trees and forests.

The people I met ranged from industry executives to environmentalists; government bureaucrats to members of NGOs (non-governmental organizations); social activists, trade unionists, hunters, trappers, biologists, loggers, scientists, and a variety of indigenous peoples who all relied on the forest to some degree for their culture, livelihood and spirituality.

Because FSC is regarded globally as the most comprehensive forum where all of these diverse voices can be heard, it makes sense that a tremendous amount of unique information relating to trees and forests can be found there.

During my tenure on this board I learned many fascinating things about the forest and the broader natural world, none the least of which was the fact that there seems to exist a form of higher intelligence within the natural world that defies any kind of scientific explanation.

Most of us already know that in the frigid coastal waters of the Pacific Northwest there is an annual event taking place that is known as the salmon run. Every year many hundreds of thousands of salt water salmon – having grown to maturity in the far reaches of the Pacific Ocean – instinctively take it upon themselves to migrate hundreds of miles to the very rivers from which they themselves originally came.

Having found the mouths of the rivers of their birth, these fish then begin a long battle upstream against raging currents of water that cascade down from the snowmelt of the surrounding mountains. While fighting this current these salmon must simultaneously dodge gauntlets of hungry bears who have come to depend on this annual protein-rich feast of fish in order to fatten up for the long winter hibernation that lies ahead.

Those salmon that succeed in overcoming the river and the bears earn themselves the right to lay and fertilise eggs on the pebble bottoms of the upstream riverbeds. Having completed their task these salmon then die and complete their cycle of life at almost the precise spot where they themselves we born several years earlier.

For many years foresters and biologists have studied this dynamic and developed theories on the possible connections between the salmon and the surrounding forest. Why, for example, were the trees closest to the river bigger and stronger than similar trees of similar age growing a mere hundred yards away?

What scientists discovered was that when a bear caught a salmon in the river, it would typically haul that salmon into the nearby line of trees. This would allow them to feast in a place that was concealed from their hungry competitors. In their haste to fatten up for the winter these bears would focus on eating the protein-rich eggs and brain matter of the fish – leaving the rest of the carcass to rot in the forest.

The simple theory that resulted was that these decaying fish became fertilizer for the nearby trees and plants. To scientifically prove and measure this theory, the scientists isolated a protein that was unique to the salmon species. This protein became identified as the N-15 protein marker.

The theory went on to speculate that by measuring the vegetation alongside salmon streams for the N-15 protein marker, it would be possible to verify not only that fish protein was feeding the trees, but also how much of that protein was making its way into the trees. And by taking core samples and measuring the amount of N-15 protein in each layer of tree rings, it would also be possible to compile a historical record of the size of salmon runs in previous years.

This type of study held considerable fascination for many people connected to the forest industry because of the unique and close interconnected relationship that exists between bears, rivers, trees and salmon in this rather complex dynamic.

The bears, for example, depend on the salmon directly as a source of food, and on the river indirectly to deliver the salmon, and the trees to provide cover. The salmon, in turn, rely on the river as a means of transport and as a place to spawn their young. The salmon also depend on large and healthy shoreline trees to provide the necessary shade to keep the river water cool, because warm water kills eggs. In addition bears help the salmon by culling weaker fish from the spawning run, thereby ensuring healthier and stronger future offspring.

The river relies on healthy trees and other ground vegetation to prevent silt from clogging its beds. The trees, in turn, were found to have a more complex and dynamic role within this larger equation.

It is obvious, for example, that the trees rely directly on the bears to deliver the fish from the river to the surrounding forests. Trees, however, are not carnivores and cannot digest meat. Therefore, scientists began to study the process that converts fish protein into tree fibre.

What they discovered was that there are tiny microbes living in the soil near the root base of trees, and these microbes break down the decaying fish carcasses into a manner that is digestible by trees. This reconstituted form of fish protein is then delivered by the microbes to nearby tree rootlets and these rootlets, it turn, make a barter transaction with the microbe of a droplet of tree sugar in exchange for the delivery of partially digested fish protein.

