Finding My Way in Custom Woodwork: A Spokane Tale
So, I’m sitting here with a cup of that good ol’ diner coffee, you know the stuff—hot, strong, and perfect for a chilly Spokane morning. I’ve been meaning to share a bit about my adventures in custom woodwork. Not that I’m a pro or anything, but let me tell you, it’s been a wild ride.
A Painfully Familiar Start
It all really began when I decided I wanted to make a dining table. I mean, how hard could it be? Just a big ol’ slab of wood, some legs, right? I walked into my local woodshop, Spokane Valley Lumber, and figured I’d go for oak. Classic choice, right? As soon as I walked near the fresh-cut stuff, I could smell the sweetness of the wood, the way it mingles with sawdust in the air, that rich and comforting aroma. And honestly, I felt a bit like a kid in a candy store, just totally overwhelmed.
But then reality hit me when I realized I didn’t even own a decent table saw. I had this old thing from my uncle Ted that I think might’ve been a gift from a neighbor instead of an actual tool purchase. It rattled like it was on its last legs every time I turned it on. I almost gave up right then and there, thinking maybe I was way out of my league. But the idea of handcrafting something, of putting my mark on it—man, that kept nagging at me.
The First Few Cuts
Fast forward a couple of weeks and after a bit of saving, I snagged a used Dewalt table saw off Craigslist. I felt like I’d joined some elite club, even if it was just me and my garage full of tools that I was learning to use. I got the saw home, dusted it off like it was a family heirloom, and eyed those oak boards like they were a canvas waiting for paint.
The first cut I made? Wow, let’s just say, my heart was racing. It felt good—the sound of the saw buzzing through the wood was like music. But then, I don’t know what happened—I measured wrong. Like, how do you manage to mess up a measurement for a table? It’s just a rectangle! But there I was, staring at a board that was two inches too short. I seriously considered sending a text to my wife, saying, “I give up!” But instead, I laughed. I mean, what else could I do at that point?
Lessons in patience
Then came the sanding. If you ever think sanding is boring, try it for hours on end, and you’ll find yourself wanting to pull your hair out. That’s when I decided to treat it like a therapy session. I popped in some old country tunes, and with that cheap hearing protection, it almost felt peaceful in a weird way. I was getting lost in the rhythm of it—just me, the sandpaper, and those perfect little curly shavings that gather around your feet.
I learned real quick that 80-grit sandpaper is your best friend for rough stuff, but by the time I switched to 220-grit, I was feeling pretty confident. I swear, after all that time with the sander, the smell of that oak began to feel like victory—sweet and rich, like I had earned it somehow.
The Assembly
And let’s talk about the assembly. Holy smokes. After all that work, I almost considered having someone else do it. Just when I thought I’d gotten it all right, I realized I hadn’t left enough room for the pocket holes to be drilled. The “do-it-yourself” project was turning into a “what-have-I-done” moment. But I pushed through. And you know what? When those legs first touched the ground and the table stood balance on its own, I nearly shed a tear. Or maybe that was just sawdust in my eye—a classic move.
The Finish Line
With the tabletop finally complete, I had this moment of panic. What finish should I use? I mean, there are so many options. Lacquer, oil, polyurethane—you name it. After a week of obsessively Googling and asking people on the Spokane woodworkers‘ Facebook group, I just decided to go with a simple tung oil. It felt right, earthy, and like a hug for the wood. I painted it on and watched that deep grain come to life. It didn’t hurt to imagine my family gathered around it, sharing laughs, playing board games, and eating way too many dinners.
The Final Reveal
When I finally pulled that table into the dining room, I felt a mix of pride and disbelief. I had done it. Amid all the mistakes, mess-ups, and moments when I thought I might just drop woodworking altogether, I had created something real.
The first family dinner felt monumental in this way. It wasn’t just a meal; we were gathered around something I had built with my own two hands. My kid spilled some juice on it and I panicked for a second, and then I just laughed, “It adds character!”
An Invitation
So here’s my takeaway, and if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s this: If you’re thinking about trying woodwork or any project that seems daunting, just go for it. You’ll have setbacks; you will most definitely mess up. But you’ll learn something new about yourself and maybe even discover that sweet smell of wood that makes all the scrapes and cuts worthwhile. You don’t need fancy tools or perfect plans—what you really need is a heart full of determination and a dash of creativity.
So grab a piece of wood and make something! You might just surprise yourself.
