Soul in the Wood

My granddad came to Americay in 1894
Third class trip on a crowded ship, he left that Galway shore
Saved his pay, made his way into North Caroline
Where he handmade chairs in the Piedmont air out of that tall white pine

He’d climb up a holler for a fistful of dollars and his long handled ax would chop
An oak or beech that his arms could reach then he’d haul it back to his shop. He said
I love this land and the fact that a man earns a living for an honest trade
And there’s soul in the wood and it sure feels good working with my hands all day

My daddy put away eight hours a day in the Thomasville factory
On black walnut he’d measure and cut for cupboards and cabinetry
He spent 44 years an entire career putting handles and knobs on doors
A coat of varnish so it wouldn’t tarnish then he’d send it to the furniture store

Our Dust Bowl years saw nary a tear, there was bread on the table he made
He stood strong and proud and his voice boomed loud when he’d wink with a grin and say
I love this land and the fact that a man earns a living for an honest trade
And there’s soul in the wood and it sure feels good working with my hands all day

It’s my turn now but the plants shut down from Hickory to Lexington
Now your Lazy-boy comes from Hanoi and your sofa from old Saigon
Then they had an idea to build an Ikea in the heart of the Old North State
All the downsizing and globalizing sealed the local industry’s fate

But with frets and strings and a neck that sings out a flattop guitar sound
There’s no assembly line so I make my dime playing gigs from town to town
‘Cause I love this land and the fact that a man earns a living for an honest trade
And there’s soul in the wood and it sure feels good working with my hands all day