From guacamole to eternity

Years before he planned to retire from the aerospace industry, my husband figured out how he would spend his time. He planted and tended avocado trees here on his acres in Carpinteria. His idea was to provide the corn chips of our nation with great vats of guacamole to dip themselves in.

Unfortunately, the trees were ravaged by fungus, a drought sent the price of water to irrigate them soaring, a freeze denuded the leaves and every year, the price of fruit sagged. What a shame! A long, tall guy like Don — who doesn't need a ladder to prune and pick — belongs in an orchard.

He had lavished too much work, water and fertilizer on his trees to simply cut them down and burn them as firewood. He threatened to write a book entitled: 101 Ways to Lose Money on Avocados. It was discouraging to watch the leather-green leaves drop to the ground. Bare limbs and stumps marched up and down our hillside.

One day, when I walked into the garage he had a wild look in his eye and brandished an ax. He sounded just like a mugger as he ordered me: "Put your arms up in the air. Reach! Higher! There." He then turned to attack a former tree trunk with his blade. He studied the way my back looked when I raised my arm, nodded, and gave me permission to leave.

Eventually, the torso of a long, lean, Modigliani-type nude emerged from the tree trunk. He dubbed her "Venus de Avocado." He was delighted with the results. He says he found the wood to be soft enough to carve easily, yet its finished surface resembled hardwood. He explained that it didn't have many knots and its honest grain led him to carve along interesting contours. A variety of birds, animals, human torsos, musical instruments — even an abstract totem pole — took new life from the dead trees.

In his former life, when he worked as a mechanical engineer, he designed latches and rotary actuators for the space shuttle; he also planned machinery that moved luggage into the holds of airliners. He utilized that talent for visualizing three-dimensional concepts when he designed his sculptures. His mechanical ability also came in handy when it became necessary to move ever larger tree trunks.

I thought to myself that our live trees must be alarmed by his beaverly preoccupation with sculpting. He might have scalped the hillside bare, but instead began working with pine, walnut, oak and various woods from other places.

But Donald wanted people to see his work. He held no illusions that some gallery owner would beat a path to our ranch. First he hit upon the idea of putting his musical pieces in the window of a vacant store in a nearby shopping center. Eventually he joined various art associations and guilds so he could enter pieces in more traditional shows around Santa Barbara.

Inevitably, when someone looks at one of his silky nude forms, I am asked, "Are you the model?"

To which I reply, "Well, parts of me are."

Virginia Cornell is the author of The Latest Wrinkle and Other Signs of Aging — a collection of her humorous essays. For information on ordering, see The Latest Wrinkle.