Strange how lumber stores don’t really stock wood, but they will talk to you for a quarter hour about how best to lacquer it.

Apologetically, the clerk at Parr Lumber on Cornelius Pass admitted that, really, all they had was oak and fir. He called the affiliated cabinet outlet down the road and assured me they had pre-finished maple “filler” and dispatched me hence. Leaving from their parking lot: a tiny, 20-year-old Camry betwixt diesel crew-cab pickups of contractors.

A haunting hike under 30-foot ceilings, an echoing maternity ward of a thousand kitchens worth of cabinetry—bafflement on their part at the cabinet outlet. I guess regular, upstanding citizens don’t traipse about Hillsboro (Parr Lumber clerk pronounces it “Hills-BORE-oh,” which is appropriate, though unintentionally so, I think) looking for such a trivial amount of wood.

I could have paid $45 to a reluctant employee at the cabinet place for an 8’ piece of prefinished maple, but I didn’t.

Back to Parr #1, to my ruddy, friendly, American helper. We stand and stare at gorgeous, clear lengths of fir and I finally relent to the soft, soft-as-butter wood.

Of course they are out of tung oil, but my helper advises me of the best alternate options, whether to drill holes first or after, “sanding the hell out of it.”

And this time taken, the Home Depot-defying personalized consideration, makes the whole effort all right.

I get a tickling little pleasure from errands like this that take me into places where I’m not indigenous. Novelty appeals in even its most basic forms.

Plus, they gave me a free bag of peanuts.