The Joys and Jumbles of Woodworking: My Time with JS Benson Woodworking
So, there I was, sitting on my creaky old porch, coffee in hand and the smell of freshly cut pine wafting through the air. The sounds of my neighborhood buzzed around, but my mind was lost in thoughts about my latest adventure in woodworking — a project that had initially inspired me but turned into a series of comical blunders. Let me tell you, woodworking isn’t all tidy cuts and perfect finishes; it’s a chaotic dance of trial and error.
The First Attempt: A Simple Stool
It all started last month when I decided I’d build a simple wooden stool. I figured, “How hard can it be? Just some legs and a seat, right?” So, I grabbed my trusty miter saw, dust-covered but still reliable, from the garage. It wasn’t long before I realized that the “how hard can it be” mentality was a classic underestimation — the kind that should come with a warning sign.
To be honest, I was a little ambitious. I thought I could use some reclaimed oak I scored from an old barn a few months back. That wood is like gold in the woodworking community, full of history and character. But, wow, is it tough stuff. I remember the sound it made when the saw blade finally bit in — like cutting through ancient bones. I swear, I could almost hear it grumble, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
An Unexpected Detour
Then came the part where I had to drill the holes for the legs. I’d picked up this fancy drill at a local hardware store, thinking I was all set. But let me tell you, drilling straight holes in hardwood is not as straightforward as it sounds. The first leg I tried splintered on the way in, and there I was, left with a piece of oak that looked like it had a bad haircut.
I almost gave up right then and there. I sat on my porch, coffee cooling in my hand, frustration creeping in. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this,” I thought. But then I remembered something my grandfather used to say: “Every piece of wood has a story, just like you.” Well, I hoped I wasn’t about to write the chapter titled “The Great Stool Fiasco.”
Finding My Groove (Sort Of)
After some choice words aimed at that stubborn wood, I decided to give it another shot. I switched gears and opted for some softer pine instead. That stuff was more cooperative, even smelled different—warm and inviting, like a cozy cabin in the woods.
Tools in hand, I drilled again, and this time? Sweet success! The legs went in smooth, almost like they were happy to be there. I laughed when it actually worked. It felt like this little victory was worthy of a full-on dance party, albeit a short one because my neighbors might think I’d lost it.
As I sanded down the rough edges, I could hear the rhythm of the sander humming away. There’s something soothing about that sound, like the wood is finally waking up and saying, “Thank you for taking care of me.” It felt a bit like therapy; each pass of the sander took me a step closer to the finish line.
The Finishing Touches
Eventually, I got to the finishing stage. I decided on a nice, warm walnut stain. I envisioned it soaking into the wood and highlighting all those beautiful grains. But, of course, nothing is ever simple. Turns out, I’d applied the stain too thick in some spots and too thin in others. I took a step back and tried to suppress a laugh. I mean, this was supposed to be easy, right?
But I remembered something I once read about woodworking — it should never be about perfection. Each piece carries its mistakes and mishaps, just like us. So, I embraced the unevenness, thinking maybe it could tell a story about my journey, one of perseverance and a hell of a lot of coffee breaks.
The Stool That Represents Me
At the end of it all—after many ups and downs—I had my stool. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I sat down on it and looked out at the neighborhood, feeling proud. Every little error made me love it more. It had character, a bit like me after a long day at the office.
If you’re thinking about jumping into woodworking, just go for it. It’s a sure way to build something real and cherish every mistake along the way. Seriously, each misstep can fuel a lesson, just like life itself. So grab that saw, some wood (even if it’s the gnarliest piece you can find), and roll up those sleeves. You might just end up with a beautiful mess that tells your story.
