By Naj Wikoff
“You guys are making a mess,” I said. “Does that bother you?”
Two meeting rooms off the lobby of the Northwoods Inn were indeed a mess. The rooms themselves were filled with an array of men, mostly older but by no means all, sitting around tables carving away on small blocks of wood. There was an overall hum of conversations broken every now and then by someone getting up to go over and talk to another.
My comments were addressed to two who seemed to be particularly adept at creating a small flurry of pale petals of wood that tumbled down to land in small heaps about their feet.