A Little About Woodworking in the Blind
So, there I was, sitting in my garage, the sun barely peeking through the windows, with the smell of sawdust clinging to the air like a favorite old sweater. It was one of those mornings—coffee was still hot and I was mentally prepping for another project. You might be thinking, “what on earth is a blind woodworker doing in the garage?” but let me tell ya, wood has a beautiful way of speaking to you. It’s like a unspoken conversation held through grain and texture; you just have to learn to listen.
I haven’t always had this passion, and trust me, it didn’t start as an easy journey. I think my wife would tell you it began with my insatiable need to fix things around the house—must’ve been that "do-it-yourself" bug biting me hard. After all, you don’t need sight to feel the smoothness of cedar or the rough patches of oak. Yup, I’m a blind woodworker in small-town Washington, trying to make sense of this world, one plank at a time.
The First Disaster
I still chuckle when I think back to my first attempt at building a simple coffee table—I mean, you can’t go wrong with a table, right? I was high on a mixture of confidence and stubbornness. I had the tools organized just how I liked them: my trusty old Dewalt circular saw (the sound still makes me feel back in my element), a hand sander, and a few clamps that I told myself I’d learn to use properly someday.
Anyway, I went to the local lumberyard and asked for some 1×3 pine. The guy behind the counter looked a little confused but pulled out the wood nonetheless. Honestly, I just liked the feel of it. Not too heavy, not too soft. Just right. Well, I gathered my supplies—screws, wood glue, all that jazz—and thought I was set to build the greatest coffee table this side of the Mississippi.
But boy, did I bite off more than I could chew. Measurements became a game of trial and error; I misjudged lengths and had one side stick out more than the others. I still remember the sound of the saw cutting through the wood, blending into my neighbor’s lawn mower in a symphony of chaos. For a moment, I thought I had it all figured out, only for the pieces to end up not fitting together.
I remember just sitting there, staring at this abomination on my workbench, almost ready to give up. I could hear the crickets chirping outside, and I thought they were mocking me. That’s when I realized—maybe woodworking was more about the process than the final product? My stubbornness made it all feel like a shameful failure, even though I hadn’t truly failed yet.
The Learning Curve
Now, looking back, I understand that every mistake was a stepping stone. Instead of throwing that coffee table off the balcony, I decided to embrace the chaos, take apart the pieces, and start from scratch. Well, after a few deep breaths and another cup of coffee, of course.
I got my hands on a book about woodworking for the visually impaired. I found it fascinating—suddenly I wasn’t alone! Fellow craftsmen, whether they could see or not, have stories filled with bloopers just like mine. One guy even glued his fingers to a piece of wood because he was trying out a new glue. Now that’s what I call dedication!
Turns out, I learned that taking my time was vital. Listen to the wood—it teaches you about its own quirks and flukes if you just pay attention.
Finding My Rhythm
Fast forward a few years, and I’m finally starting to find my rhythm. Once I managed to wrangle a bunch of scrap wood together, and I built a bookshelf that miraculously ended up even. I was giddy—like a kid who just learned to ride a bike without training wheels. The smell of freshly sanded wood and that satisfying feeling of accomplishment soaked in like sunshine through the cracks in my garage door.
Of course, I still have days where I have to fight my own frustrations. You wouldn’t believe the sound a chisel makes when it slips and hits your workbench. Or maybe you would because I’ve let out a few choice words! The key for me? Not taking it too seriously. If you mess up, laugh a little and try again. It becomes part of the story you tell down the line.
Embracing Mistakes
One day, I was halfway through a beautiful walnut charcuterie board when I accidentally gouged out a corner. At first, I wanted to toss it across the garage. But then, I thought, “Wait a minute. What if I leaned into this?” And so, I ended up making the groove a part of the design. Covered it with some epoxy and turned what could’ve been a blunder into a feature. Sometimes life gives you lemons, right?
Honestly, if I hadn’t made that ‘mistake’, I wouldn’t have learned to embrace the imperfections. It opened the door to creative freedom, and now I find myself looking for those moments of error pretty eagerly. They have stories, too.
The Takeaway
So, here I am, coffee cup empty, thinking about the next project. Maybe it’s another table or perhaps a set of rocking chairs for my porch. Who knows? But wherever this journey takes me, I’m okay with the bumps along the way.
If you’re teetering on the edge of starting something new, just dive in. The failures are where the real magic happens. Don’t let fear of messing up hold you back. Seriously. Grab that saw, feel the wood, and just go for it. And hey, if it gets frustrating, well, that’s just part of the story you’re about to write.
