A Cup of Coffee and a Few Lessons with Northern Superior Woodworks
You ever find yourself standing in your garage, coffee in hand, surrounded by piles of wood, thinking, “What on earth am I doing?” Yeah, me too. I’m Dan. If you were to ask me a few years back if I’d be whittling wood into something that almost resembles a piece of furniture, I’d probably laugh at you. But here I am, and I want to share my little wooden journey with you.
The First Cut
It all started with a piece of Northern Superior wood. I’d heard about this place from a neighbor who had been raving about their beautiful hardwood. “You just have to start with the good stuff,” he said, nudging me toward his latest project, a stunning coffee table made from their cherry wood. It was like something straight out of a magazine, the color rich and warm.
“Alright, how hard can it be?” I thought, full of ambition and maybe a touch of naiveté. So, I trotted off to the lumber yard. Have you ever stepped inside one of those? It’s like a candy shop, but for adults with serious saw issues. The smell of fresh-cut wood hit me like a wall, and honestly, it was intoxicating. I strolled the aisles, running my hands over oak, maple, and of course, cherry. I finally settled on a beautiful slab of walnut. I mean, who doesn’t love the deep, rich tones of walnut?
I can’t remember if I grabbed a cup of coffee before or after that decision, but let’s just say my caffeine intake altered my judgment.
The Great Miscalculation
So here’s where things went sideways. I didn’t know the first thing about properly working with this wood. I mean, sure, I knew what a saw looked like, and I had a pretty decent drill, but I didn’t have a clue about grain direction or the right screws. When I pulled out that slab of walnut, I was filled with ideas. Maybe a nice, simple bench? I can handle a bench, right?
I remember the sound of the saw, that keen slicing through wood, and there I was, feeling like I was really getting somewhere. Until I wasn’t. Cutting horror—one wrong angle, and I ended up with a piece that looked more like modern art than a simple bench. It was lopsided and, to be frank, pretty ugly. I almost gave up then and there, wanting to pack it all up and shove it in the corner of the garage.
But something held me back. Maybe it was stubbornness or that unnamable itch to create. So, I took a deep breath, poured myself another cup of coffee, and sat with that awkward piece of wood.
How Many Times Can You Sand?
Now, let me tell you about sanding. Oh man, the sanding. If someone had warned me, I might’ve invested in a good therapy couch instead of a palm sander. After realizing my initial cut wasn’t just a fluke but the start of a potentially beautiful creation (assuming I didn’t wreck it first), I flipped my approach. I grabbed a piece of 80-grit sandpaper, and wow, that first stroke was pure bliss—almost a zen moment.
But there’s a catch to sanding: it never ends! I thought, “How bad could it be to just do a bit more?” It became one of those three-hour black holes. I lost myself in the repetitive motion, with sawdust swirling around me like a snow globe. I swear I could taste the wood, earthy and sweet. Now, if my neighbors had looked in, they might have thought I was losing it, but I was in my element—albeit a dusty one.
The Stain That Almost Ruined Everything
Then came the moment of truth: staining. I had a can of rich walnut stain waiting for this day, but honestly, part of me was nervous. What if it looked terrible? What if all my hard work ended up looking like something you’d shove behind a door? So, of course, my gut was telling me to go easy, but you know how it is—“Go big or go home!”
I slapped on that stain, and oh boy, the sweet smell filled the garage. I couldn’t help but smile as it soaked into the wood. Those grain patterns came alive, and for a moment, I thought, “Maybe, just maybe, I’m onto something here.” But then, reality hit; I didn’t wipe it off soon enough; I only made it worse. I thought I ruined all my progress. With trembling hands and my heart racing, I started blotting it off as best I could, praying I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life.
And guess what? It actually worked out! The final result was quite beautiful. Those deep hues softened in the end after a good buffing. I couldn’t stop laughing, relief washing over me like that last gulp of coffee.
The Final Touch
At the end of it all, I stood back and looked at my creation. Was it perfect? Far from it. But it had character, and it felt like me—lopsided but proud. I slapped on some sturdy legs, took a picture, and thought, “Well, there’s proof.” If you ever manage to grab a seat on that bench, know it’s a reminder of the journey I took—coffee, mistakes, and a whole lot of sawdust.
So, here I sit, with my simple bench, my trusty tools, and the memories of lessons learned the hard way. If you’ve got any inkling of trying this woodworking business, please, just go for it. Don’t let a little fear of mistakes hold you back. You might surprise yourself — or at least end up with a unique piece of furniture that tells a story. And in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about?
