A Maker Of Walking Sticks

Last night I worked to remove a grey residue, on part of a walking stick, that I had made out of a fallen branch, found
between First and Second Beach, on the shores of English Bay. I am happy to say, this stick is now streamlined, with only the
rich dark brown colour of its bark...purposely left on...showing...and its grey vanished at last. I like the way this stick feels
in my hand...not too light...not too heavy...not too short...not too long...but just right. You want a walking stick to look good...but how it feels in your hand...that for me is central to what makes a good one. Carrying such a stick in my hand...
became a habit...as I became an avid walker...when I moved to the West Coast...with its many walking trails...some by
beautiful vistas of ocean and mountains. Carrying a walking stick...has nothing to do with my sporting a handle bar
moustache or a bowler hat...for me...it is something organic and ancient...a human being out walking with a stick...as if it were a natural extension of his hand. Far from the halls of fashion...millions across the world...from tribesman to villager
have done so... through the ages...following a kind of tactile and kinesthetic logic...as their sticks twirl in the air or touch the
ground...while their feet keep walking. For me... carrying a walking stick in my hand...gives me a purposeful feeling...and
helps me to celebrate my frequent walks. When I became a walker...I was already a maker of songs and poems...never
dreaming that my walking would take me to one of its natural progressions...which was to become...a maker of walking
sticks.....................Quester.