Tuning the Spruce

I walked through the open arched doorway of the neighborhood luthier's workshop, drawn by the clean resonance of drying spruce and pine varnish. Resting upon a low maple trestle, an unstrung cello body lay cupped in a ring of soft wool felt. Right beside the carved scroll, a polished steel tuning fork sat propped against a cake of amber rosin. Stepping onto a low wooden footstool, I reached out with deliberate care and tapped the twin tines with the firm pad of my front paw. A clear, silvery hum rose into the air. Leaning forward, I rested my chin directly against the curved instrument rib, feeling the sound tremble warmly through the wood until it softened into silence.