The Journey of Wood and Tools: An Afternoon with Michael Fortune Fine Woodworking
You know, it’s funny how we often think of woodworking as just cutting wood and nailing it all together. But let me tell you, it’s so much more than that. I’ve had my ups and downs over the years, and one name that always seems to float into my mind is Michael Fortune. It feels like his work is just, I don’t know, a reminder that what we do with our hands can be an art form—something that connects us in ways we might not even realize.
Just the other evening, I was out in my garage, trying to make sense of an old oak slab I picked up at the local lumber yard. I should mention, I started off with a bit of excitement—the kind that makes you forget to check if your tools are ready or if you even have the right wood. You know how it goes; the smell of fresh wood gets in your nose, and it just hooks you. You’re ready to dive in without thinking too much about the reality of it all.
Learning the Hard Way
So, there I was, envisioning a beautiful coffee table. I pictured it: the way the oak grain would shine through with some varnish, the way it’d fit perfectly in my living room, a centerpiece for family gatherings. What I completely underestimated, though, was just how uneven that slab was. Once I started working, I could hear my jointer groaning like an old dog trying to lift a heavy bone. I almost laughed; I swear it was giving me a side-eye like, “You thought this was gonna be easy?”
About halfway through the planing, I hit a knot. Just a little one, but boy, did it throw off my whole rhythm. The tool slipped, and I almost gave myself a new haircut. I stood there, staring at the roughness of what I’d done, just about ready to toss the whole thing out. I mean, what kind of idiot thinks oak is going to just lay down nicely? As if it’s some soft pine? Ah, if only I had taken a moment to feel the wood instead of rushing in with my head full of dreams.
Real Moments with Real Wood
After a few deep breaths—and maybe a sip or two of my now-cold coffee—I decided to get real with myself. I remembered something I learned from one of Michael Fortune’s videos: you have to work with the wood, not against it. So, I adjusted my speed, took a step back, and tried to listen to how the tool was interacting with the slab. Like the rhythm of waves against a shore, there’s a kind of dance to it, you know? I marveled at how the sound changed, the way it almost whispered back at me as I planed and sanded.
It took hours—believe me, I was in my garage long enough to age a barrel of whiskey. But as I started to see that lovely oak grain emerge, I couldn’t help but smile. It’s a beautiful thing when wood finally reveals what it’s been hiding, like peeling an orange and finding the juiciest, sweetest fruit inside.
But then came the staining part. You know, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: staining is like telling a good story. You can plan it all out, but sometimes it just doesn’t come together like you hoped. I used this dark walnut stain that I picked up on a whim—because, who doesn’t love dark wood? But when I began applying it, I realized I’d applied too much of it in one spot. What a nightmare! The wood was soaking it up like a sponge, and I was sitting there watching my dreams of that coffee table crumble before my eyes. I almost threw in the towel.
Stepping Back and Adjusting Course
You ever have one of those moments where you’re just like, “What on earth am I doing?” Yeah, that was me. I nearly walked away, but I decided to take a break instead. It’s funny what a little bit of distance can do. I went inside, made a fresh cup of coffee, and just sat for a minute. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the process that we forget to take a step back.
When I returned, I decided to go for it. I grabbed a clean cloth, added a bit of mineral spirits to thin the stain out, and applied it again using a bit of elbow grease. And somehow—ultimate miracle—I managed to blend those splotches into something decent. It was stressful, but it worked; I actually laughed when I saw how nicely it turned out.
The Beauty of Imperfection
When I finally finished the tabletop, I couldn’t believe I’d almost given up on it. I felt this swell of pride as I looked at it—like I’d wrestled with a wild creature and somehow tamed it. It’s not perfect; there are little errors here and there, but that’s the magic of it. Each imperfection tells a story. Just like Michael Fortune’s pieces, which radiate this beautiful, lived-in quality, mine for sure has its own tale to tell.
So, if you’ve got wood lying around, or tools collecting dust, I say just go for it. Embrace the mess. Maybe you’ll fight against that grain, but you might also find something in it. And who knows? You might just end up with a little piece of art you can call your own, and it’ll hold more than just the beauty of the wood; it’ll hold your lessons, your laughs, and your persistence.
And trust me, that’s worth more than perfection any day.
