A Little Slice of Heaven at Goodland Woodworking Camp
You know how sometimes you just need to step away from the chaos of life and dive into something creative? Well, that’s exactly what brought me to Goodland Woodworking Camp last summer, and boy, do I have some stories to tell.
So, picture this: it’s a sunny Friday morning, and I’m packing my old pickup truck, my trusty friend Hammer—yeah, I named my hammer—tucked snugly among bags of clothes and a few snacks that may or may not have included a regrettable amount of beef jerky. My plan was to soak up wood shavings and the smell of fresh pine for a weekend. I’d heard whispers in town about Goodland being a kind of magical place where folks come together over their love of woodworking.
When I pulled into that gravel driveway, I could feel the excitement bubbling up like the last remnants of coffee on a warm Saturday. There were folks milling about, friendly faces, and all sorts of tools laying around like they owned the place. And honestly, that was part of the charm. It felt welcoming, like stepping into Grandma’s kitchen, where the main course was sawdust and the dessert was creativity.
The First Night Jitters
That first night, as the sun set and cast a golden glow over everything, I was a ball of nerves. What was I thinking? I was just a guy with a few scrap pieces of wood in my garage, not some seasoned carpenter. I remember sitting around the campfire, listening to everyone share their experience levels. Some guys had their workshops and worked full-time in the industry while I was just there for the weekend hobby. I almost packed it in and went home, thinking I didn’t belong, y’know?
Ah, but then I caught a whiff of cedar chestnut wafting from the fire, and it felt like the universe nudged me just right. They say woodworking is as much about the feelings behind the pieces as it is about the wood itself, and let me tell you, that smell was a good reminder that we were all just here for the love of it. So, I stuck around, and that’s when things really got interesting.
The Pine Disaster
Saturday was when we dived into our project—a simple little stool, nothing fancy. But man, did I underestimate the task. I picked out some of the prettiest pine I could find—Softwood, not the most expensive, but charming in its own right. I was feeling pretty confident until I got to the cutting stage. You see, I had a circular saw with a new blade, and I thought, “Hey, how hard can it be?”
Well, let’s just say I discovered the answer to that question the hard way. Somewhere between “measure twice, cut once” and “Oops, that’s not how it’s supposed to look,” I ended up with two mismatched legs. They were like Frankenstein’s creation: one leg was what you’d want while the other was a sad, sorry sight.
I laughed when it actually worked out, but it was a nervous laugh, like I was trying to hide my embarrassment. “Maybe it’ll just add character?” I muttered, but deep down, I was questioning my life choices. But then one of the more experienced guys, a fellow named Dave, came over with a twinkle in his eye. He gave me a few pointers about how to salvage it and even offered me a few tools. “It’s okay to mess up, kid,” he told me. “That’s where the magic happens.”
The Tools That Saved Me
That was the moment things clicked. I took a breath, said goodbye to the shame, and together, we figured out how to work with what I had. We added a little support brace where the legs met the body. Honestly, I was out of my comfort zone, but it felt good. The sound of wood being sanded reminded me of rain on a tin roof—calming, steady. The only thing I could think of was how satisfying it would be to finish something I thought I’d ruined.
As I sat on my completed stool that night, kicking back around the fire like I’d just created a piece of art, I felt that warm rush of accomplishment—like everything was aligned just right, you know? And I figured out that it wasn’t just about creating something; it was about the community, the stories behind every tool, and the personal connections made over a shared struggle and triumph.
Leaving with More than a Stool
By the time Sunday rolled around, I felt like I’d been through a mini boot camp. The folks around that camp weren’t just teachers—they were companions on this wild woodworking journey. We laughed, shared meals, and exchanged goofy stories and embarrassing mishaps in our projects like we’d known each other for years.
Goodland Woodworking Camp wasn’t just about making a so-called perfect piece of furniture; it was about learning to embrace imperfections—my stool now has a crooked leg that I’ve happily dubbed “character” and a few uneven edges that tell my story.
So, if you’re out there, thinking about dabbling in woodworking or even just considering attending a camp like Goodland, I say go for it. You’re not just receiving skills; you’re gaining a whole new family, a heap of memories, and a deeper appreciation for all things wood.
Trust me, this imperfect journey is one you’ll want to take, with all the bumps and laughs that come along with it. Sometimes, just showing up is the hardest part—but when you do, magic happens.
