I’m not quite sure what purpose this tree stump once held. Hundreds of nails have been hammered into its top. They are so far down in the stump they form a top that’s as smooth as satin.

The little stump’s final resting place is now our corporate museum, which means it originally resided on a girls’ college campus. I can only imagine how it came to be: were the girls so angry about something that they took turns hammering nails into the stump? Boys, grades, professors?

Was the project part of an old-school P.E. class (like the modern-day “rage rooms”?) Perhaps would-be suitors drove the nails into the tree while taking out their frustrations on an unrequited love or disdainful house marm.

I suppose we may never know. Until then I think I’ll sit here a while and read my anger management book.