In this manner the tree receives the food it needs in order to thrive along the river’s edge. By using the barter transaction the tree rewards the microbe with the sugar droplet the microbe needs for its own survival. The microbes, after all, can only live on tree sugars and not fish protein.

While this dynamic is fascinating in its own right, there is one key aspect of it that utterly boggles the mind. In studying the relationship between trees and microbes, the scientists decided to monitor the flow levels of sugars within tree root systems. This idea developed from the theory that the levels of tree sugar production within the tree would probably ebb and flow in direct proportion to the amount of partially digested salmon protein the tree would be bartering for with the soil microbes.

What scientists discovered was astounding. While the levels of tree sugars did, in fact, ebb and flow in direct proportion to the amount of salmon protein that was being transacted, the stunning discovery was that the levels of tree sugars started to rise while the salmon were still hundreds of miles out to sea. And the level of tree sugar production would also fluctuate in direct proportion to the size of the run.

What this means is that on some mysterious and completely unexplained level the trees seem to know in advance – almost telepathically – not only when the salmon are starting their spawning run, but also how many salmon are due to arrive. Clearly there is some form of higher communication, or consciousness, at work that enables a tree to intuitively sense the instinctive behaviours of another life form hundreds of miles away.

Diana Beresford-Kroeger alludes to this as well in her latest book “The Global Forest” when she points out the interconnection between the great forests of the global garden and the invisible forests of the oceans. In a separate chapter Diana also talks about silent sound, and how trees communicate by infrasound.

What all this makes clear is that we, as human beings, have generally very little understanding of the true interrelationships that exist between and within all forms of life on this planet.

To paraphrase the words of Black Elk: “What we do not understand, we fear. And what we fear, we destroy.” Given the collapse that is currently taking place amongst stocks of wild Pacific salmon, and the rampant deforestation that is obliterating many Northwest forests and salmon streams, it is clear that we humans are consistent on this latter point. We end up destroying what we fail to understand.

Remembering Todd Marckese

Today is February 29th, and it was exactly 8 years ago today that a friend and client by the name of Todd Marckese passed away at the young age of 38.

I first met Todd while exhibiting at the Chicago Design Show in 1998. At the time he was principal of Marckese Design Studio in Orlando, Florida. His client list was prestigious and his work was recognized in many design publications including Architectural Digest, Florida Design and Showboats International.

Todd was exploring the idea of branding his own furniture collection, and he asked if I might be interested in doing product development and prototyping with him. We exchanged business cards, but it would be almost 5 years before we spoke again.

When he called in the summer of 2003, Todd asked if I remembered our conversation in Chicago. I did, largely because of the unusual business card he left behind. Measuring just over 2 inches square this card stuck out both literally and figuratively. Todd laughed at my observation, pointing out that it was necessary to be different in order to be remembered.

Todd went on to say that he was working on an upscale residence and the project required many unique pieces of custom furniture. One of the pieces he required was a desk, but it came with the proviso that his clients had strong holistic inclinations and, therefore, a conventional desk would not work. This, ultimately, laid the groundwork for the Kidney Shaped Desk making the transition from concept to reality.

In the ensuing months Todd and I developed a symbiotic working relationship as we collaborated on several custom furniture pieces for this particular project. In tandem with this we also began to discuss his dream of creating his own furniture collection. Through our discussions I got the distinct impression that Todd’s greatest passion was designing furniture. He mentioned several times how much he disliked shopping for fabrics, flooring and wall treatments, but as an interior designer this was the proverbial necessary evil for him to have projects that also allowed him to design actual furniture.

It was during one of our lengthy conversations about design and following one’s bliss that I mentioned an inspirational book entitled “This Time I Dance“, by Tama J. Kieves. In the book there is a quote made by Tama that goes something like this:

“If you’re this successful doing something you don’t love, just imagine how successful you could be doing something you do love.”

