The Burl Shack: Rescuing the World’s Largest Maple Burl

 This book tells the true story — from the day I realized the giant maple was dying, to the backbreaking weeks of digging and cutting, and finally to the day I lifted the burl and moved it into my driveway, where it still rests in the Burl Shack.

But this story is about more than just wood. It’s about family, survival, determination, and finding extraordinary beauty hidden inside what others might have left behind.

The memoir will be available soon on Amazon. I’ll post the release date here as soon as it’s set, along with a few sneak peeks and photos.

Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to share in this journey. Your interest and encouragement have meant more than you know.

Stay tuned — The Burl Shack is about to grow into something even bigger.

— Glen

Preface: Why Trees Make Burls

For those of you who’ve been following my blog and the story of the Burl Shack, I wanted to give you a first look at the preface from my upcoming memoir, The Burl Shack: Rescuing the World’s Largest Maple Burl. ⸻ A burl is one of nature’s mysteries. Not everyone has seen one, and even fewer understand what it is. To the casual eye it looks like a strange swelling or knot on the side of a tree, but inside it holds a secret: grain that twists, swirls, and folds over itself in ways no straight trunk ever could. 

 Burls form when a tree is under stress. A wound, an infection, a fungus, or even some genetic quirk triggers the tree to grow in a way that defies order. The wood cells multiply wildly, curling back and forth as if trying to heal something unseen. What looks like a deformity on the outside becomes, on the inside, a vault of beauty—bird’s-eye, flame, ripple, tiger stripes and swirl locked away in solid form.

 Woodworkers and artists prize them for that very reason. A small burl might become a bowl, a clock, or a keepsake box. A larger one could be turned into a table or a sculpture. Each burl is unique, and once it’s cut, there will never be another quite like it.

 Most burls are the size of a basketball, maybe a beach ball if you’re lucky—the kind you can roll into the back of a pickup. But every so often, nature does something different. A tree, in the right place at the right time, under just the right mix of hardship and determination, produces a burl so massive it seems impossible. 

I think my tree was possibly one of those. Where I live was once an old riverbed, so perhaps it had been washed out long ago. Or maybe it had been blown over by wind. The whole thing grew on an angle, as if the roots on the right side had been pulled partly out of the ground. Then, just above the burls, it straightened itself and grew tall and true. 

This memoir is the story of that tree—and the burl it carried. The kind you don’t just cut up for bowls or tables. The kind you rescue. ⸻ This is just the beginning. In the weeks ahead, I’ll be sharing more from the memoir here on the blog, leading up to its release. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this preface—does it draw you in? Stay tuned, and thank you for being part of this journey.