If you’ve ever wondered why Boone is nicknamed “Dusty,” look no further than the percussion on this track. Underneath his trademark boot-stomp is the heavy, rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of an axe-poll or a wooden mallet striking a log. “Oak Ribbon” is a masterclass in white oak basketry, a craft that is as much about muscle as it is about finesse.
One Season at a Time
Boone describes the labor-intensive process of “pounding the oak.” This isn’t just carpentry; it’s a way of separating the growth rings of a felled tree to create thin, flexible splints or “ribbons.” As Boone puts it, the oak is a ladder—each layer represents a season of growth, and he’s peeling them back to find the “bright little wonder” hidden inside.
The song captures the specific Maddox philosophy of work: it’s a lonesome rhythm, just the wood and the hand. By soaking the splints until they bend “like a stubborn old man meetin’ up with a friend,” he weaves a vessel that can carry anything from berries to grain.
Finding the Give
The spoken bridge in “Oak Ribbon” serves as a metaphor for surviving in Sector 8. “You can’t rush the oak. If you pull too hard, she’ll snap. If you don’t pull enough, she’ll leave a gap.” It’s a lesson in tension and balance. Whether you’re weaving a basket or building a life in the wasteland, you have to find the “give” in the mountain to make sure the structure holds.
By the end of the track, you can almost feel the calluses on your own palms and the satisfaction of tucking in that final edge.
OAK RIBBON
by: Boone “Dusty” Maddox
I took a length of white oak, straight and free of knots
Down where the creek-bed turns and the timber rots
I peeled away the bark ’til the heart was lookin’ pale
And I started in to pound it like a giant iron nail
Poundin’ on the fiber ’til the rings began to part
Wakin’ up the ribbons hidin’ in the timber’s heart.
Oh, the oak is a ladder, if you know how to climb
Separate the layers, one season at a time
You weave ’em over, and you weave ’em under
Holdin’ back the rain and the rollin’ mountain thunder
A basket for the berries or a basket for the grain
Born out of the hammer and the fallin’ of the rain.
I pulled a dozen splints, thin as a winter leaf
Tougher than a heartache and stronger than a grief
I soaked ’em in the bucket ’til they started in to bend
Like a stubborn old man meetin’ up with a friend
I set the base in cross-ways, a sturdy little square
Lockin’ in the bottom with a bit of mountain air.
Up the sides I went, dancin’ through the vertical ribs
The same way that my kin-folk built the houses and the cribs
Tuckin’ in the ends so the edges wouldn’t fray
Carryin’ the work of a long and dusty day
It’s a lonesome kind of rhythm, just the wood and the hand
Making somethin’ useful out of what’s grown on the land.
You can’t rush the oak.
If you pull too hard, she’ll snap.
If you don’t pull enough, she’ll leave a gap.
Just like the mountain…
you gotta find the give.
Oh, the oak is a ladder, if you know how to climb
Separate the layers, one season at a time
You weave ’em over, and you weave ’em under
Holdin’ back the rain and the rollin’ mountain thunder
A basket for the berries or a basket for the grain
Born out of the hammer and the fallin’ of the rain.