After a long pause Todd suddenly said, “That’s it, man; I’m doing it.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

“The furniture collection. I’m doing it. I’m not putting it off any more.”

What was so shocking about his announcement was not that he had decided to move forward with making his collection, but that he was going to devote his full time and energy to it. And when I say he was committing to it full time, that meant he had simultaneously decided to shut down his flourishing interior design business in the fearless pursuit of his dream.

Up until this point the bulk of the correspondence between us had been via fax, email, or phone. In late December Todd flew up from Orlando to visit my shop for the first time. I was more than a little surprised to see him showing up in the middle of a Canadian winter wearing little more than open toe sandals.

“I always wear sandals” proclaimed Todd “No matter what.”

One morning as we were driving up to my shop we came upon a car stuck in the deep snow of a ditch. I pulled over to give the guy a hand getting out, assuming that Todd (who was barefoot in his sandals) would simply wait in the truck. Todd was having none of that, and within seconds he too was knee deep in snow helping me push the guy out.

When we arrived at the shop Todd was like a kid in a candy store. Wide eyed and excited there were several times when he simply wandered off to follow his curiousity, and I’d have no idea where he was until I heard his booming voice calling out “Oohhhh Mannnn, that is soooo Coool!!!” over something incredible he had come across. We had several productive days during that visit as we worked out the details of the prototypes for his furniture collection.

In the evenings Teresa and I would have Todd over to the house for dinner, after which Todd and I would spend several more hours talking about furniture and design over beer. Invariably it would be Boddingtons or Guinness for me, while Todd’s preference was for an English ale called Old Speckled Hen.

By February Todd’s prototypes were well under way, and he had arranged to have the pieces photographed with an avant-garde photographer by the name of Walter Singh.

In addition to finishing up his remaining commissions and winding down his interior design business at the same time, Todd ended up scheduling himself for a long awaited surgery.

On Saturday February 28th Todd was at home recovering from the surgery, and we were having a lengthy phone discussion to review the status of his furniture pieces. At one point he unnerved me by saying “Aw Man, I’m dying.”

“Don’t put that out there.” I remember saying. “What are you talking about anyway?”

“The pain” he lamented “It’s killing me.”

That ended up being the last time I ever spoke with Todd, because in the early hours of the following morning he passed away in his sleep. He died at the young age of 38, leaving behind his lovely wife Melissa, and two beautiful children: Landon and Ireland.

Although I had only gotten to know Todd over the previous few months, his passing affected me deeply. Without question Todd was an extremely talented designer who was also a visionary in many ways. But more than that he was an original; one who was both fearless and big hearted as an individual, and who absolutely adored his wife and children.

If there was any solace to come out of his passing it came from something Melissa said a few weeks after Todd died. She told me that in all the years she had known him she had never seen Todd as happy as he was in the last few months of his life as he was finally pursuing his dream. That made me all the more pleased with the decision I had already made to finish off his furniture pieces, so his dream could come to reality.

The images that follow are the first pieces Todd designed for his furniture collection. Todd carefully selected all wood grains and tones to draw emotion and consistency throughout the collection, creating a unique line that not only captures the eye artistically, but in a manner that is environmentally conscious as well. Never forgetting his roots, each piece is the namesake of beloved people, locations and memorable events from his home state, Michigan.

Baroda Cocktail Table: 48″ dia x 18″ high, in Zebrawood.

Hinchman End Table: 24″ x 24″ x 26-1/4″ high finished in Jacobean Oak.

Hinchman Throw Table: 17-1/2″ dia. x 20″ high, finished in Jacobean Oak.

Hinchman Console: 54″ x 15″ x 32-1/2″ high, finished in Jacobean Oak with natural Curly English Sycamore top.

