I believe you're right.
Uncle Teet was here from Gurdon, Arkansas a couple of weeks back. He's right about 80 (an age that doesn't seem all that out of reach anymore), was a woodworker his entire life (apparently out of necessity for part of it), and often waves that badge of an old time woodworker, the stub of a ring finger, to punctuate a remark. Although he can only move about enough to make bird houses and turkey calls these days, he makes them "by the dozens", to hear Aunt Marianne tell it.
Uncle Teet's lived in rural Arkansas his entire life - outside a town most folks pass though without ever realizing they've been there - and you could tell he couldn't quite figure out what to make of Houston, although he blamed his anxiety (out of country politeness, I am certain) on "passing that big kidney stone last week". After all, he'd only made the trip to these parts to see, almost certainly for the last time, a dying half-sister he hadn't seen in 30 years over in San Antone, and Houston was a necessary evil of a stopover on the way back. Everyone said you'd never get him to stay past the next day.
That first evening SWMBO showed him through the house, pointed out my furniture and stuff, as she's wont to do, and Uncle Teet kept his counsel and didn't' say much, until I offered to take him out to the shop the next morning. Shucks ... a stick of dynamite couldn't of moved him out of there for the next two days. When he wasn't sitting on a stool in the shop knee deep in sawdust, he was looking out the kitchen window to see if that was where I was ... like a kid looking out the window to see if his neighborhood pal was let out of the house for the day. I think he was disappointed the second morning when I wasn't out there at 5 AM sharp.
Thinking back on his visit, I can't remember when I've enjoyed anything as much as having Uncle Teet sitting in my shop. He didn't talk a lot, mostly just sat and watched, but he had a look of approval in his eye that was, as they say on the commercials, priceless. When he left to go back home, two days later (reluctantly, I do believe), he was carrying a chunk of my cocobolo that was about the right size for a couple of "turkey call experiments", and he promised me a truckload of white oak, if he had to bring it down here himself.
You gotta understand that, until this visit, Uncle Teet was not blood kin ....