When I look at my product lines, wooden heart does not seem to fit in the grand scheme of my shop: solid, flat things in the hollow, rounded world.  But it is there for a reason: it was the first thing I made out of wood, as toys for my daughter to play with. I cut them out of colorful woods, took great care to round off all sharp edges, hand sand them down until they feel silky smooth.

My daughter loved to play with them, for awhile, then moved on to different toys. In the while, I did the same. I moved from a wood collector to a wood turner, from hobbyist to a shop owner. 

I remember on a particular Valentine Day (back when I still made a fuss out of it) I went out of my way searching for a rustic, natural looking wooden heart as a Valentine gift. I couldn't find it anywhere so I had to settle for a metal one (that was pre-Internet, pre-Amazon, pre-Google, pre-Ebay, pre-Etsy time). That incident prompted me to make keychains out of a few hearts and offered them along with my other turnings.

I was surprised to see that there is a demand for them. So, once in awhile, I make a batch. Those hearts are labor intensive, with a lot of hand sanding, filing down what's left of my finger nails in the process. It's not exactly my favorite activity, but there is great satisfaction to transform something that look like this:

to this:

Then, for the love of my daughter, I made hearts. Now, for the love of woods, I keep making hearts.

I used to think of poinsettias (Euphorbia pulcherrima) as small potted plants for Holidays decoration, with no consequent to a woodturner, whatsoever. Until one day, I received a solid block of it's wood, a perfect 4" cube, obviously cut out from even a larger block.

This piece came from Australia, via a wood exchange operation with a fellow wood collector (thanks, Vern!).  Looking at this large junk of wood, I know I have to revise my mental image of this "little house plant."  I jumped on the Internet, search for images.  Sure enough, the species can grow to very impressive size.  Interesting how technology and mass commercialization can warp ours perspective about the nature of things. But this wasn't the first time I see a poinsettia in a different light.  The first transformation happened a few years back in the lobby of a local hospital.

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It was Christmas time, the lobby was decorated with a large Christmas tree full of big red velvet bows and glittering gold strings. Cheerful red poinsettias in gold foil covered pots formed a ring around the base. I sat there in a comfy sofa, looking distractedly at people coming and going.

A red moving dot suddenly caught my eyes. It was a tiny poinsettia, in a small plastic pot, fit entirely in the palm of an old man. What struck me was the way the man held on to it, lovingly and protectively, as if it was the only poinsettia in the world. He bended over, holding it close to his chest, shielding it from the converging crowd, while shuffling into the crowded elevator.

The scuffy poinsettia looked so pitiful, compared to these gorgeous ones under the Christmas tree. But I immediately realize that is is indeed, the only poinsettia that matters at this moment. It will bring warm to a person's heart, not just sitting around, looking pretty. I bowed my head, and offered a silent prayer to whomever that man was visiting.

Poinsettia with Bocote cap

The "Fish Egg" tree (ca^y tru+'ng ca') was one of a few trees I have known and loved growing up. There was a very old one in the front yard of my elementary school. I remember walking to school extra early, just to collect the little red fruits falling all around the tree. Within the thin skin, there is a gel-like pulp filled with small, free floating yellow seeds, like fish eggs, hence the common name. I still remember the sweet taste, the distinctive aroma and the interesting texture of the sticky seeds rolling off my tongue.

And, of course, I remember looking up into that beautiful umbrella canopy of the tree, loaded with dangling red balls and dearly wish I could reach up and pick them right off. That wish must be very strong; for it had internalized somehow in my sub conscience and and resurfaced as recurrent dreams. In those dreams, I reach out and pluck the Fish Egg fruit, with intense excitement and satisfaction, tinted with apprehension and guilt. That what Eve must have felt when she yanked off that Forbidden Fruit!

Eve and the Forbidden Fruit

The frustrating thing is, for one reason or another, those dreams always ended before I have the chance to taste the fruit of my labor! May be that's why this dream keeps returning. Maybe some day, I will be able to eat the fruit in my dream.

Dreams aside, I have occasionally ran into that tree while traveling to the tropics. I always feel so happy when that happens, like running into old friends on the street. I make the point of reaching/jumping up and grabbing a fruit or two. I make sure I eat them, dust and all, right on the spot, all the while, feeling a bit embarrassed and silly.

Thanks to the limitless information on the Net, I had identified this obscure species as 'Muntingia calabura'. I even obtained a small piece of it's wood for my collection. The wood is plain, but "sweet dreams are made of these".  Chances are, you have already know this tree under a different name [Calabura, Jamaican cherry, Panama berry, Singapore cherry, Sabah cherry, Bajelly tree, Strawberry tree; (Spanish) bolaina, yamanaza, cacaniqua, capulín blanco, nigua, niguito, memizo or memiso; (Indonesia) kersen, talok; (Vietnamese) (cây) Trứng cá; and (Filipino) aratilis, and sarisa]. If you ever come across one, try a fruit for me, will ya.

Slim Box from Trung Ca and Mun Ebony cap