Hinchman Desk: 60″ x 30″ x 30-3/8″ high, finished in Jacobean Oak with black Tuscany leather inset top.

Hinchman Desk: Rear View

Lakeshore Screen: 4 panels each measuring 95″ high x 19-1/2″ wide, finished in Ebonized Oak with Damask strapping.

Lakeshore Mirror: 95″ high x 19-1/2″ wide x 1-3/4″ thick, finished in Ebonized Oak.

Tiscornia Coffee Table: 60″ long x 16″ wide x 17″ high, finished in Jacobean Oak.

Landon Desk: 84″ long x 26″ wide x 30″ high, finished in Mappa Burl with inset of black Tuscany leather.

Landon Desk: Rear View

Ruhlmann Dining Table

The Ruhlmann Table is one of the oldest pieces in our furniture collection. Although it was designed and first prototyped in 1988, true credit for its inspiration must be given to Art Deco master Emile-Jacques Ruhlmann.

At the time we first made this table we were working with a New York based furniture designer by the name of Ron Seff.

Ron shared our love for Ruhlmann’s classic lines, and he specifically deserves credit for fine tuning the actual shape of the elliptically curved legs.

By no means is this design an attempt to copy anything ever created by Ruhlmann. In fact, any such effort could never amount to anything more than a copy of the original anyway. But given the influence it is only fair that Ruhlmann be acknowledged.

The dining table as shown measures 84″ long x 44″ wide x 29″ overall height. It is crafted from Curly English Sycamore, and inlaid with ebonized line details and medallions. The ebonized ends extend to receive 24″ leaves, making this table ideal for hosting large gatherings.

Custom sizes and shapes, as well as alternative woods and finishes, are readily available.

A Visit With the Hopi

One night in the late 1990s I had an incredibly vivid and powerful dream. It happened with such profound clarity that I could have sworn it was real.

In the dream I was standing on an open plain that was completely barren for as far as the eye could see. Far off in the distance was a range of mountains with low, flat peaks. I had the sense that I was standing somewhere in the desert of the American Southwest.

The ground beneath my feet was absolutely arid and dry, and I could see deep cracks and fissures running in all directions. The earth was brittle and hard, and it crumbled audibly into tiny fragments with every step I took. I could smell the dryness of the dust as it wafted lazily in the stillness of the desert air.

Standing to my right was an old Native American who seemed to be an elder of some kind. His face was weathered and deeply wrinkled, and his eyes had an expression of incredible sadness. There was a sense that he was tired and about to depart on a long journey. I had the impression that he had recently passed away.

Before leaving there was something important he had to tell me. He spoke softly and slowly in a low, deep voice with words I could not understand. The language was not English. Nor did it resemble any European language I am familiar with.

Raising his arm he gestured for me to look to the horizon. I could see silhouettes of animals in the distance, walking slowly in single file from left to right. There was a panther and a buffalo and many other species I cannot remember now. In some cases a predator walked behind prey, but all were walking calmly and deliberately in an orderly procession. There was a sense of balance to what I was being shown.

The silhouettes were all solid black, and within the heart area of each was a small ball of light. It seemed that this light within each represented their energy, or life force.

It was at this point I became aware that the animals were walking up to a great, old tree that stood alone on a very slight rise of land. Within this tree was a similar ball of light to that which was held in the animals, only this ball was much larger and much brighter. It was as if the Sun was positioned behind or inside this tree, and in some way maybe it was.

Looking back to the old man I could see he was now smiling. He seemed pleased to have been able to share something before going on his way. Before I could say a word, he turned and departed.

At this point the dream ended and I woke up.

Although it was the middle of the night the intensity of this experience jolted me fully awake. I immediately ran downstairs to turn on my computer. Surfing the Internet I looked up familiar names such as Black Elk, Geronimo and Sitting Bull. I was convinced that if I could find a photo I would recognise the man from my dream. But the effort was to no avail, because I never did find an image of anyone who resembled the one who spoke to me.

