A Slice of Woodworking Life in Lubbock, TX
You know, there’s something pretty special about Lubbock. It’s that classic small-town feel, but with a little grit that makes everything just a bit more interesting. I took up woodworking a few years ago, mostly when I found myself staring at my garage, feeling like it could be more than just a spot for forgotten lawnmowers and rusting bikes. I mean, how hard could it be, right?
The Spark
So, it all started one afternoon when I was sipping my coffee—real black, none of that flavored nonsense—and scrolling through some random woodworking videos on YouTube. There was this fella making a table, and I thought, “Hey, I could do that!” I didn’t know the first thing about it, but that didn’t stop me.
After a couple weeks of watching videos and feeling all inspired, I decided I’d sign up for some woodworking classes at this little community shop run by a couple of awesome folks, Linda and Earl. You know Earl, he’s that guy who can pretty much turn a bunch of sticks into a masterpiece with just a few strokes of his chisel. I walked into that shop, and let me tell you, the smell of sawdust hit me like a comfortable blanket. It’s the good stuff!
Tools and Trials
My first day was… well, let’s just say there’s a learning curve. I walked in eager, tools in hand—my granddad’s old circular saw, which is probably older than I am, and a set of chisels I picked up on sale (big mistake; don’t skimp on the chisels, y’all).
The first project was a simple birdhouse. I thought, “How hard can it be? It’s just a box!” But as I started measuring, I realized, shoot, wood expands and contracts, and I had no clue how to compensate for that. The boards I picked were all warped, and I kept trying to force them together. I still remember the sound of that saw screaming at me as I realized I cut one board too short. Oh boy, did I almost give up that day.
Almost Gave Up…
I mean, I had sawdust all over my jeans, and I looked like a hot mess. After staring at that birdhouse that looked more like a sad, lopsided shack, I took a deep breath. But Earl just laughed, patted me on the back, and said, “You’ll make mistakes, but that’s where the magic happens.” I thought he was nuts at the time. Magic? Nah. Frustration was more like it.
Finally, with Earl and Linda’s pointers, I managed to craft something that resembled a birdhouse. It’s a bit crooked, but hey, the birds didn’t care. They were all about that rustic charm. Sometimes, you just gotta let things be a little imperfect, right?
New Projects
As I got a little more comfortable, I decided to tackle a simple bookshelf for my son, Wyatt. He was getting into reading, and I thought it would be a nice surprise. I picked out some pine—a good, sturdy choice. I also discovered the joy of wood glue over screws, which felt like some secret magic trick. Spreading that glue around, and then clamping it all together to hear that sweet, satisfying crunch was an experience I’ll never forget.
But then there were those unexpected bumps again. As I stained it—with that good ol’ Minwax stain—I was hit with the smell of the wood mixing with the chemical scent of the stain. It was intoxicating, but also nerve-wracking. The color was way darker than I anticipated! I almost freaked out, thinking I’d ruined the whole thing.
Small moments like that, the highs and lows, are a package deal in this woodworking gig. I remember laughing when I finally saw that bookshelf standing there, even if it ended up looking like a squished marshmallow at the top. My Wyatt loved it though, and that was the win I needed.
Closing Thoughts
If you’re on the fence about taking a woodworking class or even picking up a hammer, I say just dive in.
You mess up? Who cares! You learn, you laugh, and before you know it, you’ve crafted a few lovable—and maybe slightly wonky—things. When I see that bookshelf, sure, I notice its flaws, but it’s also a reminder of all the little steps I took to get there.
So grab a cup of coffee, head over to your local class, and let those imperfections tell your story. You won’t regret it. Just remember, it’s not about perfection; it’s about the journey and all the sawdust in between.
