A Walk in the Woods with Norman Wilkinson
So, I was sitting out on my porch, mug of coffee in hand, and I got to thinking about this woodworker I met once. His name’s Norman Wilkinson, and he’s based out in East Sussex. You know, the kind of guy who can turn the odds and ends of nature into pieces of art? If only I could tell a story like he could.
The Start of It All
Let me backtrack a bit. I’ve dabbled in woodworking myself—nothing fancy, just some shelves and, well, a couple of wonky birdhouses that, to be honest, probably scare the birds away rather than attract them. That said, I’ve learned a lot more than I bargained for; sometimes you fall flat on your face, but that’s just part of the craft, isn’t it?
I remember the first time I picked up a chisel. I was eager and, clearly, too overconfident. I started hacking away at a piece of walnut—nice, rich smell filled the air, almost sweet, but my technique? Let’s just say it left a lot to be desired. I was sweating bullets, focused entirely on not nicking my hand, and completely oblivious to the fact that I was making my project about as attractive as a lopsided pancake. I almost gave up when I felt like nothing I did was working.
But that’s the thing about woodworking—it challenges you to keep going, and honest to goodness, there’s something so rewarding about every little victory, no matter how tiny. Like that moment when I finally found the right angle to make a smooth cut with my miter saw—even the sound it made was so satisfying, like a soft ‘thunk’ as the blade whispered through the wood.
A Day with Norman
Now, back to Norman. I once visited his workshop—he opened his doors for a community event, and I’ll tell you, it was like stepping into a different world. The smell of fresh sawdust mixed with that distinct, earthy aroma of cedar filled the air. He had all sorts of tools lying about: chisels, a lathe that looked like it had seen better days, and bandsaws gleaming under the soft overhead lights.
I remember thinking how different his workspace was from mine. My garage was half clutter, half hopes and dreams, while Norman’s shop felt alive, almost like a little wooden sanctuary. He saw me gawking and just chuckled, “It’s a mess,” he said, “but it’s my mess.” And you could see he took pride in it.
I learned so much just by being around him—one minute he was showing me how to properly set up a table saw, the next he was lost in a story about the time he tried to make a homemade dining table for his daughter. The legs were supposed to be perfect, but, well, let’s just say woodworking is a fickle mistress. He laughed when he recounted how he didn’t account for the wood’s natural warping, and the table ended up looking like it belonged in a funhouse.
But, that’s wood for you: unpredictable. It has its own mind, you know? You think you’re in control, and then suddenly—bam!—it throws you a curveball. It’s both frustrating and humbling.
The Color of Mistakes
One of the things Norman kept repeating was to embrace the imperfections. “Wood tells a story, my friend,” he said, and boy, did that stick with me. Every little knot and scar in the wood is a mark of its history.
I remember vividly a moment of despair while working on a simple bookshelf. I decided I wanted to stain it this deep cherry color. Got all the supplies ready—good primer, this rich red stain, brushes from Walmart, and then, wouldn’t you know it? I somehow spilled the whole can. And there I was, staring at the pool of stain on my garage floor like it was some kind of horror movie scene. I thought about just throwing in the towel, calling it a night, but then I started looking at it.
You know how the smell of the wood stain can almost lull you into a sense of calm? It gets in your nose, and suddenly, it’s not just a mess, it’s potential. I ended up using the remaining stain on my bookshelf, and it turned out surprisingly beautiful! I still have that bookshelf—slight imperfection and all. It felt triumphant in a way that only those who’ve battled through a flawed project would understand.
Lessons from a Local Legend
Staying with Norman and his stories, it made me realize that every mistake is a pivotal part of the journey. He encouraged me to keep trying, even when I felt like things were going sideways. “You have to lift your chin up when things go awry. Just keep carving away,” he said, and those words have stuck with me through every project since.
I think about Norman and that sense of community he fosters, his workshop filled with laughter, snacks, and stories of struggles and triumphs. That’s the beauty of working with wood—it’s messy, it’s raw, and it connects you with the human experience in a way that’s hard to articulate.
So, here’s a little nugget I wish someone had drummed into my head earlier: Don’t be afraid to mess up. Every scratch, every misaligned joint, tells your story. If you’re thinking about starting something new in woodworking—or in any craft, really—just go for it. Embrace the chaos, the smell of sawdust, and those small victories will make it all worthwhile. And who knows, you might just end up building something you didn’t even know you wanted.
