Ah, Stickley Woodworking Plans…
So, there I was one rainy Saturday afternoon, the kind where the sky is crying harder than I do after a bad Chiefs game, sitting in my garage, coffee in hand, scanning over a Stickley woodworking plan I’d printed out. You know, that arts and crafts movement stuff that just looks so darn inviting? The simplicity of it all really drew me in, even if my woodworking background was about as sturdy as a wobbly three-legged stool.
The Project
I decided to tackle a classic: the Stickley coffee table. Simple enough, right? Just a few pieces of wood, some joinery (which at that time I didn’t even know how to pronounce), and a whole lot of elbow grease. I found this gorgeous quarter-sawn oak at the local lumberyard. Man, the smell of that stuff! Earthy and full of potential—it practically sang to me as I walked through the aisles. I could already picture that table sitting right in my living room, the centerpiece of family gatherings, where we’d sip hot cocoa and reminisce about the good ol’ days.
A Few Mistakes
Now, here’s where things got tricky. I was cocky, thinking, “This won’t take long. It’s just a table.” Well, let me tell you, folks: I was wrong. The plan said to cut the pieces of oak to size, and you know what? I got a little too confident with my table saw. I didn’t double-check my measurements—oh no, I just went to town. Let’s just say, my “coffee table” pieces ended up looking more like a puzzle with missing pieces. I had to make a trip back to the lumberyard, which, by the way, was also the most entertaining half-hour of my life as I explained to the cashier why I needed an entire new set of boards.
Now, I almost gave up when I was staring at that new wood in my garage, thinking maybe this thing was just too much for me. You ever get that feeling? Like maybe you should just stick to fixing squeaky doors rather than trying to become some woodworking hero? But then I remembered the smell of that first cut, how satisfying it felt to see the sawdust raining down, and I pushed through.
The Joinery Dilemma
So, once I finally had all my pieces cut right, I thought I was on a roll. Then the word “joinery” loomed over me like a cloud. Mortise and tenon joints—sounds fancy, right? It’s that traditional joinery from back in the day that gives that true Stickley feel. But I didn’t own a mortiser. Nope. Just a chisel and a hammer, which let me tell you, are not exactly the tools for that job if you don’t know what you’re doing.
I spent hours chiseling away, and of course, I didn’t have a proper guide. I also didn’t know that I should’ve made test cuts first. So there I was, trying to fit pieces together, and the joints looked more like a bad jigsaw puzzle than anything resembling fine craft. I fought my way through it though, laughing at myself each time a piece wouldn’t fit. I can just hear my old high school woodshop teacher: “Measure twice, cut once.” Well, let’s just say I was doing it wrong in every possible way.
The Final Assembly
After days of swearing and bonding with my tools, I finally got to the assembly part. That moment when you put everything together, and it feels like a magical moment? Well, it was kind of magical. There’s something about tightening those clamps down, feeling everything come together, that just makes your heart sing. But then—oh boy—when I started sanding, I realized that the finish I’d chosen was… not what I anticipated. I had picked up some stain that promised a “light oak” finish, but it turned out looking more like a muddy puddle than anything close to what I envisioned.
And yet, with every stroke of the sander, I felt a little more confident, a little more “this isn’t a total disaster.” Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I applied the finish. And when that varnish brought out the grain of that oak—well, let me tell you—that was the moment I laughed the hardest. Every mishap and every wrong cut seemed entirely worth it.
Reflections Over Coffee
So here I am, sitting at that table, now a proud centerpiece in my living room, sipping my coffee and reminiscing. Yeah, it’s not perfect. There are a few spots where the joinery is a bit off, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t trip over the feet every now and then. But every little flaw tells a story—like that scar on your grandma’s hand from her first time making a pie.
If you’re thinking about trying your hand at this woodworking stuff, just go for it. Maybe you’ll have a few mishaps like I did, but trust me, those moments of self-doubt will turn into the proudest memories once you see that finished product. Life’s too short to shy away from a good project. Grab some wood, a couple of tools, and embrace the chaos. You never know what beautiful things you might create, even if they come with a few funny stories attached.
