A Cup of Coffee with Lee Tree Woodworks
So, let me take you on a little journey—one I never thought I’d end up on when I first picked up a couple of pieces of wood and some tools about, oh, seven years ago. I was sitting in my small garage, surrounded by discarded scraps and half-finished projects, just trying to figure out how to make some beautiful things out of raw material. You know, the kind of stuff that makes you proud to hang on your wall or, at least, give to your mother-in-law?
That First Attempt
I remember my very first project—an end table. I had this spunky little idea in my head about how it would look. I bought some pine at the local hardware store, thinking it’d be an easy win. But boy, was I mistaken! Pine is soft; I thought it’d give me smooth edges, right? Nope. I remember the push from my new friend, an old timer at the lumberyard, who used to say, “Wood ain’t just wood, kid.”
That sage advice came flooding back as I sat there wrestling with the smell of sawdust mixed with the faint whiff of coffee lingering in my garage. I had my trusty jigsaw and a sander, and soon learned that a sanding block would have saved me hours. Those rounded edges? They were as jagged as a mountain goat’s hoof, and I almost gave up halfway through sawing. I leaned against the workbench and thought, “Man, am I cut out for this?”
The Real Problem
Looking back, the real problem wasn’t the wood; it was my expectations. I thought I could elevate my craft in a week. I remember the frustration as I clamped those tables together, only to watch my dives into pocket-hole screws turn into a literal dive into a deeper panic. They didn’t line up! Imagine trying to slap a puzzle together when a piece has a flat edge on a rounded section—it was a disaster. I went inside, grabbed another cup of coffee, and stared at the chaos I created.
Eventually, after a few more hours and a couple of casual curse words whispered into the dust, I managed to finish. When I stood that end table upright and inspected it, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was quirky—more like a wobbling friend at a dinner party than the masterpiece I envisioned.
The Learning Curve
Mistakes like that kept coming, of course. I remember working with some oak later on—solid, beautiful oak, mind you. Anyone with half a brain would have known it required the right tools. I was feeling a bit cocky, so I thought, you know what? Let’s try this without a proper joiner.
Let’s just say, buying an actual track saw after spending an eternity fighting against splintered edges will really wake you up. That sharp, clean cut from the track saw—oh man, when I made that first cut and got a whiff of the fresh wood shavings, I was euphoric. You wouldn’t believe the smile on my face. It was like the wood was finally talking back to me, like “See? Just treat me right!”
Collaborative Efforts
Then there’s the time I tried to enhance my skills by jumping into a group project with my neighbors. We wanted to build this giant picnic table for the annual block party. You can imagine the scene, right? Five neighbors trying to hammer this thing together, blending their various levels of self-proclaimed “woodworking skills.” Huge ego problems plus no solid plan equals… well, chaos.
We ended up with mismatched boards and a table that looked like it had seen a tornado. I still remember the sound of laughter echoing in our backyard as I nailed the last bit and realized it wobbled worse than the first end table I ever made. But you know what? The kids used it, and we ended up making some great memories that day.
The Growth
Fast forward a few years, and I’ve moved onto using hardwoods—like walnut, cherry, and even a bit of mahogany when I’m feeling daring. They’ve taught me patience in ways I never expected. Each new type of wood had its own personality. I remember the first time I planed down a piece of cherry. The sweet, warm smell when the blade met the wood was magical. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, and forgot all the mistakes I’d made before.
I learned to embrace those mistakes, too, because every tripping point shaped my approach, made me who I am in this little woodshop of mine. It’s almost therapeutic, really—the smell of sawdust, the rhythmic whir of machines, the laughter of family as they come around to inspect what I’ve made. It’s calming. Late nights with my coffee-fueled ambition buried in a pile of wood shavings became moments I cherish.
The Realization
So here I sit, reminiscing about all those years of fears, mistakes, and, ultimately, triumphs. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that you can’t let the fear of failure stop you from starting—a lesson I wish someone had pounded into my head earlier!
These days, I’ve got a sweet setup in my garage: miter saw, table saw, and all the gadgets that make me feel like one of those fancy YouTube woodworkers. But you know what? The joy hasn’t come from the tools—it’s been in the process. So here’s my two cents for anyone thinking about diving into woodworking: just go for it. Give yourself room to make mistakes, to laugh at the wobbling picnic table and hug the sweet scents of sawdust. Every cut might not be perfect, but hey, that’s what makes it a story worth telling.
