You know, sometimes an idea just lodges itself in your brain and won’t let go. That was me, last week, with ravens. Not like I’m suddenly a bird expert or anything. They just… appeared. Mentally, I mean. Started seeing them in my thoughts, or maybe I just started noticing actual ravens more when I was out and about. The universe has a funny way of poking you, doesn’t it?
I wasn’t about to go out and try to befriend one, of course. But I felt like I needed to do something with this raven idea. So, I remembered I had this old block of basswood stashed away in the garage, left over from some long-forgotten project. And a whittling knife I hadn’t picked up in what feels like a lifetime.
Getting started was, well, a bit clumsy. My hands aren’t as nimble as they once were, that’s for sure. The wood felt surprisingly tough, or maybe my knife was just duller than I remembered. Probably a bit of both. I must have spent a good hour just trying to get a basic bird-like shape roughed out. Kept muttering to myself, ‘This is going to look more like a lumpy potato than a raven if I’m not careful.’
There were a couple of times I nearly just tossed it in the bin. Even managed a tiny nick on my thumb – nothing dramatic, just enough to make me grit my teeth and say a few choice words. My dog, bless his heart, kept trying to ‘help’ by nudging my arm, probably thinking those wood shavings were some kind of new game. Typical.
But I stuck with it. Slowly, and I mean very slowly, something that vaguely resembled a bird started to take form. It wasn’t going to win any art competitions, let me tell you that straight. It was rough, a bit lopsided, definitely not sleek or polished. But it was mine, made with my own two hands.
And as I was working on it, sanding down the particularly rough edges, trying to get the curve of the beak to look somewhat intentional, I started thinking about what a raven actually represents. You hear all sorts, right? Intelligence, mystery, omens, all that folklore stuff. But for me, wrestling with this stubborn bit of wood, the raven started to mean something much more down-to-earth.
For me, it became about plain old persistence. Just sticking with something, even when it’s frustrating and you’re not entirely sure how it’ll turn out. That little wooden bird, sitting on my desk now, it’s a reminder of that. You just gotta keep chipping away, even if you’re mostly making it up as you go along.
- It also became a bit of a lesson in expectations. You picture this perfect, sleek thing in your head, right? But what you actually create, well, it has its own character. And learning to appreciate that, the unique outcome of your effort, that’s a big deal. My wooden raven isn’t ‘perfect’ by any stretch, but it’s mine, flaws and all. It represents that whole journey of trying and just seeing what happens.
- And honestly? It represented a break. Just a simple act of making something tangible with my hands. No screens, no notifications, no urgent demands. Just me and a piece of wood. There’s something incredibly grounding and satisfying in that, something we don’t get enough of these days.
So, yeah, that’s what my little raven project ended up representing to me.
It’s not some grand artistic statement or anything. It’s just a small, slightly crooked wooden bird sitting on my shelf. But every time I look at it, I remember the feeling of just sticking with something, the feel of the wood shaping under my fingers, the quiet focus. Sometimes the simplest things, the ones you almost give up on, teach you the most, eh? Funny how that works.
