Finding My Groove in Midwest Woodworking
You know, there’s something about the smell of freshly cut wood that just makes a person feel alive. It’s like a mix of earth and spirit, that sweet, nutty scent almost begging you to carve it into something beautiful. I still remember the first time I really got into woodworking, here in Omaha of all places. My neighbor had this old cherry tree in his backyard. An absolute beauty—twisted branches, thick trunk. One stormy night, though, Mother Nature decided that tree was too much. We woke up to find it cracked right down the middle. I thought, “Hey, let’s make something out of that.”
The Great Cherry Experiment
So there I was, looking at this mess of wood, and I got all ambitious. I had just picked up a basic set of tools: a Dewalt circular saw, a cheap Ryobi jigsaw, and a hand sander that probably had more miles on it than my old pickup. Nothing fancy. But I thought, “How hard could this be?”
I had zero idea of what I was doing, really. My plan? To turn that cherry into some beautiful, rustic shelves for my living room—something to hang my collection of books on, a little spot for my old typewriter, you know? But like they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and boy, was I on a detour.
Mistakes Were Made
I decided to start by cutting the logs into smaller pieces. Easy peasy, right? Well, as soon as the saw bit into the wood, I realized I forgot to check the grain direction. Can you believe that? I was all excited, the saw roaring, and the next thing you know, I’m staring at a set of completely uneven, splintered cuts. The sound of the saw biting into the wood was so satisfying, but once that blade was off, it was just cringeworthy.
I remember leaning against my workbench—yeah, my garage was a mess, sawdust everywhere—and thinking, “Maybe I just shouldn’t even try.” I had almost given up before I’d really even started. But something in me just wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was stubbornness or maybe just the drive to channel my frustration into something tangible. So, I took a deep breath, put on some ear protection, and tried again.
The Joy of Discovery
After a bit of trial and error—mostly error—I actually started to piece things together, literally and metaphorically. It turned out I could still make use of those uneven cuts by sanding them down, which took a lot longer than I expected. I think I wore out two sheets of 80-grit sandpaper just smoothing them out. The little nuances in the wood started to reveal themselves, though, and I felt like I was peeling back a layer of history, finding those intimate knots, the dark spots catching the light just right.
You know that feeling when you’re incredibly frustrated, then something clicks? I had one of those moments. I was about to toss a piece into the scrap pile when it caught my eye. It had these gorgeous reddish hues, still shining despite all the dust. I thought, “What if I make a cutting board instead?” It felt like a light bulb flipped on, and I was excited again like a kid with a new toy.
Finding the Right Finish
Now, picking a finish was an adventure of its own. I experimented with some oils I found at the local hardware store. I thought I wanted a polyurethane, but yikes, that stuff smelled like a chemical factory explosion. I quickly shifted gears and went for a food-safe mineral oil. I’d read somewhere that it would be easier to apply and not give off a headache-inducing scent while drying.
Surprisingly, once I started applying the oil, it felt like magic. The grain popped to life. I could hardly believe it was the same wood I’d almost tossed aside, and the smell—sweet cherries, rich and warm—was intoxicating. I swear, I sat there for a good hour, just breathing it in, feeling proud of my little victory.
The Final Reveal
Finally, the day came to hang the shelves. I felt a mix of pride and nervousness as I measured and re-measured before drilling into the wall. I had to go slow and make sure everything was level—nothing worse than crooked shelves, right? But the moment I stepped back and looked at them, I laughed. They were imperfect but uniquely mine. I could almost hear the wood whispering, “You did good, kid.”
Friends popped by later that week, and everyone seemed to love the shelves. Of course, they didn’t know the ‘behind-the-scenes’ drama that had unfolded. It felt good to share the story, to admit that I almost gave up but kept pushing through.
A Little Heartwarming Wisdom
If there’s anything I took away from that cherry experiment, it’s this: don’t be afraid to mess up. Seriously. It’s all part of the journey. It taught me to be patient with myself and the materials I was working with. If you’re thinking about diving into woodworking—just go for it. Grab that saw and start cutting. Don’t stress over perfection; just let the wood guide you. Because, in the end, you’ll find something that’s not only beautiful but tells a story—your story. And trust me, it’ll be worth every errant cut and grain that didn’t go precisely as planned.