Nevertheless the experience stuck with me, so much so that several years later I commissioned wildlife artist Donna Bisschop to capture my memory of it to canvas.

What does the dream and this painting have to do with furniture making?

Absolutely nothing, but here’s where the story gets interesting.

While channel surfing one night in December 2006 I came across the popular television program ‘The Colbert Report’ . I tuned in near the end of Stephen Colbert’s interview with author Daniel Pinchbeck; with the two of them discussing Daniel’s then-latest book “2012 – The Return of Quetzalcoatl”.

Several weeks later I was discussing the book with friend, and we ended up talking a great deal about a Native American tribe called the Hopi. The Hopi live in the remote mesas of northern Arizona, and Pinchbeck mentioned them in some detail near the end of his book. Out of this discussion came the suggestion that since I was so interested in the Hopi maybe I should travel to Arizona to go see them.

I laughed and said that this was not going to happen, because I could not foresee any reason for ever having to travel to Arizona.

Then something strange happened. On the very next day my phone rings and it’s Lee Weitzman calling from Chicago. Lee had a client in Tucson with a problem they needed help with on a custom dining table we had made a few years earlier. (Apparently a housekeeper had tried to clean the table with abrasive cleanser, and now someone was needed to explain to a local cabinet shop the process of repairing the finish).

As much as I tried to explain the repair process over the phone the client was adamant that I travel to Arizona to deal with the matter personally. They had no qualms about paying for my time and travel expenses. As it turned out, for as much as I tried to talk my way out of making the trip, it soon became clear that I would have little choice but to go.

It was also now apparent that since I was travelling to Arizona anyway (thanks to a client willing to pay for the bulk of my travel expenses), there would be little in the way of added cost to extend my trip a few days for a personal side trip. That said, I decided to follow an intuitive hunch down the proverbial rabbit hole by planning a visit to the Hopi reservation as part of this journey.

I flew to Arizona and managed to resolve business matters by the morning of February 9th. I then made my way to Winslow, Arizona where I then took a 4-wheel-drive north into the desert. After first travelling through the Navajo reservation I ended up on the Hopi reservation by late afternoon.

After driving around and orienting myself with the area I eventually found myself in one of the most traditional of Hopi villages. In so doing I also ended up having a chance meeting with the eldest elder of the Hopi – a revered individual by the name of Grandfather Martin Gashweseoma.

Out of respect for Grandfather Martin and the Hopi I will not give much detail on what happened during my visit. I was asked not to take any photographs or make any sketches in and around the village, and I respected those requests. The only photographs I took were outside the village, and even those were taken with permission.

It is my understanding that many Hopi feel that their way of life has been exploited and misrepresented by non-Hopi such as myself – and not without reason. Therefore, I prefer to err on the side of caution and will share my story based on my own personal experience with what unfolded.

It was late in the afternoon of February 9th when I first met Grandfather Martin. He was busy gathering coal, and after a brief discussion he offered to let me stay the night in his home. I thanked him for the offer, but not wanting to impose on his generosity I said I’d find a place off reservation and return the next day.

“Be back before sunrise” he said.

That night I could barely sleep. I had just met a man considered by many to be the Native American equivalent to the Dalai Lama, and he had just welcomed me into his village. Not wanting to be late, or delayed for any reason, I checked out of my room by 3:00 a.m. and drove back to the reservation, where I parked on the side of the road outside the village to wait for the dawn.

Because this area is so remote, and there is absolutely no electricity or street lights (or streets for that matter) within the village itself, the darkness at night is more than palpable. It was literally and figuratively pitch black.

At some point a very faint glow of light began to appear on the distant horizon, and I knew that dawn was approaching. Not knowing the exact time of sunrise, and not wanting to be late, I set out on foot to make my way into the village. I used my memory of curves and laneways from the previous day to guide me to the main plaza – alongside of which Grandfather Martin’s home was located.

