My journal reads: I saw Lincoln's hands at Manchester, Vt. 11:55 a.m. May 20, 1981. My heart moved at the smooth, veinless skin, long fingers, competent, unstrained, preserved in bronze. Thinking hands. I stood at the glass case a long time. The artist had asked to make the sculpture the day after Lincoln received formal notice of his nomination. Please grip something. In the woodshed while Volk waited, he sawed off a piece of broomstick, then whittled both ends smooth. So ``he would have it nice.'' When Lincoln held the stick Volk began to work. My feelings surprised me: Abraham Lincoln's hands. After, we walked up a winding road to the estate of his son Robert Todd, topping a hill, white pillars, a formal rose garden, and a view with no ending.