Messy Edges and Splintered Dreams: A Tale of De Vries Fine Woodworking Inc.
There’s something magical about woodworking, you know? It’s like having this hidden language with the wood. I’ve been tinkering in my garage for years, and I can tell you, every piece of timber has its own story to tell. Yes, I’ve had my fair share of hiccups—and every time I think I’ve got it all figured out, the wood just laughs at me.
Let me take you back a couple of years to when I first stumbled upon De Vries Fine Woodworking Inc. I won’t lie, it was a bit of a game-changer for me. We’re talking about genuine craftsmanship—a small business whose owners live and breathe wood. Just walking into their shop, oh man, the smell of freshly cut cherry and walnut hits you like a warm hug. You feel like you’re in a cozy library of lumber, if that makes sense.
Anyway, I was working on a dining table for my daughter’s first apartment. Nothing too wild, just a simple design with clean lines. But for some reason, I had it in my head that I needed to make it from reclaimed wood. I thought, “Hey, I’ll look all artsy and rustic, and the kids will love it!” Spoiler alert: It didn’t go as planned.
I zeroed in on a few aged oak boards from De Vries. You can feel the history in reclaimed wood, you know? The texture, the grain, the little nicks and scratches; they all tell a story. But can I just say, working with reclaimed stuff can be a bit of a challenge. I remember standing there, arms crossed, staring at these boards, thinking about how I’d almost given up already before even getting started. There were parts that were warped, nails embedded in strange angles, and don’t even get me started on the splinters.
The tools? Oh man, they were practically screaming at me. I mean, I have my trusty miter saw—a DeWalt, naturally, because they’re pretty much the gold standard. But every time I sliced into that reclaimed wood, I would hear this unsettling crack or pop, like the wood was protesting my plans. I swear, I had my heart in my throat every time it happened.
Then, there was the time I decided to use a pocket hole jig. Let’s just say it did not go smoothly. I think I butchered about four boards before I figured out how to properly set it up. I was nearly ready to toss in the towel when I accidentally discovered a trick! If you clamp down the wood really tight, it kind of works like a third hand. I remember laughing to myself, thinking, “Who knew clamping had such power?”
And then, of course, there’s the finishing. God, I thought I had it all figured out with this special stain I picked up—something in dark walnut that would highlight the grain nicely. But when I brushed it on, it turned out darker than midnight (and not in a good way). I almost hurled the brush across the garage. I thought, “What did I just do?” But after some frantic sanding, and a bottle of deep breath, I ended up layering another color—this lovely honey hue—and somehow, it worked.
Then, there was assembling the whole thing. At one point, I laid out all my pieces on the garage floor, squinting at the puzzle in front of me. My wife even poked her head in and said, “Honey, is that a table or abstract art?” I groaned, half-proud and half-frustrated, but it felt good. This was my chaos, and somehow it was taking shape.
Finally, after what felt like a hundred cups of coffee and a few choice words muttered under my breath, the table was complete. I stood back and took it all in. The grain was visible, the finish was just right, and that reclaimed character shone through in a way that made me smile every time I walked by. I still remember that joy of bringing it into their apartment. Watching my daughter’s eyes light up—priceless.
Looking back, I mean, never did I expect that a simple, rustic table would transform into this massive lesson on patience and perseverance. I learned that mistakes aren’t the end of the world; they’re just little stepping stones in a much larger journey.
So if you’re sitting on the fence about diving into your own woodworking projects, just go for it. Don’t be afraid of splinters or stained fingers. Every mess is a chance to create something beautiful. You’ll never know what you’re capable of until you embrace the chaos.
Find your wood, get your tools, and make a mess. Five boards from now, you might just surprise yourself.
