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I worked with this carpenter for a few weeks. He needed some one to gofer stuff. In addition, because his health was failing, my job was to climb ladders and work on my hands and knees for him. Those two activities caused him considerable distress. Year after year of climbing and bending had taken it's toll on his legs and back.

I was perfect for the job. We were friends. I wanted to work, knew nothing about carpentry and delighted to get whatever wage he gave me, which turned out to be remarkably generous, and he knew that I would be cooperative and willing to learn.

I learned a lot about carpentry from Ron. He was an excellent craftsman. I learned that first of all, no matter how much one plans and prep's for a job, something is going to cause you to rethink and adjust those plans. You have to accommodate new realities at every turn. A rock ledge where the foundation has to go, a worker doesn't show up, a nail gun doesn't work, a board gets cut too short. Carpentry is really about problem solving.

Ron was excellent at problem solving. He was an highly successful engineer in his day and had the ability to find the simple solution, the one that's always hidden in plain sight from everyone. Occum's razor. The simple and most obvious solution is most likely the correct one.

Next I learned that despite one's best efforts and intents, that when you build something, there's always something that you did and regret doing, but you have to live with it. The foundation has been set, and if the foundation breaks, or cracks, or is not square, then everything after that will be affected by that. Even errors that are very minor in the scheme of things can have disastrous affect. You can cut a perfect 45 degree miter only to find that it doesn't fit smugly. The walls not perpendicular, or the joining miter, the one you or a mate cut, is 44.5 degrees. How do you fix that? Or a carefully placed small finish nail hammers in crooked, marring a very expensive 10 foot piece of wood trim. With no head on the nail, it has to be cajoled out, risking even more damage to the pristine wood. One stands there, trying to gouge a tiny 1/2 cent headless nail out of a piece of 30 dollar wood while the clock is ticking towards the next thing that has to be done on time so the next thing that has to be done on time can be done on time so that the client can have the gas guy come in so the painters can come so the carpet guys can lay the carpet on Tuesday at 2 o'clock. It's like that. Constant pressure.

In carpentry, one quickly gives up any notion of perfection. You just keep building up, despite every discouraging accident or error or obstacle and frustration and disappointment, you just keep building up. You build up. And he built up with an amazing composure that calmed everyone around him.

Like another carpenter I know about, Ron treated people, all people, just like that. He built up with an unconditional positive regard for everyone he knew and met. Even strangers.

Ron and I spent the last day of his life together in a room coaxing a half round piece of trim onto a window. He was rightfully proud of the work and wanted me to take a picture of the room, so I took his picture there by the window, the crowning piece of a beautiful airy side room that Ron and his crew had built from the ground up. Then we left for supper at my house.

I thought I had captured the last building up of something by Ron, the arch at the top of the window. It's not the last thing. After supper at my house, he left to chair a meeting at a prison.

We will never see the last of, nor all of, the building ups of this most amazing man.