Coffee and Sawdust: My Journey with Sghendo Woodworks
You know, there’s just something about the smell of fresh-cut wood that makes me feel alive. Some folks might find joy in the smell of fresh coffee or warm baked cookies, but for me, it’s all about that earthy, sweet scent from my little workshop back in my garage. On any given day after work, you can find me there, tinkering away with whatever piece of lumber I’ve got lying around. Recently, I’ve been diving into some projects under the name of Sghendo Woodworks, which is just a fancy term for my garage tinkering (and maybe an excuse to feel a little more professional, if I’m being honest).
The Ambitious Start
So, let me take you back to where it all began. I was sitting on my porch one hot summer evening—sweat trickling down my back, a cold beer in hand—when I thought, “Why not make some furniture for the yard? Something rustic but useful.” Y’know, something that wouldn’t last just one season. After all, I wanted my kids to be able to hang out there, and I wanted them to remember the time Dad made something special.
I had an old pile of cedar lumber out back that I bought for cheap at a local yard sale. Cedar’s nice, just beautiful wood with that lovely aroma. It’s sturdy and resistant to rot—I figured this was the perfect stuff for outdoor furniture. But let me tell you, I was looking at these boards and my hands were itching to turn them into something magical.
The Mistakes (Oh, the Mistakes)
Now, let me backtrack a little. You’d think this would go smoothly, right? I mean, how hard could it be? Just put some screws in and bolt it together, right? Ha! I was so naïve.
I decided to start with a picnic table. "It’ll be easy," I thought. So there I was, measuring and cutting, feeling pretty good about myself. I whipped out my trusty miter saw—I swear, that thing has been my best friend. The sound of it buzzing through the wood was like music to my ears.
But here’s the kicker: I cut my plywood tabletop all wrong. I don’t mean a little off; I mean way off. It looked like I was trying to make a jigsaw puzzle instead of a flat tabletop. I almost threw my tape measure against the wall, except I’ve learned the hard way that it’s not the tool’s fault—it’s always the operator, right? I took a deep breath, fought the urge to give up, and decided to salvage what I had.
Getting It Right (Kinda)
After I calmed myself down with some cool-down stretch and a second cup of coffee, I regrouped. I figured I’d just sand down the cutting errors and not worry too much about perfection. Woodworking isn’t about perfection—it’s about character, right? The imperfections tell a story. So I took out my orbital sander, and, oh boy, that noise! It’s like a bee buzzing; it’s oddly satisfying when you see the dust swirl up and catch the light.
Now, I remember thinking I’d go rustic and add a bit of style with some steel brackets I picked up at the hardware store, which, by the way, was a complete leap of faith. I had no idea what I was doing, and I can’t tell you how many times I measured things wrong. My wife teased me, saying I was getting more frustrated than I was making progress. But after a while, I laughed when I actually realized I had enough scrap wood to make a couple of benches to go with that table.
The Heart of Woodworking
The whole process took longer than I thought it would, with plenty of “oops” moments along the way. But by the time I finished and slathered it all with some outdoor wood finish, I felt a swell of pride. And you know what? When my kids saw the finished product, their eyes lit up like Christmas morning. They didn’t care about the flaws in the wood or my accidental measurements. They just saw a table where we could share lemonade on hot afternoons.
The sound of their laughter as they dashed out into the yard, claiming their picnic table, made all those late nights worth it. That’s the heart of woodworking for me, the memories we create together.
A Sweet Ending
So, if you’re thinking about diving into woodworking or even giving Sghendo Woodworks a try, I want to leave you with this: Don’t let mistakes discourage you. If I had given up after that first screw-up with the tabletop, I’d never be sitting here sipping coffee, sharing my story. Just get out there, grab some wood—any wood—and start building. The magic isn’t just in the end product; it’s in the journey, the sounds, and that sweet, satisfying smell of sawdust.
Happy building, my friend!
