cactus wood staff.

I have a cactus wood staff. It is a quiet beatific piece of cactus wood, al mottled brown and black with a nice grip. A truly marvelous piece of work. Its long, wield, and sometimes violent history stands as a testament to its workmanship. Such a wonderful story cannot go untold, and thus I spent many years of my life working on it, only now to have bean completed.

As far as I can tell, this marvelous came from a cactus of the Carnegiea gigantean variety2, that was sprouted in or about 1738 in a small area just southeast of where Tucson, Arizona is today. It grew in about as much peace as a cactus in a desert can expect until a fateful day in about 1812 when it contracted a disease of unknown origin. Sometime in the winter 1818 I died and by the summer of 1819 all of its flesh had rotted away, leaving only the wooden bones. These bones where collected by a Christian missionary named father Mitchelson, and taken back to his home. Mitchelson was a woodworker of high renown in those days, and was considered to be the best carver in the entire southwest. This is strongly backed up by some of his previous pieces which include an eagle on a rainy day, flag of our grandsons, depicting a United states flag with 51 stars on it, and my very favorite piece, a flange of unparalleled wonder and compose. This new piece that Father Mitchelson had planned to hew out of his piece of cactus wood was supposed to put him on the map, and assure that he would be considered the best woodworker in all the land. He had planned to carve his piece of wood into a staff of such marvel, of such astounding grandeur that it would confound and amaze even the most skilled of woodworkers for generations to come.

But alas, this endeavor was, unfortunately, fated not to be completed as planed. The next morning the omens started to show themselves. First he saw a pigeon perched atop a cow, a rare occurrence considering pigeons do not reside in the southwest. Un daunted by this, Father Mitchelson started to whittle and sand and do the other various magical things that champion woodworkers did in the early nineteenth century. Having made the staff into its rough shape, he ate some soup, and retired for the day. Father Mitchelson awoke the next day and began to work. At noon that day, a group of bloodthirsty, malevolent bandits, wholly ignorant of art pillaged their way through town. After robbing the bank and the tavern, they proceded to ride off into the sunset. Unfortunately for father Mitchelson, his house lay between the town and the sunset. As the past, firing their guns into the air, they came upon his shack. The shot him dead, and ransacked the place. t’was a horrid day for the of the art of woodworking.

And so the stay passed into the hands of Father Mitchelson’s nephew, Bartholemew. Or, at least it was supposed to. Back in those days the post took years to travel the country, and in that time a great many calamities happened. Bartholemew was a blacksmith by trade and a candle maker by preference.

And so one day, bartholemew was eating his dinner, and a messenger came in.

“speak” he said.

“sirrah, I have a parcel for your convenience.” Said the messenger.

“thank you, now begon!” said bartholemew.

Never beaing one for waiting, bartholemew tore off the paper, and fond:
A letter, informing him of his fathers death.
The protostaff.
A page of an encyclopedia
And a chocolate bar.

Bartholomew ate the chocolate bar while he read the letter. Then he sprange and shouted:

“oh dear! Oh woe is me! My uncle is dead! Oh terrible day!”

from here, the reacord stops. I know very little about the staffs history, however, we do know that it was in at least one war, was carved by a monk, and spent a day at the bottom of a lake. I purchased it in a pawn shop, for a grand total of $5.

With luck, more research will reveal the mystery that enfolds this wonderful object.