The Day I Took on Small Mortises
So, there I was, coffee in hand and a pile of oak in front of me. Now, I’m no professional woodworker — just an old chap tinkering away in my garage on weekends — but I had recently acquired this fancy little gadget from Seneca Woodworking: the small mortise kit. I’d been eyeing it for weeks, watching videos, absorbing all the little tips and tricks folks online had to share. You’d think with all that research under my belt, I’d have stepped into my project with thunderous confidence. Spoiler alert: not the case.
The Inception of a Project
I had this wild idea to build a small bookshelf for my daughter, Sarah. She’s been begging for a place to stash her endless collection of unicorn-themed novels. Such a sweet kid. And honestly, I thought, "How hard can it be?" I mean, those YouTube videos make it all look so easy.
The smell of the oak was intoxicating, that rich, earthy aroma wafting through the garage like a warm hug. I could already picture the finished product. But then I remembered: those mortises!
A Moment of Doubt
You see, before I opened that little mortise kit, I had been making things with screws and nails — a couple of birdhouses, some simple benches. Mortises? Now that was diving into the deep end. The first time I held that mortising chisel, it felt foreign in my hand, like I was trying to write with my off hand. I almost gave up right then and there. I remember thinking, "Maybe I should just stick to what I know." But no, I had to channel my inner carpenter… or something like that.
So, I measured everything out, marking my cuts carefully. I even went so far as to double-check my pencil lines, measuring twice, cutting once, right? But when I started chiseling into that beautiful oak, I could feel the sweat pooling on my brow — this wasn’t just some mess of plywood; it was the good stuff.
The First Mortise
Now, let me tell you, the first mortise went about as well as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. I angled the chisel wrong and ended up with this jagged, uneven hole. Frustration crept in like an unwelcome guest at a dinner party. I mean, why was it so complicated? The sound of the chisel hitting the wood echoed in the garage, each strike a reminder of my failures.
I almost tossed everything aside and loaded up the car to head to Lowe’s for a pre-made bookshelf. But then I thought about Sarah. I couldn’t let down that kid who had faith in her ol’ man’s skills. I took a deep breath, poured myself another cup of coffee, and decided to give it another shot.
The Turning Point
And wouldn’t you know it? The second attempt wasn’t perfect, but it was way better. Something clicked. I applied a little more pressure, kept a better grip, and focused on that slow, deliberate motion. That glorious feeling when the chisel sliced neatly through the wood? Yeah, it’s something I won’t forget anytime soon. I mean, I chuckled out loud — like I was patting myself on the back for every little victory.
It wasn’t long before I had a couple of decent mortises, each one a testament to patience and a sprinkle of stubbornness. The satisfaction of placing a tenon into the first joint and seeing it fit snugly? I felt like a king! Or at least like one of those DIY hosts on TV you see standing proudly by their creations.
Embracing the Mess
Of course, things didn’t just magically fall into place from there. I messed up the dimensions more than once, and boy, did I have some colorful language echoing in that garage. I had pieces that didn’t fit, others that splintered. There were moments I looked at my cluttered workbench, scattered tools, and wood shavings, thinking, “What in the world am I doing?”
But isn’t that part of the charm? That feeling of struggle, the laughter at your own expense when you realize you could’ve made a shiv out of all those crooked cuts.
A Final Touch
When it finally came together, the moment I stained that oak and saw the rich, golden hue emerge… oh boy. There was this sweet, woodsy smell that filled the air, and for once, all my mistakes felt like little badges of honor. When Sarah pulled the books out to fill the shelves, wide-eyed wonder written all over her face, I knew it had been worth every moment.
The Takeaway
So, if you’re sitting there wondering whether to take on that little project, let me just say: dive in. Embrace those screw-ups and hiccups. Those missteps are part of the journey, like little bumps in an otherwise smooth road.
No need for perfection; just a willingness to try and learn. If you’re thinking about picking up a Seneca woodworking small mortise kit, just go for it. Who knows? You might just surprise yourself. And honestly, it’s those late-night garage musings and the triumphs after a good struggle that make it all worthwhile. Here’s to building, creating, and maybe having a laugh at yourself along the way. Cheers!
