The Old Wall Stud

At a shoot this week I recorded someone sawing through an old stud in a house built probably more than 50 years ago. The wood was brittle and grey with age. When it fell to the ground I walked over to it as a joke and picked it up. “Thank you, dear stud,” I said as a joke, “you have served us well.”

Then I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been there in that house, quietly doing its part to hold it together. When you stop to consider what is the nature of even the simplest things, it’s often more than your mind is ready for. I wondered out loud, “When was the seed planted for this wood?” The girl who sawed through it paused with a far off look in her eyes and simply said, “Wow.”

The truth is, I interacted with that wood during one phase of its journey, and there’s no way of knowing how close to the end of it we are. I’ll never touch that piece of wood again. And what will happen to it? Maybe it will be collected and repurposed into a side table and sold on Etsy. Maybe it will be burned in a campfire in a few years while a child roasts a s’more on its flame. Maybe it will be buried and rot into the earth. The possible outcomes are infinite. What is certain is that it will change.

Everything is in transition, is on a journey. Not everything that seems like the end really is.

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