Every August, my parents would take my sister and me to vacation in Cape Cod. They always rented a tiny, rustic cottage right on the bay — I think they were willing to forgo amenities for location, because there was no television, no laundry, no microwave… (and of course, this was the ’80s, so Wi-Fi wasn’t even a thing).
My sister and I spent our days clamming and crabbing when the tide went out, and swimming when it came back in. My dad would read a library’s worth of books, and my mom would cross-stitch for hours. Every night, after dinner, we’d gather on the screened-in porch and play cards for hours.
We listened to a local radio station on the “boom box” my dad always brought, and we’d pair up to play. We weren’t really a board-game family, so they taught us gin rummy, pinochle, and solitaire. I learned how to play pinochle when I was eight! I remember not even being able to hold that many cards in my little hands, so I had to stack them in front of me by suit and look at them each hand — which I’m sure drove my parents nuts.
And every single night, I had to ask, “What’s trump again?”
As an eight-year-old learning a pretty complicated game, I guess my brain could only handle so much — meld, suits, tricks, the rules, and trump — oh my.
We all stumbled through it, year after year, and I grew up to be a pretty decent pinochle player. Sadly, not many people my age know how to play pinochle anymore, but I was thrilled to discover another “suit-calling” card game when I moved from Pennsylvania to Michigan and met the Midwest’s obsession with Euchre — my trump-calling skills have come in handy!
And… that’s why I created these blocks.
💡 The Spark
Even now, I can never seem to remember the suit if I’m not the one leading the tricks. So I thought, Wouldn’t it be easier to have some kind of marker on the table that you could flip to the right suit so everyone always knows what trump is?
Well, I make blocks — so one night while we were playing, I grabbed a scrap piece and took a Sharpie to it. It did the job… until I thought, Hmmm… I could engrave these, paint them, and personalize the tops and bottoms for a really special game-night keepsake.
And just like that — 💥 the Trump Marker Block was born.
🔨The Creation
Each block starts as rough-cut maple from our homestead woodshop. I mill, sand, pre-finish, and engrave every side by hand before painting the suits and sealing it with a natural beeswax coat.
Every step feels like honoring those old nights in Cape Cod — truly handcrafted with love and attention.
💛 The Meaning
It’s more than a trump marker — it’s a symbol of gathering, laughter, and slowing down together. I love knowing that something I made might sit on another family’s game table for years to come.
They say a fire warms you three times. First when you cut
the wood, second when you sit in front of it and third when you clean the ashes
and coals from the fireplace. When you
read the second reason did you visualize a cozy fireplace? Maybe you saw a
"Hallmark” looking scene in your mind’s eye; a gorgeous log cabin hearth with
sky high field stones and a crackling fire while you’re nestled on a cozy couch
with a fuzzy blanket sipping cocoa. Maybe you envisioned a raging campfire with
your circle of friends sharing memories and beers? Or a quiet fire in a
colonial living room like so many old-fashioned movies portray. Whatever you picture in your mind when you
think of a warm fire I can almost guarantee it looks nothing like the reality
of ours!
About 8 years ago my husband and I decided to invest in an
outdoor wood burning furnace. We live in a very rural area in an old farmhouse
we saved from despair and switched from propane gas heat to wood heat because
we got tired of watching our dollar bills grow wings and fly out the window.
With rising propane costs, four little kids who never understood that heat costs
money, and, that you need to close doors, made living in a drafty farmhouse
with tons of leaded glass windows a very cold existence in the state of
Michigan. I was tired of sleeping in
mittens and hoodies and my husband was tired of writing the checks! So, we
figured the woodstove would be an investment that would more than pay for
itself so we took the leap. We called the propane company to remove the "pig”
and we started digging trenches for the underground water and electric lines.
(That DIY is quite the story and one for another day!) After lots of discussions and several we should have done that first-conversations, my husband and I
successfully installed the stove, converted the furnace and were up and running
a couple of weeks later just in the nick of time for our first snowfall on-
Halloween.
There was a honeymoon phase. We knew a farmer who would
allow us to harvest fallen trees from his 500-acre cattle farm across the
street. We made a day of cutting wood with the kids and the dog. The boys made
rifles out of tree limbs, the girls built forts and houses out of brush and
explored the woods. and the dog? Well, he found old cow bones to chew and dung
piles to roll in! It was a family affair and for the most part life was good.
My husband would cut the logs and I would load the trailer. We would load and
unload for hours and stopped for nothing; except when the girls would fight
because one wouldn’t let the other sit on her throne in the newly constructed brush house or the boys would
convert their stick rifles to swords and big brother almost always broke little
brothers’ and there were tears. Or when they were hungry or thirsty or wounded
or bleeding. Ok so we stopped a lot and that’s probably why it took hours, but
it was free heat so really, how bad was it?
Until I got my first chainsaw. On my anniversary.
With our His &
Hers chainsaws in tow our family days in the woods turned into a bona fide episode
of Axe Men. He would cut the stumps and
massive logs and I would cut the tops and limbs. Play time was over. The kids
graduated to loading the trailer and they learned phrases like team-lift and use your legs. There was
grunting. And whining. And more discussions.
The honeymoon was over. We were like squirrels stocking up for winter. At first, we would go in the fall when the
air was brisk, and the trees were in full color; when it was hard to complain
about being in the woods. Fall turned to
winter and in extreme situations (like the winter we actually ran out of wood
because it was so cold for so long) we had to literally trudge through knee
deep snow with crow bars to pry the frozen logs from the ground. That was just
about the worst winter of my life. Then we started going in the spring. The season of sprouting crocus, budding trees,
flowers in bloom, and green grasses. Let me be the first to tell you that
getting wood in the spring brings a whole new level of horror. There are no daffodils in the depths of the
forest; only layers of semi composted leaves and twigs that are wet and mossy which
provide the perfect camouflage for rat snakes. I am TERRIFIED of snakes. Can
you imagine how difficult it is to wield a chainsaw while keeping your eyes on
your periphery every second of your existence? Every rustle, crunch, crack or
slight movement convinced me that I was amidst a snake pit. As I held my breath, paralyzed with fear, I
cut and sawed my way gingerly through the tree tops and never placed my foot
without thoroughly inspecting the ground first.
It’s probably a blessing that we had to wear ear plugs because even over
the sounds of chain saws I am fairly certain I heard words like ridiculous, just a little snake (no such thing) silly, and you’re too slow. We are not as productive in the spring.
Summer brings bugs. Lots and lots of bugs and tall grass and hot temperatures.
And there are still snakes but I’m told they mostly hide under rocks, so I had
nothing to worry about. I think I heard
once that they like wood piles? Hmmmmm.
It’s been eight very long years of wood cutting but at some
point, we just settled in to our reality and accept that it is something we
need to do. Our kids are now teens and
the thought of spending one of their precious Saturdays or Sundays in the woods
with old mom and dad is as horrifying to them as snakes are to me. But nevertheless, they help. Sometimes. But
there is still whining and they’re always hungry and we have to pay them
because other parents pay for chores.
So, the heat is no longer free, but it certainly warms us three times
and then some.
