I rescued what I believe is my grandfather's old table from my father's barn today:
My grandfather went into a nursing home in 1994. My grandmother lived another 3 years but passed in 1997. My grandfather actually outlived my father by 6 months(!) There was a lot of chaos in my life between August of 2000 (when my father died) and uh ...today, really. At some point in the last 23 years I figured out that my father had grabbed a bunch of my grandfather's tools from the Vineyard and dragged them back here to the mainland. I don't think he ever actually did anything with them (he was already sick with the cancer that would take him.) I am far less inclined with anything involving woodworking than the previous two generations of men in my family.
My grandfather build this house in the 50s, and expanded it in the 70s:
(Seen here in regular digital, HDR, and Velvia 50, because I am a different kind of nut.)
He also built this barn he called "The Doghouse":
He also built the toolshed we moved next to it.
My father, who was inhumanly energetic, invariably the smartest person in the room, and relentlessly competitive, was not going to be outdone. He built barns bigger than most people's houses:
This was the "woodshed" he built, but he never actually put firewood in it. It turns out that he was even better at stuffing buildings full of ...shit, really. Meanwhile I'm barely qualified to assemble a shelf. Also I find most power tools kind of scary. Especially spinning blades. On the plus side, I still have all my fingers. Either way I'm dragging my grandfather's tools back to MV where they belong.