It had to happen eventually. The aged Kelvinator refrigerator that held the lunches of generations of journalists, typesetters and pressmen at Mennonite World Review fell
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — On my first visit to Ramon St. Hilaire’s workshop, in a narrow alley in Port-au-Prince, I remember it smelled of fragrant, fresh-cut wood. Sawdust sparkled in the tropical air. Outside, stacks of wood from the obeche tree cured in the sun, waiting to be shaped into elegant bowls. During this visit, St. Hilaire showed me a newly sanded platter. I took it and turned it over in my hands, feeling something familiar in the smoothness of its form.
