Wood carving

[TPB]

Been doing some carving projects lately while waiting for the rest of the studio build equipment to come
Bird houses and big wooden flag did not realize how heavy it was until I climbed a twenty foot ladder to put it up on the barn 

[Ted]

Nice!

I think there should be some mythology behind the birdhouse.

[chapperz66]

Really cool.

[Zoltan]

Nice!

I think there should be some mythology behind the birdhouse.

Geir perhaps, or some other Norse deity?

Super great work TPB. So fine.

[Farrell Jackson]

Wow, those are great carving projects Tim. You are a multi-talented guy with music, carving and who knows what other things you have on your list!

[Ted]

Nice!

I think there should be some mythology behind the birdhouse.

Geir perhaps, or some other Norse deity?

More like a Brothers Grimm fairy tale:

The Man Who Ate Birds

In a deep and shadowy forest, there lived a man who was feared by all the creatures of the trees. He was a great, lumbering figure, with a tangled beard that seemed to catch twigs and leaves as he passed beneath the branches. His hands were quick, his eyes sharp, and his hunger was endless.

For he did not hunt deer, nor did he fish in the rivers. He had but one appetite: the small birds of the woods.

When a bird perched too low or fluttered too near, the man's great hand would snap out like a fox trap, seizing it in his fist. And then—without knife or fire, without salt or bread—he would open his mouth and swallow it whole. Feathers, bones, and all.

The birds of the forest saw this and were horrified.

They gathered in secret, among the thickest branches, where the man never looked. The wise old owl, the nimble sparrow, the clever magpie—all spoke in hushed tones. A trap was needed, but not one of twigs and string. No, it must be a trap fit for a man.

And so they set to work.

They plucked the brightest feathers from their own wings and scattered them along a winding path. At the end of the trail, they left a lure: the most beautiful bird the man had ever seen—a thing of brilliant reds and deep blues, its wings trembling in the wind as though injured.

The man saw the trail and followed. His lips smacked. And when at last he reached the false bird, he lunged—

—and the earth opened beneath him.

Down, down he tumbled into a pit lined with thorns. The birds gathered at the rim, peering down with bright, unblinking eyes.

They put the man on trial, though no man had ever been tried by birds before.

"Do you repent?" asked the owl.

The man, covered in scratches and caught like a worm in the dirt, only laughed.

"Some fly north. Some fly south," he said, grinning with his broken teeth. "Some birds go into my mouth."

"Then have it your way," the birds said.

And they descended upon him.

The woodpeckers tapped at his flesh, hollowing him out. The sparrows and swallows wove his beard into a thick thatch. The magpies lined his ribs with bits of silver and glass, so that they caught the morning light. And when all was finished, the great crows perched upon his shoulders and declared their work done.

The man was no longer a man.

Now, he stood in the woods with a roof over his head and his mouth open wide. A birdhouse. The small ones flew in and out, making their nests where once his hunger had lived.

And so, in the end, his mouth was never empty.

Was he happy now?

Who can say?

But the birds were.

And that was all that mattered.

(Written with help from ChatGPT)