Stumped Saturday!

How can I do it?
How can I do it?
How can I do it?


 Reuben paced back and forth. He was mumbling to himself:


 "How can I do it?"


 Miss Rebbecca had agreed to be driven to the service on Sunday!  He had hoped and dreamed of this day, never before daring to ask her, she was just so beautiful!


 Better to watch from afar lest she scorn him or worse yet, laugh!


 He had finally stumbled the words out this morning as he helped her carry home her market basket and as her prepared himself for her rejection, lo' and behold her lips had spoken the word yes!


 Fair she was with hair of corn and eyes the blue of a June sky and Reuben had silently watched her grow from a child to womanhood. (He was barely a man himself with only a few stiff hairs poking from his chin!)


 He kept pacing and muttering, obviously puzzled with some sort of dilemma!


"She's still no bigger than a mite!" Reuben muttered. "How is she ever going to get up onto my stage coach's seat? I daren't touch her!"

His face turned ashen at the mere thought of approaching her let alone having to touch her to help her climb up into the buggy as he would one of his fares. A woman never traveled alone and always had her husband or father to assist her and his mother, he would just scoop up into his well muscled arms and pop her right up onto the seat!


 "I could use a chair from the way-station kitchen?" As quickly as thought of, the idea was dismissed. No, the rotund inn keeper would never allow such misuse of her furniture!


Spying a nearby fallen tree he crowed: " I know!" He clapped his hands in glee and ran for the axe that was kept in the stage coach's tool box. He began his work, chips and sawdust flying!
Chop! Chop! Chop!


 That very next morning, the delectable Rebbecca Farnsworth fell for a somewhat homely young man of simple means. The villagers spoke of the occurrence for many weeks and came to gaze at the thing that the love struck man had hacked from the stump, marvelling that such a thing could be so useful!

 Before long, every front yard sported what the townsfolk had named a Mounting Block. Some very crude, some very elaborate and some made by artisans and craftsmen. Some were whitewashed and some tinted with berries and beets so that they'd be colorful...


 But not a one could hold a candle to the first one carved by a young man in love!


 Stumped Saturday


  ..... Should I make this an event so you can all join in?


Post #196


These photographs were shot with my Nikon P-90 digital camera and downloaded directly from the camera and then to this blog. My aim is to take my reader along with me on the journey, so although I am aware of my framing of the shot, content and quality, I am most interested in sharing the experience.