Coffee and Sawdust: A Day in the Life of Dillon Woodworks
You know, there’s something about the smell of fresh-cut wood that just gets me every time. It’s a nutty, earthy scent that wraps around you, pulling you into the world of sawdust and splinters. I was sitting in my garage last Saturday, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a piece of cherry wood in the other, thinking about the day ahead.
Dillon Woodworks was born from a love-hate relationship with woodworking. I say love-hate because I’ve had my fair share of disasters in the workshop—some real head-scratchers that would make my grandfather shake his head in disappointment. But then again, who doesn’t love a good comeback story?
The Great Workbench Fiasco
So there was this one project, a workbench I was dead set on building. I mean, how hard could it be? I wandered into the local hardware store, decided on some sturdy maple because, let’s face it, who doesn’t love maple? But somewhere between the purchase and getting it home, a little doubt crept in. “What if it’s a disaster?” I chuckled to myself, pouring another cup of coffee, pretending I had it all under control.
The first day, I was feeling like a pro. I had all my tools lined up: my trusty miter saw, a circular saw that’s seen better days, and my beloved DeWalt drill. There’s something magical about that drill—it practically vibrates with potential. Anyway, I was cutting the pieces for the tabletop when I slipped. I mean, just a little, but enough to mess up the angle. I could practically hear the universe scoffing at me.
At that moment, I almost threw in the towel. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” I mumbled to myself, hands covered in sawdust and my heart racing. But, after chugging another two sips of coffee, I decided to keep going. You’d be surprised how a little caffeine can rev up your courage.
The Moment of Truth
So, after I got over my little meltdown, I pieced together the tabletop. And there it was, beautifully imperfect. I had glued and clamped the boards together, and right when I thought I had a masterpiece, I noticed something—a slight dip. Just enough to catch your eye but not enough to actually ruin it… I hesitated again. Should I just rip it apart and start fresh? That seemed like a lot of work.
But then, as I stood there staring, I remembered my granddad chiming something about character in woodwork. “Every flaw tells a story,” he would say, which made me chuckle because I knew his work was far from flawless. In that moment, I decided to embrace the dip. I sanded it down—an airy, high-pitched whirring filled the garage as my sander buzzed to life—and when I finally applied that finish, oh man. The rich, warm tones of the maple came alive, like a sunset draping over a quiet town.
Learning the Hard Way
Fast forward a few more days, and I was assembling the legs when disaster struck again. I’d made a rookie mistake: not double-checking the measurements. I had these sturdy legs, which I’d think would make it bulletproof, but when I stood it up, it was wobbly. I cursed a little under my breath because, well, no one wants a shaky workbench.
So there I was again, wrestling with my decision to keep going versus calling it quits. I ended up taking it all apart—again. I checked, rechecked, and nearly lost my sanity screwing and unscrewing those bolts. But when I finally got it all standing, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was absolutely perfect—well, at least to me. You know how they say it’s not the destination but the journey? Yeah, that felt like my mantra by then.
The Heart of It All
Dillon Woodworks isn’t just about crafting furniture. It’s about those quiet moments when you discover something new about yourself. Like, the feeling of victory after a small win, or the small pang of regret when you realize you skimped on the measuring tape yet again. The joy is in the imperfections, in the coffee stains on my apron, the songs I sing (terribly) while sanding in the afternoon sun, the surprise of a friend loving a chair or a cutting board you made.
And you know what? If you’re sitting there thinking about giving this woodworking thing a shot, just go for it. Seriously, don’t overthink it. Grab some wood, your favorite tools, and dive in. You’ll make mistakes—so many mistakes—but those will be the stories you tell, the laughter that fills your garage. There’s a kind of beauty in struggle, something magical in the sawdust that collects around your feet as you chip away at your latest project.
If anyone asks me what I do, I tell them I create memories with wood. And honestly, it’s the best kind of creation there is. So grab that coffee, breathe in the smell of the wood, and get to work. You just might surprise yourself.
