The Realities of Woodworking with Curtis Buchanan
So, the other day, I was out in my garage, surrounded by the sweet smell of freshly cut wood—there’s just something about that smell, you know? It reminds me of my childhood, all those days spent in my uncle’s workshop. He had this old lathe that rattled and groaned like an angry cat. I loved it, though; it felt alive, just like the wood I was working with. But here I was, almost thirty years later, still wrestling with the same material and some of the same issues.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I had this vision, for sure. I wanted to carve out something special, a little side table inspired by Curtis Buchanan’s traditional designs. You might’ve heard of him—an amazing woodworker with a devotion to old-school craftsmanship. I mean, the guy can make a piece of furniture sing, and you can see his love for the craft in each curve, each join. But here I was feeling like a toddler fumbling with a crayon.
Diving into the Project
So, I grabbed some nice cherry wood—it’s rich and beautiful, and the way it changes color as it ages is just, well, magical. I picked up a couple of nice hand planes—nothing too fancy, just some old Stanley tools from the local hardware store. They were kind of rusted but had their character, like me on a Saturday morning before that first cup of coffee. You see, I thought I was ready. I had my wood cut to size, my tools ready, and my ambition high. What could go wrong, right?
Well, let me tell you… a lot can go wrong.
I started off with the legs. Everything was going fine until I realized I had made two left legs. Yep, you read that right. I stared at those legs, half-laughing, half-groaning, thinking, “Well, this is off to a great start.” I mean, how do you even mess that up? It was just a classic case of “measure once, cut twice.” You’d think I’d have learned from that, but nope.
The Sounds of Practice
Anyway, after a good sigh (probably with some dramatic flair), I went back to the saw and made more cuts. There’s something soothing about the sound of a saw cutting through wood—the rhythmic ‘shhhhhhhh’ as it carves away, almost like a heartbeat. It calmed me down. I needed that; it felt satisfying to hear that sound as the wood turned from a rough shape into something more refined.
I got back to it, focused, even put on some old blues music—B.B. King, I think. That man could make a guitar cry. So I was in the zone, the music playing softly in the background, wood clippings fluttering around like confetti.
And then I tried to join the legs to the tabletop. That’s where the real joy and pain mingled, let me tell you. I had been watching videos of Curtis Buchanan and how he did his joinery. I thought, “Oh, I can nail that.” Boy, was I wrong. I fiddled with dowels and glue, thinking I’d get this perfect fit. But when I put it all together, it was wobbly—like a drunken toddler trying to walk.
Almost Gave Up
I almost gave up. I really did. I sat down on my workbench, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Here I am, trying to channel a master craftsman, and I can’t even make a stable table,” I muttered to myself. But after a few moments of self-pity, I realized I had invested too much time to just walk away. So, I kicked myself into gear, smoothed out the areas that needed work, and after an evening fussing with clamps, I finally got it to sit straight.
Let me tell you, that moment when it all came together felt like the punchline of a grand joke—I couldn’t help but laugh. Woodworking has this strange way of playing with your patience, but when it finally works out, it’s pure magic.
Looking Back and Moving Forward
In the end, after all that sweat and the occasional curse word, I had a solid little table. It wasn’t perfect—there were still tiny gaps and rough edges that I kept meaning to sand down—but you know what? It felt like mine. Each crack and flaw told a story, a reflection of my journey with it. And that’s what Curtis Buchanan’s work inspired me to embrace: the beauty in imperfection.
So, if you’re thinking about diving into woodworking or any project that pulls on your heartstrings, just go for it. You’ll mess up; it’s part of the deal. Maybe even make a couple of left legs along the way. But trust me, the process—the sounds, the smells, the little victories and colossal mistakes—makes it all worth it. Just remember, it’s not about the perfect end product; it’s about what you learn along the way.
Life, like woodworking, is full of those glorious flaws. Embrace them, learn from them, and let them guide you. After all, in the end, it’s the stories behind each piece that really count.
