Approaching Bunchberry Woodworking: A Tale from the Shop
You know, for a long while, I thought I could just whip together anything in my little garage without really thinking it through. I mean, it’s just wood, right? You measure a little here, saw a little there, and next thing you know, you’ve got yourself a bookshelf—or so I thought.
So, it was last summer, and I decided I wanted to dive into some bunchberry woodworking. Now, if you’re scratching your head wondering what that is, you wouldn’t be alone. Bunchberry, also known as Cornus canadensis, is this little plant that grows wild in the woods around here. I always loved how the berries looked. Plus, it fit my aesthetic—rustic but a little charming, you know?
Anyway, I thought, “Why not try to make something special?” Ah, the glorious ambition of a novice woodworker. I had this grand vision of a tiny side table—something cute to hold my coffee and maybe a couple of books. I could practically see it in my mind, this sturdy little thing made from bunchberry. After all, my grandfather always said, “If you pull it from the ground, you can make something from it.”
So, I grabbed my tools. I’ve got this old circular saw that’s seen better days but gets the job done. My dad passed it down to me, and it has a couple of dings and scratches, but it roars like a lion when I plug it in. I also had a chisel set, which I bought at a local hardware store—nothing fancy, just a mid-range brand. I even had some wood glue I found in the back of my garage that’d probably been there since my high school shop class.
Here’s where my first misstep happened. I was so eager to get started that I didn’t bother to really study how to work with this type of wood. Bunchberry isn’t your usual woodworking stock. It’s light and almost fragile compared to oak or pine, which is what I usually use. So, when I went to cut a piece, it splintered like it was made of glass. I was just standing there, bewildered, watching the shavings fall to the floor like confetti.
And let me tell you, watching something fall apart when you thought you had a tight grip on it—well, that was a punch to the gut. My first instinct was to toss it all out and quit; I even almost picked up the phone to call my dad for advice. But you know, deep down, I had this stubbornness. I thought if I gave up now, it’d be like admitting defeat, like one of those kids who runs home when the going gets tough.
After a few deep breaths, I decided to take a step back and, I don’t know, maybe do a little research. Crazy idea, I know! So I started looking up ways to handle the wood, and lo and behold! There were articles and forums specifically devoted to working with it. Turns out, folks were preaching about curing it first—air drying or sealing the edges before cutting would help with the splintering. Who knew I’d fall into the “learn-the-hard-way” category?
I went back into my garage with renewed determination. I found a bunch of old clamps—nothing pretty, but they got the job done. I clamped down the pieces and let them sit for almost a week. And in that time frame, I started to feel confident about my project again.
The smell of the wood was something out of a dream—earthy and slightly sweet—as I finally got around to shaping the table, sanding it down with my trusty old belt sander. I was bobbing my head to some classic rock, and I remember laughing out loud when I finally applied the finish. It wasn’t perfect, but it smoothed out those edges I had cursed weeks before. The warm glow of the sealant brought out the natural tones of the bunchberry, and I felt a swell of pride in my chest when I took a step back to admire what I had created.
But here’s the kicker: When I finished assembling the table, I set it up next to my favorite chair and placed my mug on it. The whole thing wobbled like it had been on a boat in rough seas. I mean, you could’ve poured your coffee out from one end! My stomach dropped, and I almost just collapsed into a heap right there. Talking about disappointment!
Then it hit me—sometimes things don’t turn out how you envision them, no matter how hard you try. In that moment, though, I chuckled at the absurdity of it all. How could I be so caught up in the wood and the crafting that I forgot basic engineering? I ended up finding some shims and adjusted the legs, and voilà! It stood sturdy, strong, and even kind of beautiful in its own quirky way.
That whole messy adventure taught me more than just how to work with bunchberry wood. It reminded me that woodworking—or really, any kind of crafting—isn’t about perfection. It’s about the process, the lessons learned, and the stories in those knots and cracks. Every piece carries a bit of history, a touch of failings and triumphs.
So, if you’re out there, thinking about trying your hand at woodworking, or getting into some gently challenging project, just go for it. Don’t be afraid to mess up; those little mistakes and lessons along the way are what make your creation truly yours. Don’t forget to breathe, and maybe keep the phone close—you’ll need it.
