Finding My Way with Back Saws
So, let me tell you about my little adventure with back saws. You know, when I first started woodworking, I had this romantic idea that I’d be crafting furniture as if I were in some Pinterest dream. I’d strut into the shop with my Rory-gonna-be-a-master-craftsman attitude, armed with all the shiny tools I could find. Yeah, I was pretty green. More like a pre-teen all decked out for a school dance, just not quite ready to pull it off.
I remember my first real project—a simple bookcase for my daughter’s room. Nothing fancy, just some oak boards I had picked up from the local lumber yard. Oak smells heavenly when cut, almost like a sweet hug from nature. But man, trying to get those boards to sit and stay put—well, that’s where I met my nemesis: the back saw.
At first, I didn’t even know what a back saw was, honestly. I mean, I’d heard the term, but it seemed like some ancient tool that the greats had left behind. But when the guy at the hardware store told me that a back saw would give me those clean, precise cuts for my joints, I was sold. In my head, I could visualize these perfectly squared angles, joined with a sense of pride. Little did I know, reality would give me a swift kick in the pants.
I picked one up—something from Irwin, I think. I was drawn to the shiny brass back and the wooden handle, looking all inviting and professional-like. I took it home, and oh boy, what a feeling. I could practically hear the tool whisper, “You’re gonna build something amazing today!” But boy, was I in for a surprise.
The First Cut: A Lesson in Humility
So there I was, in my garage with the smell of sawdust dancing in the air, feeling cocky. I set my board down, marked it with a pencil, and placed it on the sawhorses. In my head, I thought, “This will be easy. Just a nice, smooth cut.” I gently placed the back saw against the line and started to saw.
Ever tried to saw something and felt like you were pushing against a brick wall? Yeah, that was me. I was jamming the saw down, sweat beading on my brow, and all I could hear was the screeching of metal against wood—a sound I’d come to recognize as a precursor to catastrophe. I was so focused and tense, my muscles straining, that I almost forgot to breathe.
What I didn’t realize was that I was angling the saw wrong. The blade was binding, and what should’ve been a simple cut turned into a battle between man and wood. I wanted to throw the saw out the garage door and yell every curse word I could muster. I almost gave up right there, thinking I had bought the wrong tool, crafted for some ancient master rather than a small-town dad like me.
But after a deep breath, I took a step back, maybe drank a bit of coffee—yeah, coffee was definitely involved—I decided to try again, but this time, I paid closer attention to how I was holding that saw. It’s funny, you think just grabbing a tool means you know how to use it, but no. There’s a finesse in that straight little back saw I clearly hadn’t appreciated the first time around.
The Turning Point
Once I relaxed and let that saw do its thing—find its groove, if you will—I felt the resistance ebb away. The saw glided through the wood, and it actually made the most beautiful cut! I laughed so hard in my garage, startling the dog who thought I’d finally lost it. That moment, it felt like I had just unlocked some ancient secret. I could hear the wood sigh as it split, a gentle surrender to my efforts.
Now, I know back saws come in different varieties—dovetail saws, tenon saws, all that jazz—and I eventually got more curious about them. Each one has its strengths and weaknesses, sure. But the old trusty back saw has a sort of comforting reliability that you don’t often find. I mean, it’s like the old friend who doesn’t compete with you; it just helps you be better.
The next big thing I learned was about wood types. I went to a bit of a wooden paradise at a local lumber mill and was overwhelmed with choices. Cherry, maple, mahogany… and oh, the smells! I remember taking a deep inhale of cherry and thinking, “If I could bottle this scent, I’d give it to folks as a gift.” But working with different woods can be a tricky dance—each one acts differently, and they all have their quirks.
Beyond the Saw
After all those battles, I actually finished that bookcase. I still have it at home, standing proud but maybe a little crooked. It holds a collection of my daughter’s favorite stories, and even after all that chaos, it feels like a first victory. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded of those early mistakes, those awkward moments where I almost tossed in the towel.
If there’s anything I’ve learned through that, it’s that woodworking—or any craft, really—takes patience. You won’t always get it right on the first swing. Or the second. But when it does click, it’s worth every moment of doubt. There’s something beautifully grounding about taking raw materials and crafting them into something useful, something meaningful.
So, if you’re sitting there, maybe hesitating at the idea of trying your hand at a project, just go for it. You might not get it right, but my friend, those missteps will teach you more than any perfectly cut joint ever could. And who knows? You might just surprise yourself, laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and end up with something made from the heart.
