When I was a small, every spring a horse drawn haywagon stacked high with wooden chairs and ladders would come into our driveway. The driver had spent all winter up in New Hampshire making them, and kept going south through MA until he had sold them all. I still remember seeing a child's rocking chair way up top, and teasing my father until he bought it for me. I'd still have it, except that my wife gave it away. One of the few times I really resented her being generous. That old guy worked hard for a living. Damned few craftsmen
willing to work that hard for so little money. I marvel that his horses were equal to it.