A Journey through Wood and Wonder at Kensons Woodworks
So, I’ll let you in on a little secret—Kensons Woodworks isn’t just a name for me. It’s practically a chapter of my life. Picture me, a small-town fella, standing in my garage, filled to the brim with wood shavings and the scent of sawdust hanging in the air, like some sort of homey shampoo commercial gone wrong. Seriously, there are days when I think I might as well sleep in there.
I remember the first time I really got into woodworking. It was a rainy Saturday, and I found myself scrolling through old family photos—surprise, surprise, I was trying to avoid house chores. Then I came across a picture of my granddad standing proud next to a bench he built in our backyard. It looked solid, like it had stories to tell. Right then, I thought, “I’m gonna do that.” So, I dusted off my ol’ miter saw, a cheap Craftsman model I swear I bought at a garage sale years ago, and set out on my journey.
The First Project: A Birdhouse
Now, don’t go thinking I started with some grandiose table or fancy chair. Nope. I decided to make a birdhouse, because, well, it sounded easier, and my wife would actually appreciate it. I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed some pine from Home Depot. Pine, foolishly light and full of knots—I can still hear the pop as I tried to drill through one of those nasty buggers.
I got this sudden rush of confidence, so I went for the most elaborate design I could find on Pinterest—not realizing half the tools they used in the video were way out of my league. I should have known when I saw those fancy dovetail joints. As I stood there, squinting at my halfhearted attempts at measuring, I remember thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?”
You ever put a piece of wood together only to realize it’s upside down? Yeah, that was me, probably three times. I laughed—more out of disbelief than humor—when it actually worked by pure chance. I was balancing the roof on the birdhouse thinking I was about to snap a photo for a magazine cover, but instead, it looked like something you might find at a yard sale. It turned out lopsided and weirdly proportioned. But hey, if the birds liked it, that was good enough for me.
The Air of Humility
The thing about woodworking—at least for me—is that it has this funny way of humbling you. Just when you’re feeling like you’re on top of the world building some fancy creation, life takes a sledgehammer to that ego. For instance, I was trying to sand down this little cabinet I thought would be a game-changer in the kitchen. I’d splurged on a beautiful piece of cherry wood—can you smell it? That sweet, rich aroma when you first cut into it? Heaven.
Anyway, I was all in, and the buffer was vibrating in my hands, but I realized I had forgotten to wear a dust mask. I coughed up a lung, but that wasn’t the worst part. Nope, that came later. I thought I’d gotten it smooth enough to stain it. I poured the minwax stain, it was like pouring syrup on something that had already gone cold. It just wouldn’t soak into certain spots, and I ended up with this hideously blotchy mess. It looked like a Jackson Pollock painting gone wrong.
I almost threw in the towel right there. I sat back in my chair with my best “What was I thinking?” face and stared at it, contemplating if I could just use it as firewood instead. But then I thought, “Nah, I can fix this.”
Embracing the Mistakes
And here’s where the magic happened—or at least the lesson did. I went back to my mid-range sandpaper (none of that expensive stuff for me at that moment) and started from scratch. I learned to embrace the goof-ups; it became a meditation of sorts. It didn’t always go well, sure, but I found out that mistakes could often lead to something even better. I ended up dabbing different stains on the surface, and wouldn’t you know it—swirling those colors around made it look intentional in the end. Who knew I was secretly a faux-finish artist?
You know, the best part of this whole adventure has been the little moments. Like hearing my son laugh as he tried to hammer his first nail and ended up hitting his own thumb—yeah, that was a knee-slapper, but also a moment of bonding. The way that wood feels in your hands, the rhythmic sound of sanding, or the way a finished project brings a warm glow to a room; it’s worth every splinter and missed measurement.
Closing Thoughts
So here I am, sipping my coffee, and looking at my own little workshop still scattered with half-finished projects and reminders of challenges I’ve faced. It’s messy, sure, but every little bump in the road has been a lesson learned. Honestly, if you’re sitting there, pondering whether you should pick up that saw or try your hand at woodworking—just go for it. The world could always use more handmade beauty, even if it’s a little crooked.
Trust me, and let those mistakes take you somewhere unexpected. There’s a joy in creating, and if you keep your heart in it, you might just end up with something that means a whole lot more than you originally set out to make. Happy crafting!
