the patience of the plains meets the patience of the wood. In Omaha, where craftsmen understand that lasting things are built slowly—where the Missouri River itself has spent millennia carving its path—Black Limba's tendency to darken with age finds not just acceptance but deep appreciation, its grey to nearly black veins settling into golden brown heartwood like storm clouds gathering over flatland horizons. What distinguished this veneer in the rolling countryside of Oldham County translates here into something bolder, the streaked figuring carrying a different weight against Omaha's broader architectural canvases, its commercial interiors and residential statements demanding wood that commands without shouting. And as the eye follows those dark veins eastward again, back across the river toward the quieter neighborhoods of Orchard Grass Hills, the sapwood's pale greyish-yellow tones begin to whisper of something softer, something that