In the late Summer months of 1992, I had the privilege of working a few days for Clay Chapman. He was building a barn near Zebulon, GA and asked if i would like to help him for a few days before Fall semester at college started back. I am sure I was mostly dead-weight on the work-crew and maligned more than a few nails and defenseless 2x6's, but it was a great couple of days working with a genius craftsman in rural Georgia. Many years later I was able to pen this poem, a reflection on those few days. Thank you, Mr. Chapman. My apologies to the nails and lumber! And if you have yet to taste a sun-ripened scuppernong, I suggest you do so in the very near future.
Workday
e.m. moulton
august 2004 for Clay Chapman
said to be out of town
and in the country
building something useful a barn
a workhouse a life
somewhere near Zebulon GA
somewhere in a fresh mown field
said to be making our way
with saw-blades and hammers
and wood planks
it was our whole lives lived in one span
in one day inside the upside-down
45° angle cuts chattering hammers
and smoke from a burning scrap heap
said to have met the day’s design
and said to have been ahead by one wall
and a raised truss on the east end
that seemed to wait patiently to be dressed
determined not to fret the night away
said to be cooling in the shotgun hallway
of the farmhouse lighted by the open front door
and lined by the sound of steel guitar and vocal streams
from crackling vinyl-
we were awake and still and alive
inside saw-dusted red skin
said to be close to evening by then
riding home full (it is like grace to make full now)
and spent with the scent of the world in summer
while holding a fistful of ripened scuppernongs
from vines off the county road
e.m. moulton
august 2004 for Clay Chapman
said to be out of town
and in the country
building something useful a barn
a workhouse a life
somewhere near Zebulon GA
somewhere in a fresh mown field
said to be making our way
with saw-blades and hammers
and wood planks
it was our whole lives lived in one span
in one day inside the upside-down
45° angle cuts chattering hammers
and smoke from a burning scrap heap
said to have met the day’s design
and said to have been ahead by one wall
and a raised truss on the east end
that seemed to wait patiently to be dressed
determined not to fret the night away
said to be cooling in the shotgun hallway
of the farmhouse lighted by the open front door
and lined by the sound of steel guitar and vocal streams
from crackling vinyl-
we were awake and still and alive
inside saw-dusted red skin
said to be close to evening by then
riding home full (it is like grace to make full now)
and spent with the scent of the world in summer
while holding a fistful of ripened scuppernongs
from vines off the county road
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