The Joy and Misadventures of Inoue Hamono Tools
It was a Saturday morning, the birds were chirping (which I sometimes like to pretend is my own personal soundtrack), and I leaned back in my old wooden chair, enjoying a cup of strong coffee. The warm, nutty aroma filled the air, mingling with the distant smell of sawdust that had been my constant companion in the garage. The sun was peeking through the clouds, a perfect prelude to the project I had been dreaming about for weeks—a cherry wood bookshelf.
Ya know, I had been eyeing these Inoue Hamono tools for a while. Folks around here are usually more familiar with those mass-produced brands, but there’s something about wooden tools that just gets me. Now, I’ve always had a soft spot for craftsmanship, especially when it’s done the old-fashioned way, so you could say I was smitten. Their chisels and planes have a unique touch that just feels good to use, like holding a piece of history in your hands.
Now, when I started, I was pretty gung-ho—meaning I got a little ahead of myself. The day before, I had picked up a beautiful piece of air-dried cherry at the local lumberyard. I’ll admit, every time I popped in there, I felt like a kid in a candy store smelling that fresh-cut wood. It’s a smell that kind of envelops you and makes you forget about your worries.
First Attempts and Awkwardness
I was ready to go, tools laid out on the workbench—my pride and joy, the Inoue Hamono chisels, gleaming in the light. There’s this certain satisfaction when you take a freshly honed chisel and run it through your fingers. But boy, did I have my work cut out for me. I had a clear vision of how I wanted that bookshelf to look, but vision and execution rarely get along in woodworking, do they?
I started out with the joinery, and let me tell you, I was sweating. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the chisel slipped. My thumb still has a mark there. At that moment, all I could think was, “What am I doing?” I almost put everything away, sat on my chair, and wallowed in self-pity. But hey, I remembered my dad saying, "Mistakes are just lessons you haven’t learned yet." So I took a deep breath, shook off the misstep, and got back to it.
I’ll never forget how I felt when the first joint actually came together. It fitted snug, and I laughed—really laughed, like a pure, unfiltered giggle escaped me. My wife peeked into the garage to see what was going on, probably thinking I lost it. But wait, it gets better.
The Closer You Get, the Harder It Gets
As the project progressed, I started getting cocky. I decided to use the Japanese hand plane from Inoue Hamono, and boy, did it take my woodworking to another level! I was running the plane across those beautiful cherry boards, the sound was like music—oddly calming in a way, almost rhythmic. But as I got closer to the finish line, my ambition outstripped my experience. I really should’ve taken a step back and just appreciated the simplicity of joinery, but I was aiming for some intricate details. That’s when things started going south.
I was trying to create this cool edge profile, but instead, I ended up with a chipped section that looked more like a animal gnawed at it than a fine piece of craftsmanship. Yep, you guessed it—I almost threw in the towel then and there. But then I remembered the soft embrace of that freshly cut cherry wood, and I thought, "You know what? A little character never hurt."
So, I opted for a slightly different design that would complement my “oops, that’s a chip.” It turned out more rustic and personal, like a story engraved into the wood. I sat back, looked over my work, and for the first time, I saw a piece that told a story—a story of perseverance, laughter, and a few bumps along the way.
Finishing Touches
Now comes the part that everyone loves—the finish. I chose to use a simple oil finish; I was really invested in letting the natural beauty of the cherry shine through, and, let’s be real, I didn’t want to mess anything up after all that hard work. Applying the finish felt like a little ritual, and as the wood soaked it in, I could almost hear it whispering, “Thank you for taking care of me.”
When it was finally time to stand that bookshelf up and admire my handiwork, I called my daughter over. She was only six, fully absorbed in her own world of glitter and stickers, but she paused long enough to admire my creation. "Daddy, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, and let me tell you, that warm fuzziness hit me right in the chest. All the sweat, the mistakes, the laughter—it was worth it.
A Lesson Richer
So, if you’re thinking about diving into woodworking or maybe even trying some of those Inoue Hamono tools, just go for it. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You’ll have your share of struggles, and maybe more than a couple of screw-ups, but it’s all part of the journey. Each mistake is an opportunity to learn, and believe me, nothing teaches you more than the sound of a chisel slipping—makes you more grateful when it actually sticks. So grab that wood, pick up those tools, and let the chips fall where they may. You’ll end up creating something that’s not just a piece of furniture; it’s a piece of you.
