The Moments in Wooden Flooring – Footprints of Love

Photo by Oleksandr Zbanduto on Unsplash

It was the summer when I was three years old, running barefoot across the cement floor of our house. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my foot. I looked down to see a jagged pebble lodged in my sole, blood trickling down my toes onto the floor. Tears welled up as I cried out loudly.

Hearing my cries, Grandpa rushed over, lifting me into a bamboo chair to examine the wound. His rough hands gently held my ankle, while the other hand pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket to carefully wipe away the blood. His furrowed brows and eyes full of concern only made me sob harder.

“This cement floor is too hard; we need wooden flooring,” Grandpa murmured. The next morning, he grabbed his axe and headed into the forest, choosing a pine tree with the right diameter. Pinewood, known for its sturdy texture and fine grain, was an excellent material for making flooring. He chopped the tree down and transported the logs home using a wooden ox-cart.

The logs were then sent to the village sawmill, where they were cut into evenly sized planks using precise saw blades to ensure consistency in thickness and smoothness. Grandpa carefully inspected the planks, selecting ones free of cracks. He ran his fingers over the surface, feeling the grain with a focused expression. I watched from the side as sawdust filled the air, carrying a refreshing, woody aroma.

The selected planks were laid out in the drying yard for natural air-drying—a crucial step in wooden flooring production to reduce moisture content and prevent warping or cracking. Grandpa repeatedly reminded me not to play near the drying planks. Weeks later, the planks were moved to a kiln for further drying. This high-temperature process ensured the wood’s internal moisture was evenly distributed.

Once dried, the planks were taken to a workshop for surface planing and size trimming. The planed wood revealed its beautiful grain patterns. Using specialized machinery, craftsmen milled grooves and tongues into the edges of each plank for a tight fit during installation.

On the day of installation, Grandpa carried the wooden planks into the house. He laid a moisture barrier on the floor and applied eco-friendly adhesive evenly to the back of each plank. These adhesives were environmentally friendly and ensured a strong bond between the flooring and the subfloor. Grandpa knelt on the ground, carefully positioning each plank. He meticulously adjusted their angles, ensuring the grooves and tongues fit snugly together. His slow, deliberate movements reflected his dedication, as sweat dripped from his forehead onto the wooden planks, leaving dark circles on the surface.

“Come, help Grandpa test if it’s even,” he called to me. I stepped onto the floor barefoot, feeling the warmth of the pine wood beneath my feet, solid and comforting. Grandpa smiled with satisfaction, his eyes crinkling like blooming chrysanthemums.

After the flooring was laid, Grandpa spent days sanding it by hand. The sound of sandpaper scraping against wood echoed from dawn to dusk, and wood shavings covered his pants. I often lay on the floor, watching the sunlight stream through the windows, casting streaks of light on the surface. Grandpa’s silhouette moved within the light, like a living shadow puppet.

Next came the varnishing process. Grandpa explained that varnish not only protected the wooden flooring from moisture but also highlighted its natural grain. His strokes were so gentle, it felt as though he was painting a masterpiece. The varnish brought out a radiant glow, and the grain resembled flowing rivers.

That night, I lay on the newly finished wooden floor, gazing at the dancing shadows on the ceiling. Grandpa sat in his bamboo chair, fanning himself gently. The warmth of the floor seeped through my clothes, carrying the scent of sunshine. As I turned over, the floor creaked softly, as if whispering to me.

“Grandpa, will this floor always stay this warm?”
“Yes,” Grandpa replied in the dark, “just like my hands—they’ll always be warm.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the wooden floor’s warmth and listening to Grandpa’s soft snores. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a silvery glow on the floor. I realized this wasn’t just a wooden floor—it was a warm dream, handcrafted by Grandpa, carrying his love and care.

At Kelaiwood, we believe that every wooden floor has its own story, holding footprints of love and moments of life. Our commitment is to craft not just quality wooden flooring but the foundation for timeless memories. Stay connected with us for more heartwarming tales of wood and craftsmanship.