The Elm and I
Some woodworkers might disdain the elm, but not the good people of Addison.
By Ken Textor
At the stop sign, I caught a whiff of the distinctive smell of fresh cut elm wood. Hanging heavily in the sultry early autumn air, the wood's odor is akin to a fully occupied cow barn -- an aroma most people don't particularly like. But to me the smell has a nostalgic tang that takes me back to an earlier time in my life. So instead of heading for Brunswick's Maine Street, I turned up the side street where the sweating arborist and his crew were working."You can take all of it for all I care," the arborist said when I asked if I could throw a chunk of Ulmus americanus in the back of my pickup.
