Remembering Woodworkers Supply: A Slice of Heartbreak
You know, the smell of freshly cut pine still makes my heart flutter a bit. There’s just something about it—sharp but sweet, earthy with a hint of resin that gets all mixed in with memories of countless weekends spent in my garage, hammering away at some half-baked idea. I think back to the days when I’d pile into my beat-up truck and drive down to Woodworkers Supply—it was kind of my second home, you know?
Just this past Friday, I got the news. They’re closing their doors for good. Just like that. I mean, sure, life goes on, but man, it feels like a real gut punch to a guy like me.
A Place for Dreamers
I can still picture it vividly—the wooden board sign at the entrance, the aisles lined with everything under the sun: clamps, chisels, dust collectors—those big, rumbling beasts that always made me chuckle a little. It was all there, like a treasure trove for anyone willing to get their hands dirty and make something.
I remember the first time I stepped in there. It was like a kid walking into a candy store—so much potential, so many options, and yet, a bit overwhelming too. I was looking for some cherry wood to make a dining table for our new home. I had no clue what I was doing, and I’m pretty sure I awkwardly floated around, trying to look like I belonged. The salesperson, bless their heart, could probably see the confusion written all over my face.
“Cherry wood? Ah, a classic choice,” they said with that knowing smile. That’s when I learned about the different grades of wood, how they’d affect everything from the look to the price. And let me tell you, when you hear, “This one is knot-free and gorgeous,” your wallet suddenly feels a whole lot lighter.
When Things Go Wrong
So, I got my cherry wood and I was pumped. I even rented one of those crazy table saws—I still feel the hum of that beast in my bones. I thought I was the next Norm Abram. I mean, how hard could a dining table be?
Long story short, plenty hard. I almost gave up when I made my first cut—it was straight, and then it wasn’t. The grain was all wrong, and the dimensions didn’t match up. I was left staring at a disheveled pile of wood, questioning my own sanity. I remember grumbling under my breath, “Who needs this much patience, anyway?”
But somewhere deep down, I could hear my dad’s voice, reminding me that even the best woodworkers had their flops. So, I pushed through and finally, finally, things started to come together. It was during the finishing touches—polishing it up with some Danish oil—that I chuckled at how far I had come. That rich, warm scent filled up the garage, and I felt a sense of pride wash over me.
The Community Vibe
What’s also really hit home is how much Woodworkers Supply wasn’t just about buying stuff, but about connecting with other folks who shared the same passion. I met a few guys there who became friends—some grizzled veterans of woodworking, some just like me, trying to figure things out one splinter at a time.
We’d hang around the lumber racks exchanging tips, advice, and, well, some pretty wild ideas about projects no one would ever take on, like turning an old pallet into rustic furniture or attempting a complex joint with nothing but ambition and patience. They hosted classes too—man, those were a blast. I still remember the day they had a course on intarsia. I stepped in full of hope, but, uh, left feeling like I had just run a marathon!
And now, with them closing up shop, it kind of feels like I’ve lost a piece of that community. A little corner of my heart is missing.
Looking Back, Moving Forward
I guess what stings most is that, as much as we need places like Woodworkers Supply, it seems like they just don’t survive anymore. The big box stores don’t have that personal touch, and the online shopping experience feels sterile compared to the lively hustle and bustle of a local shop. I reckon we lose a little bit of warmth every time a place like that goes under.
But hey, I’ve got to remind myself—woodworking isn’t just about the tools or the wood. It’s about the process, the learning, and the people we meet along the way. It’s those moments when things go wrong, and you laugh at yourself for nearly losing it when, honestly, you’re just one cut away from something beautiful.
So, if you’re out there thinking about diving into woodworking or even just some DIY project in your garage, I say, just go for it. Do it for the smell of the wood, the satisfaction of creating, and maybe even for the oddball conversation you can have with a stranger who turns into a friend. You’ll mess up, and you’ll laugh, and you might even surprise yourself at how good the end product can be.
After all, we all have to start somewhere. Just don’t forget to soak in every little moment along the way.
