Hard headed. That is what Willard called me almost every time we were at carving together. It was always funny to me because it was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. But despite that we butted heads quite often we got along really well. I was pretty shy when I first started carving with Willard and the other carvers. He helped me get through the adjustment period of thickening my skin and giving as well as I got. But as much as we all poked fun at each other there was a strong sense of friendship. Willard taught me so much over the years. Willard liked to talk. Talking was willards true art form. He wove tails from his younger days that used to fascinate me and have me wondering how in the world this man talking to me did all those things. I used to think that Willard could talk the arm off an armadillo. When ever I could get a word in I would get a quick reply followed by more talk. Sometimes I swear that he was not taking a breath as he spun yarns about how much money he got for one of his carvings or how he would set up a table in a parking lot and sell his carvings while Marie was in the store shopping. Or how he would find woodcarving supplies left on his doorstep. He told stories about selling old civil war objects at a little store when he was young. He wished that he had kept some of them. He talked about his wife and his kids and grandkids. He loved them and was proud of them all. I'm going to miss my carving buddy terribly. I will remember him always. Especially when I hear the words hard headed.
Thursday June 1, 2017 at 10:30 pm