I smoothe on a generous layer of potent citrus Orange Glow wood before working it into the wood with a soft cotten rag. The thick Butcher block top on my kitchen island was made for me. Carl and Papa got the wood and sanded it down to perfection before attaching it to the base. This butcher block has graced my kitchen island for years now.

I love it. The blonde-toned wood is thick and strong and perfect for chopping veggies. I cut things on it all the time although it’s not technically a cutting board. I figure if butchers can use it with their enourmous cleavers, why shouldn’t I slice homemade bread on this surface?

In the heart of the kicthen it holds many things. The bar stools Hold my children while I’m cooking. The center holds a basket with daily medications. When Luke is pressed for time it holds the mail he’s grabbed. When Carl is distracted it holds the iPad he sets down and then spends twenty minutes searching for.

After my father died, it briefly held a postal box marked, “Human Remains” while I loaded up my bags. That butcher block has been the hub for laborious homework, copious bowls of cereal, and the car key that Marcus stole that night he wanted to leave and get high.

This butcher block has seen adoption, death, fights, triumphs, and poorly thought-out cookie experiments. It’s seen the tears I shed when I finally saw my own name on the birth certificates of my children.

Over the years the surface of the wood has been scratched and scuffed. The base is looser than it should be. There are faint red stains from years of spilled juice and wayword manicures. I can see the tiny burn mark from an overturned candle. Still, though, it’s my favorite piece of mmfurniture.

Polishing this surface restores a faint glow to the wood. The whole island looks fresh and ready to start anew. I must remember to appreciate what I have.

It can be so easy to overlook what is always there.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.