This one’s for the sons, the fathers, the quiet fighters.
It’s not about who made the most noise. It’s about who held firm when the wind picked up.
Douglas Malloch’s Good Timber speaks to a truth I’ve lived and witnessed: ease doesn’t forge character. Hardship does. And not just the dramatic kind—sometimes it’s the slow erosion, the unseen pressure, the weight no one else can measure.
I think of this poem as a reminder to my son that life won’t always be fair. But the hard road carves out something deeper—strength, humility, and the kind of endurance that doesn’t need applause.
We don’t become who we are despite the struggle.
We become who we are because of it.
Full Text:
The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.
The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.
Good timber does not grow with ease:
The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.
Where thickest lies the forest growth,
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.
Scars don’t disqualify strength—they prove it. And if you’ve been shaped by the wind, know this: you’re not broken. You’re becoming good timber.
—C.K. Redlinger
If this one hit something true for you—share it with someone who's stood tall in the storm. Or leave a comment. I read every one.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.