The Joys and Jitters of Eekhoorn Woodworking
So, there I was, sipping my morning coffee—y’know, the one that’s probably burned but still somehow tastes like life—and I started thinking about all the whacky adventures I’ve had with my woodshop, specifically the projects that didn’t quite go as planned. One sticks out like a sore thumb, and it involves a squirrel. Well, not the squirrel itself so much, but a wood type named after it.
A while back, I decided to dive into eekhoorn woodworking. Now, for those who don’t know, “eekhoorn” is Dutch for “squirrel,” and that just tickled me. I figured, why not channel that playful, nut-collecting little critter and make something special? I had a few boards of black walnut lying around—man, that stuff smells heavenly when you cut into it, like caramel but woodsy. I couldn’t resist the thought of crafting a beautiful picture frame for my daughter’s latest art piece, a colorful explosion of finger paint from her kindergarten class.
I had my trusty Ryobi jigsaw sitting in the corner of the garage, that thing’s seen better days. It’s got a few scratches and dents, and once it almost shot out a blade like a rocket—but bless it, it gets the job done.
The Perfect Plan
So, I sketched out the design—nothing too complicated, just a rectangular frame with a bit of a flair at the corners. I knew I wanted to use mortise and tenon joints because, well, I’d seen it done in one of those woodworking shows on PBS, and it looked classy. Plus, it would definitely earn me some brownie points with my wife. You know how it is; sometimes you need to prove you can handle more than just putting together IKEA furniture.
Fast forward to the great day of reckoning. The garage was filled with the comforting scent of sawdust mingling with that awful egg-and-bacon breakfast smell from next door—it’s funny how those weirdly specific scents always seem to show up when you’re gearing up for a project. I went out there, coffee cup in hand, excitement bubbling over.
But then it hit me. I forgot to measure twice—no, thrice—before I cut. You ever do that? You get all amped up, and your brain just short-circuits because you’re so eager. I ended up cutting one side too short. I think I might have even let out a little gasp when I saw it. The “oh no, what have I done?” moment.
The Facepalm Moment
Anyway, there I was, staring at this irreversibly chopped piece of wood, and a wave of doubt washed over me. I remember thinking, "Great, I’m officially the village idiot." But after a slow breath and some back-and-forth with myself—mostly shouting, if I’m honest—I figured I had to make it work. Determination kicked in.
So, I had a brainwave. I decided to splice another piece onto it. Now, splicing isn’t something I usually do; let’s just say it’s like trying to fix a soda fountain with duct tape. It can hold together but doesn’t always look pretty.
As I clamped it all down, I heard that satisfying creak of wood pressing against wood and thought, “Okay, maybe I won’t screw this up after all.” I used a waterproof glue since I’m no stranger to life’s surprises—rainy days and such. Plus, nothing ruins a nice frame faster than warping.
The Great Dispersion
Once everything dried, I sanded it down. Oh, the joy of sanding. It’s that weird meditative thing, like a zen practice but with grit. The sound of the sander whirring reminded me of a vacuum cleaner running in the distance—so comforting in its familiarity. Dust flew everywhere, leaving me looking like I had just undergone some bizarre wood fairytale transformation.
But as I brushed the dust off, I couldn’t help but chuckle. I expected this project to fall apart or look like something a raccoon put together, but it was actually starting to take shape. I felt like a proud parent watching a kid take their first steps; it’s incredible to think you made something from nothing, even if “nothing” sometimes includes dubious choices and spontaneous fixes.
A Lesson Learned
Eventually, the frame was all done. I put it around my daughter’s chaotic artwork and stood back. And you know what? It looked good—or at least I convinced myself it did. The corners were all snug, and it held together sturdy enough to make you think twice before knocking it over.
But more than anything, I learned that woodworking—or any sort of creative endeavor, really—comes with its fair share of oops moments. It’s one of those things where plans can go off the rails, but it’s the adjustments, the last-minute fixes, and the spur-of-the-moment ideas that make it rewarding.
And man, if you get frustrated, just step back, have a sip of coffee, and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
Final Thoughts
So, if you’re out there twiddling your thumbs, thinking about trying this woodworking thing—or really any new skills—just jump in! Don’t overthink it. Those little mess-ups? They’re part of the story. They make it real. Who knows? You might just find yourself giggling at how it all comes together in the end. There’s a squirrel somewhere padding its little paws, probably even laughing along with us. So, raise your coffee cup to those quickly-spliced little adventures!
