5B

“Uncle Zeb? Where are you?” I called into the sawdust filled, one room building that my uncle called his workshop. There was no reply. “Should I go in?” I thought to myself. I wasn’t sure whether I was allowed in Uncle Zeb’s workshop or not. My uncle was a carpenter, though I had no idea why anyone would choose this sweaty, dusty way of life. I called out again. After another minute of silence, I tentatively stepped across the threshold of Uncle Zeb’s building and looked around. I was in a dimly lit room. The walls were lined with shelves that exhibited unfinished toy cars, dollhouses, and even chairs. The shelves made a sort of hallway, though I couldn’t see what it led to because of the haze of sawdust. I quietly stepped further in, dodging the sharp corner of a wooden table. My uncle Zeb made all sorts of furniture for his extended family. At home, we had a table just like the one I had just passed. I called out once more to my uncle, and then walked past the hallway of shelves into the haze of sawdust.

I groped at the wall, feeling for a light switch. There! I touched a switch and activated it. Oops, I thought. That was the fan. Sawdust flew up into my face. I doubled over, coughing. When the fits subsided, I found myself gazing at rows and rows of gleaming tools. They were neatly organized according to size. Only then did I realize what my uncle was. Not a lowly woodcarver. He was a craftsman, an artist, and I was looking at the tools of his trade. Then I was shaken by a deep cough. “Hey there! Do you like my tools?” It was Uncle Zeb. I surveyed the shining tools and grinned at him. “Would you like me to show you how to use them, show you how to carve wood?” Touched, I nodded mutely. “Come on, then.” Uncle Zeb took me by the shoulder and we walked together to his worktable.