For me, varnishing snowshoes, canoe paddles, gunnels and such serves two purposes: one is protection and the other is providing pleasure in watching the grains and burls that are the hearts of handcrafted woods beating, so to speak, with new, lustrous life. What a grand gift, wood. Such a beautiful, useful and renewable natural resource – and so taken for granted.

Because wood is so important to our lives, you’d think everyone would have expert knowledge of it. But the fact is there probably are more people familiar with the practice of open-heart surgery than there are with expertise regarding wood.

It isn’t surprising that most of us don’t know the characteristics and capabilities of specific woods as well as carpenters, boat builders, cabinet makers, woodsmen and, of course, foresters. But it’s more than surprising that most people don’t have the vaguest idea of what kind of wood they sit on, eat on, work on, sleep on and walk on day after day. Accordingly, much of the wood burned in fireplaces nowadays is conveniently called “firewood.” That collective description reminds me of the story about a so-called Maine guide whose Sport asked him to identify the variety of conifers surrounding their camp. Without hesitation the guide answered, “Christmas trees.”

Admittedly, I do a better job of identifying wood with its bark on, so to speak, than when it’s sawn and stacked. But by no stretch of the imagination do I have the abilities of my forester friends Ray Goody, Larry Philbrick and Brooks Mills. Frankly, I envy their ability to glance at trees from a distance and say casually but confidently, “red cedar” or “white ash.”

I don’t have a problem with white pine and red pine but I wouldn’t be sure about pitch pine or jack pine. Likewise, white oak and red oak are easy calls but I’d be guessing about bur oak and black oak. Beech, of course, is a stick-out, as is balsam fir, hemlock and hackmatack. Sugar maple and swamp maple? Nothing to it. But I’d stumble on silver maple. And like most people who say “ayuh,” to me quaking aspen, bigtooth aspen and balsam poplar are all “popple.” Understand, however, I’m talking about naming mature, standing trees whose barks, leaves, cones and fruits are absolute ID cards. But if I were asked to identify sprouts and saplings, the best I could offer would be “hardwood” or “softwood.”

It’s surprising how many people confuse Maine’s ubiquitous gray birch with white birch. There was a time, of course, and not so god-awful long ago, when the latter was referred to as “canoe birch” because its bark was used by Indians in building their aesthetic and versatile watercraft. As an aside, the bark was peeled and fitted to a canoe in one piece, for the most part – with the inner bark on the outside of the canoe. That application didn’t make as dramatic a picture for artists to paint, but it made for easier paddling and poling because the inner bark was smoother than the outer bark. Practical people, Indians, and incredile craftsmen.

Granted, identifying trees is a skill that can be acquired through study and experience. But selecting, cutting, drying, sawing and planing wood – and working it into something useful, beautiful, or both, is an art mastered by few and admired by many. The closest I ever came to it was cutting pieces of willow to make into whistles “way back when,” as they say.

In my opinion, nowhere is the beauty and warmth of wood displayed more artfully than in the massive ceiling moldings, stairway bannisters and paneled rooms found in older homes, not to mention the exquisite handmade furniture of earlier times. But as for usability and adaptability, I doubt if anyone enjoys or appreciates wood more than sportsmen. And no better example can I offer than the pack basket I’ve grunted onto my shoulders for nearly 40 years. The strength and durability of its simple design and thin, tightly woven strips simply amazes me. But I cannot conceive of beating those strips from a brown ash that I felled and twitched off a woodlot, let alone weaving the strips into a basket that somehow always held more weight than I wanted to carry, but with only a few creaks of complaint.

When I admire a pair of ash-bow snowshoes or the curve of an axe handle or a canoe ribbed with spruce and planked with cedar I am moved by the skill that produced such function and form from pieces of wood. But I’m no less impressed by a salmon guide whittling a setting pole from a slender black spruce or a decoy carver turning out a decorative mallard drake from a block of basswood. Although the two practices are poles apart regarding artistic ability, each requires knowledge of wood: The guide carefully selects a black spruce for his pole because when dried it will have strength, plenty of spring and won’t check and split like white spruce. The decorative-decoy carver prefers basswood because it is light, easily workable and also resists checking.

You may agree that some of the most beautiful and functional pieces of sporting equipment fashioned from wood are handmade gunstocks. If you disagee, it’s safe to say you’ve never seen a stock turned out by “Buster” Houston. The Brewer craftsman uses only special woods that are carefully aged and painstakingly selected regarding grains and burls; and the flawlessly smooth oil finish he applies to his stocks has to be seen to be believed.

Again, I’m envious of such consummate skills regarding wood. As important as it is to my life – either with its bark on or worked into, say, a pair of oars or a canoe seat – it irks me that I don’t know more about it. On the other hand, though, maybe it’s better that I don’t. I might not derive as much pleasure from now and then varnishing snowshoes and paddles and such and watching the hearts of the handcrafted woods beat with new, lustrous life.