Coffee, Wood, and the Ghost of Joseph Moxon
Hey there, friend. Grab a cup of coffee and settle in; I’ve got a story for you that’ll take you back to the days when I was knee-deep in sawdust and probably driving my neighbors a little bit nuts with my late-night wood whittling. Yeah, it’s a story about the old Englishman Joseph Moxon, who somehow pushed me to try my hand at woodworking.
Now, I’d heard of Moxon through some book on hand tools I picked up one rainy afternoon at the library. I was browsing the shelves, aimlessly flipping through the pages, completely lost until I stumbled across his work. This fellow wrote a book back in the 17th century titled Mechanick Exercises. You know, just a casually genius way of teaching folks about woodworking and toolmaking. It was almost as if he was saying, “C’mon, you can do this!”
So, naturally, I figured I’d start turning some of those pages into projects. Easy, right? Wrong!
The Great Pine Panel Fiasco
One evening, I’d decided it was high time for a simple project: a pine panel. I was thinking it could sit atop my coffee table, the perfect place to showcase all those random knick-knacks I’ve collected over the years—some of which I can’t even remember where they came from. I snagged some nice straight-grained pine from the local lumberyard, the kind that smells sweet when you run a saw through it.
Got my tools ready: hand plane, a couple of my trusty chisels, and of course, my favorite Japanese pull saw. I love that saw—the way it glides through wood is almost poetic. But when I started cutting, I suddenly realized I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I mean, cutting along the grain is one thing, but then there’s trying to craft a continuous, flawless panel like Moxon’s supposed to teach you.
I felt like a novice, and I almost threw the whole thing out the window when my first cut went all kinds of wrong. Instead of a nice, clean edge, I ended up with a jagged, uneven mess that looked like it had been chewed up by a raccoon. Honestly, I should’ve taken a breather instead of just barreling through it.
Lessons in Patience
Eventually, after a fair amount of deep breaths and maybe too many cups of coffee, I decided to step back. It occurred to me that maybe Moxon didn’t create masterpieces on his first try. Maybe it was more about patience and persistence. You know, that old chestnut we hear but don’t always grasp.
The night had turned to early morning, and I kicked back for a bit with my feet up, a little defeated but mostly contemplative. I brewed another cup, contemplating my plan of action. That pine wasn’t going to shape itself, and if I really wanted to learn, I’d have to calm my jittery nerves.
I started again, this time taking my time to visualize the cuts before I made them. I felt the weight of the wood in my hands, the grain texture speaking to me as I worked it. And oh man, each pass of the plane or cut of the saw started to feel more and more rewarding.
The Smell of Success
When it finally came together, it was like magic. The sun was starting to peek through my garage window, casting this warm glow over the wood. The smell of that freshly-cut pine had filled the air, and for a second, it felt like I was right there with Moxon back in the 1600s, thinking about the same things, vibing off the same wood.
Honestly, I laughed when I finally set it down on the coffee table. What I thought would be a simple project turned into something that taught me to slow down and appreciate the craft—and boy, did it look good! Sure, it wasn’t perfect, and maybe there were some rough spots, but it was mine. Each imperfection had a story, and it felt beautiful in its own way.
A Craft Beyond Time
So, you might be wondering why I’m rambling on about an old English carpenter in a small-town garage. Well, it’s because Joseph Moxon reminded me that woodworking is not just about creating items but about creating experiences, lessons, and moments in life. He didn’t have power tools at his disposal, and yet here I was, struggling with my electric sander and a jigsaw, feeling the same kind of joy and frustration.
If you’re thinking about trying woodworking, just go for it. Don’t worry if it doesn’t line up perfectly or if the cuts aren’t precise. Allow yourself to make mistakes—that’s where all the good stuff happens. In the end, it’s about enjoying the process and letting the wood talk to you, teaching you in the same way it taught me. Life’s too short not to get a little sawdust on your hands, don’t you think?
