way.”
As we walked along the pathway deeper into the woods, I chatted with Joseph about the types of carts he constructed and the wheels they required. What would he do with a larger cart than one known in Galilee? A cart on which a houseful of new furniture might be carried. Our conversation continued until we were about to reach the great oak, its trunk hidden behind smaller oaks.
I paused and he stopped beside me.
“I am going to show you something very special. But I want it to be a surprise. So, give me your hand and close your eyes and I will lead you to it.”
Joseph gave me a quizzical glance but followed my instructions. I led him off the pathway to a clearing from which the great oak was clearly visible.
“Now,” I prompted, “open your eyes.”
His eyes opened and opened further. The majesty of the great oak was amazing.
“I have never seen such a tree,” he breathed.
We walked closer.
“How many centuries?” he asked.
“Nearly four, according to the records I have.”
He walked ahead and began to circle the tree.
“And the careful pruning,” he remarked, “scarcely noticeable.”
“Yes, pruned from an early age so that the trunk is clear and straight quite a ways up.”
He reached my side again. “An amazing specimen.”
I nodded. “I have decided to cut it down soon, and I was wondering . . .”
“Seems a shame.”
“It is a unique oak. The breadth of the trunk may be well suited to special applications in carpentry.”
“Oh?” Joseph’s eyes were focused on the trunk.
“I was wondering if you think it possible to have fully formed wheels from one cutting of the trunk.”
He pursed his lips. “It is possible. They would be huge.” He laughed. “The topic of our conversation.” He turned to me. “Each one all of a single piece?”
“Yes. Can you think of ways such wheels might be used?”
“Such a cart surely would be larger than anything I have seen. And it would require at least two horses.”
“To be used by a quarry, perhaps?”
“Yes. In the proposed building of the new Temple in Jerusalem. Or in further construction in Herod’s new seaport, Caesarea Maritima.”
“Exactly.”
Joseph turned to me. “You can cut such wheels?”
“I think so. It will require precision once the tree is hewn. Of course, the upper limbs would be cut before the tree is brought down.”
Joseph frowned and I could see him calculating.
“Have you any idea of the price of such a wheel?”
I named a price. He sucked a breath in as he turned to survey the trunk again.
“You would do the cutting?” he asked.
“Yes. The smoothing is for you to do. And mounting the metal rims.”
He nodded and murmured, “I would need at least two sets of four similar wheels.” He turned to me again. “For two carts. But I cannot pay you until I have sold the completed carts. If I can find buyers.”
“I understand. If you give me a tenth of the payment beforehand, I will accept the balance later.”
“I need to think about who may need such vehicles. Someone near good Roman roads.”
“Of course.” I looked upward at the trunk. “I estimate I can easily get six sets of four wheels if the cutting is done by careful measurement. Perhaps more.”
We spoke a bit longer, but I was eager to take him onward to my next surprise. Soon we were on the pathway again.
The land rose as we walked. Through a stand of poplars I glimpsed the small hill ahead that was our destination.
“Just a bit more,” I said. “I think you will enjoy what you are about to see.”
The pathway circled to the left and came up over a rise. We stopped.
“Incredible!” Joseph exclaimed.
We were standing on a low shoulder of the hill that sloped downward to an expansive pool of clear water.
He turned to me. “But where does the water come from?”
I smiled. “The pool is fed from an underground stream which has never run dry. But come, there is a place,” I pointed, “where we will have shade as we enjoy our midday meal.”
As we ate the contents of our packets and drank wine from the flask, I told Joseph a treasured family story. Long ago the pool was the reason Demostrate purchased the land.
“Therefore it is called Demostrate’s Pool,” I explained. “In the summer, children from the village come and swim. I insist at least one adult must accompany them, as the pool deepens considerably near the middle.”
We chatted on and at last I asked Joseph a question.
“I know your father. You have told me about your mother and things about Nazareth. But your name is not a common one in our area. How did you come by it?”
“My name? Joseph, you mean?”
“Yes. Those who live here are descendants of Greeks and the old names are passed down. But that is not true in Galilee.”
“Only a few Greek names, it is true. But Joseph is an honorable name, and there are other Josephs in Galilee.”
We were sitting on the grass and he turned to me.
“You have never heard of the famous Joseph of Hebrew heritage?”
“No. Was he a famous king?”
“Not quite. But let me tell you the amazing story of Joseph.”
5
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Joseph,” he began, “was the eleventh son of a man named Jacob. The first by Jacob’s wife Rachel. In his youth, Jacob’s mother had connived with him to cheat his older brother, Esau, out of his inheritance. But that is a story for another time. The important thing to know is that Joseph was the darling child of Jacob. He received many gifts from his father. As he grew older, Joseph’s older brothers were jealous to the point of boiling anger. And it did boil
