Last year we stopped at my parents’ round cabin in Spring Lake to say goodbye to it before it was torn down. It was late afternoon, cool and overcast. The house, no longer locked, was just a frame and some windows. All of the drywall and wiring had been taken out and demolition of the shell would begin the next week.
The only light in the house came through the windows and we could see pieces of the original construction, long hidden by carpets, drywall, and paint. I spied some tile, probably from the 1920’s arranged in a circle on the floor around the central post of the house. An intricate fish bone pattern of wood surrounded the circular pattern of tiles. I leaned down and studied the designs on the floor, which had been covered by industrial carpeting all these years. Mixed into the tile pattern were some 2×2-inch navy blue tiles with a raised daisy in each center. Daisies had been in the floor beneath our feet! I knew right away that I wanted one of those daisy tiles as a souvenir.
I found a hammer and began to chisel around a tile, only to see it crumble with my efforts to pull it up. I saw that others had had tried to harvest daisy tiles, too, because many were chipped and broken.
I really wanted to salvage some of these tiles before the cabin was destroyed. But I needed to work carefully, slowly, and patiently to extract them from their long-held positions in the cement. Large force was the worst thing I could apply, and I learned that I wouldn’t be able to salvage many in the time I had. Finally, with careful effort, I was able to pull one tile from the pretty floor, mostly intact. It is special to me.
I keep my daisy tile in a frame to remind me of the cabin, but also to be patient with myself and others. It reminds me that love must accompany any kind of rescue, or patience will fail, harming the one being rescued. It’s a reminder to focus on the beauty of people, not the deep-seated habits or ideas which hold them down. And it reminds me that each person is precious and worth the effort.
