It’s been a struggle. Rough sawn boards of sycamore and maple, thick sections ripped for legs by hand and then shaped with spokeshaves with scarcely room in my workshop to move. The truth is, though, the result of working through difficulties and challenges thrilled me. The fact that I wasn’t looking for an easy path of unskilled work and at my age somehow still captivated me in the same way I would be when I climbed rock faces every weekend rather than follow the footpath way down below my climb. I’m glad I stopped using a router for such things as rounding over, rebating and routing out dadoes. The sterility of perfectly machined quadrants and the setting up of jigs as guides have never been part of my life. This alone led me to an enriched my life filled with wonderful memories of skilled work.
Today I am moving downstairs and into my new workshop. Gathering my tools into banana boxes has always made me feel unsettled, but with the conclusion of building my garage workshop, finishing off the blanket chest, relocating my mind for a fresh association, is part of who I am. I build. I build furniture and buildings, I build hope in people that love the idea of becoming woodworkers like myself. I build ideas.
Today is a special day in that sense of uniqueness.