Reading the grain

A piece of driftwood keeps a record of everything it has been through: the tree, the river, the storm, the salt. You learn to read the grain the way you would read handwriting on an old postcard.

Tight, even rings usually mean a slow-growing tree from somewhere cold. Wide, soft rings wear away first in the water, which is why so many pieces end up ribbed, with the hard late wood standing up like the lines on a fingerprint.

Small round holes are the work of shipworms, which means the wood spent a long time in salt water before it landed. Pale, chalky surfaces mean it has been lying in the sun for at least a summer. A dark, heavy piece is probably still full of water and will crack if you bring it inside too quickly.

None of this is exact. But after a few years you start to guess right more often than not, and that is half the fun.