A Weekend at Goodland Woodworking Camp
So, let me tell you about this time I spent a weekend at the Goodland Woodworking Camp. Now, if you haven’t heard of it, it’s this old barn-like building tucked away near the lake, surrounded by tall pines that smell like Christmas—fresh and woodsy. There’s something about that place that just pulls you in, you know? It’s like stepping back in time when people crafted things with their hands, and life wasn’t all about screens and deadlines.
I signed up on a whim, reeling from a particularly rough patch at work. I thought, “Why not? I could use a break from staring at spreadsheets.” Plus, woodworking had always intrigued me. I mean, who wouldn’t want to create something beautiful out of a simple piece of wood? So there I was, my bags packed with a little bit of hope—but mostly doubt.
The Arrival
When I first drove up, I remember feeling that familiar knot in my stomach—what if I was the worst one there? The camp was already buzzing with chatter. You could hear tools humming and the distinct sound of saws snapping through lumber. Everyone was friendly and those who were veterans offered advice like they were passing on trade secrets, but their hands were covered with sawdust, so it felt genuine.
I took a deep breath and tried not to overthink it. After all, I was there to learn. We started off with the basics, a little overview of tools. I’d only dabbled before, so everything—from the DeWalt miter saw to those hand planes that look like something out of a 19th-century workshop—was a bit intimidating. But there was this one instructor, Tom, an older guy with a white beard and a laugh that could fill the whole barn. He had a way of making everything sound easy, like he just understood wood.
The Project—A Shaker-Style Coffee Table
We were to tackle a Shaker-style coffee table. I figured, “How hard can it be?” Spoiler alert: Very. The first day felt like a dream. I was cutting, sanding, and assembling, feeling like a pro among the others. I even got a little cocky, sliding on some Walnut, which, let me tell you, smells divine when you’re working with it.
But by day two, my confidence was sinking faster than a stone. I mismeasured a piece—by a whole inch. One inch! Can you believe it? I almost cursed out loud when I realized. All that time spent cutting, and for what? I stood there, staring at the offending board like it was the worst mistake of my life. I considered tossing it into the firepit out back, but something stopped me.
The Learning Moment
That was my moment of clarity. I almost gave up, but instead, I took a deep breath and asked Tom for help. He chuckled and said, “Every piece of wood has its story, and every mistake is just part of that journey.” What a perspective, right? Rather than seeing it as a failure, I had this little revelation: I could fix it. So, I started to carve out a workaround and fashioned an apron to tie the top and bottom together. That was the beauty of it all; it was mine. With every flaw, I felt this connection to the wood, and slowly, it began to look like a table again.
I’d felt that momentary tick of frustration turn into something beautiful—a sense of accomplishment. Watching this piece come together, I couldn’t stop grinning. I even caught myself laughing when it actually worked, almost surprising myself with how good it felt. Who knew that just sanding out some edges and adding a few dowels could morph my colossal mess into something that resembled a coffee table?
The Final Touches
By the end of the weekend, we were all buzzing with excitement—showing off our projects like proud parents. My table wasn’t perfect, but it was a testament to all those hours of sweat and a few tears. As we wrapped up, with sawdust in our hair and smiles all around, I realized that’s what Goodland was really about: the camaraderie, the mistakes, and the scent of fresh-cut wood lingering in the air—reminding us that making something with your hands is a labor of love.
Driving home, I felt different. Sure, my coffee table wasn’t flawless, but it told a story. Each scratch and dent embodied hours of determination, laughter, and even a little frustration. If you’ve had a hard week or feel like you’re stuck in a funk, I can’t encourage you enough to take a leap like I did.
Wrap-Up
At the end of the day, if you’re thinking about trying woodworking or even just a project that seems a bit out of your league, just go for it. You might stumble, you might summon the courage to ask for help, or you might figure it out in a way that surprises you. Whichever path you take, embrace the process. There’s something really special in those imperfections that makes a piece—heck, even life—beautiful. Just remember: every crack tells a story.
