intense. In Missoula, where timber framing and hand-built furniture carry a regional reverence that Minneapolis channels through studios, Black Limba's dramatic grey-to-black veining against golden-brown heartwood speaks a language craftspeople here already understand—the tension between restraint and expression held within a single board. The same sheets that might clad a restaurant wall in the North Loop find their way into a woodworker's shop off Higgins Avenue, selected not for trend but for the way the figuring darkens with age into something that feels earned, lived with, native to rooms built with patience. It is precisely this quality of deepening over time that makes Black Limba travel so well from metropolitan design centers into mountain towns where permanence matters, and as these sheets prepare to move farther south toward Mobile, the climate shifts dramatically—humidity rising, air thickening—raising questions about how a West African species