- Published: Sunday, 28 January 2007 00:00
January 28, 2007
I once knew an old man who saved everything that might have an eventual use, especially old lumber and nails. He’d tear down old fences or sheds, and rip out the nails with a claw hammer. The nails squeaked as he pried them from the dry, gray wood, weathered by years of sun and rain. The man would work steadily through the heat, sweating but never slowing, dropping each nail into an old coffee can. When he’d finished sorting and stacking the wood, he’d turn to each nail, and hammer it straight as it would go.