It felt strange to be a white man walking gingerly through the darkness of a Hopi village. On some level I felt like an intruder. As I got within yards of Grandfather Martin’s door I heard growls and something suddenly rushing at me out of the darkness. I didn’t know what it was or where it was coming from until it was right upon me.

Rez dogs – two of them. At first I thought they were attacking me, but thankfully they didn’t. I was then concerned that they’d start barking and waking the whole village, so to keep them quiet I started rubbing and petting the sides of their necks. Thankfully that worked because they loved the attention – so much so that they ended up coiling themselves so tightly around my legs that now I couldn’t walk anywhere.

So there I stood in the pre-dawn darkness – about 10 feet from Grandfather Martin’s door – hunched over and scratching the necks of 2 feral dogs who were determined to keep me standing exactly where I was. I didn’t dare stop rubbing their necks either, because at least what I was doing was keeping them quiet.

There was no light or noise coming from inside the home, so I also had no idea how much longer I’d have to wait.

After a long while the door opened, and Grandfather Martin peered outside. Seeing me there he beckoned for me to come inside. The dogs, it turned out, were his and he seemed pleased that they liked me.

What I soon discovered was that I had unexpectedly shown up on one of the most sacred days on the Hopi calendar. Known as Powamuya, this is a time of purification that culminates with a ceremony known as the bean dance. To describe it in simple terms: this celebration marks the return of the katsinam, who are the benevolent spirit beings who live among the Hopi for about a six month period each year.

In broader terms, and to use a sports analogy, it was as if I had shown up at a football stadium and discovered, quite by chance, that the Super Bowl was being played there that day. The fact that I was welcomed and invited into this elder’s home was the equivalent of receiving sideline passes to the 50 yard line.

The experience was magical beyond comprehension. Grandfather Martin’s home faces a main plaza, and as the day unfolded the bulk of the activity going on in the village was happening right out front. Inside the home was like a veritable Grand Central Station, with an ongoing feast and an endless stream of family, friends and other villagers constantly coming and going.

By far the most pleasantly haunting and treasured memories of that experience were the sights and sounds of the costumed Kachina dancers as they emerged from the underground kivas to slowly dance and weave their way down the dirt lane ways and into the central plaza. It gave me chills of awe to bear witness to ceremony that was probably the same as it has been for thousands of years.

I still get goose bumps every time I recall the memory.

But what impressed me and influenced me the most were the Hopi people themselves. As a stranger and a white man I had shown up unannounced in their village on one of their most sacred of days. Instead of being turned away I was treated as a welcomed guest. Although the material means of the Hopi were few, what little was there was shared generously.

The laughter and sense of humour amongst the Hopi was also a joy to behold, even though some of the loudest of laughs came at my own expense over what a Kachina dancer had done to my leg earlier in the day.

Given how busy things were with ceremonies etc. I had few opportunities to talk one on one with Grandfather Martin, although he did ask me to sit with him on a few occasions while dances were taking place.

Although this is impossible to prove and difficult to articulate I believe that people such as Grandfather Martin and other indigenous peoples such as the traditional Hopi are some of the last remaining people on this planet who retain a true sense of spiritual connectedness to the planet and the natural world.

Perhaps the best way to explain the magic surrounding my experience there is to show you the following photo. It was taken (with permission) near the village of Kykotsmovi. When you compare it to the painting of the dream (shown earlier in this post) you’ll likely notice some rather remarkable similarities.

What does it mean? An interpretation is anybody’s guess, but it’s quite possible that some would call this little more than a coincidence. However, as coincidences go I’d say this is a pretty good one.

In the grand scheme of things I believe that at some point in each of our respective lives we all get confronted with an unusual circumstances, or “coincidences”, to remind us that the world is not always as it seems.

On these occasions it is often prudent to trust our intuition rather than blindly heeding what commonly accepted “conventional wisdom” tells us to do.