Wood. Work.

Of all the things that I have tried for the first time since last July, I have discovered a secret affection for--surprisingly--construction.  Specifically, turning the mound of free scrap wood we've amalgamated via Freecycle and Craigslist into structures that we would otherwise have to buy.

I'd prefer, honestly, not to have the rather ugly pile of variously-sized planks cluttering the backyard.  The pile is next to the pallet-enclosed compost heap and just around the corner from the camper-top that came with our good ol' pick-up truck and will probably never be used.  This trifecta does not a pretty corner of the yard make.  (Although it does add a certain farm-yard charm, I tell myself...certainly in no way reminiscent of washing machines on front porches or cars on blocks in driveways.)


And so, I have tried my hand at building stuff.  I can't deny the fun, for me, of thinking through a project, researching how others have done something similar, even sketching some ideas in my garden notebook prior to commencing.  There is a tangible geometry involved that stretches my brain in long-forgotten ways--how best to configure that or reinforce this.

Strangely, it is equally satisfying to go about the sweaty, dusty, heavy work of making my ideas turn into wooden realities.  By the end, I am dirty to a degree that I haven't been since childhood, and usually bleeding or scratched or pounded somewhere for good measure.  For some reason these projects never occur to me during cool weather, so I'm also dripping sweat even as I waste long minutes dragging the sawhorses around the yard in pursuit of shade.  It's very testosterone-y and alarmingly enjoyable...it makes me think about assigning value to my labor, about putting in the work and effort for us, rather than for a paycheck.  I tell you, it's anarchy with a circular saw.

[Honestly, can you tell I'm a pastor's kid with the sermons I get to preaching?] 


So far, these have been small projects, although visions of greenhouses dance in my head (a kitschy, ramshackle one, constructed from new wood but old, charming windows, perhaps with, as Jason says, a Partridge Family bus color-scheme.)  But I digress.  If someone with any slight iota of true carpentry skill and understanding were to look at my work, they would most likely grin and pat me on the head kindly.


Yet I don't care if my outcomes fall far short of true woodworking, if they are closer to bonfire offerings than works of art.  It is undeniably satisfying to create a piece of furniture for free.  I have all the time in the world to become a master woodworker, if I choose.  For now, this rather utilitarian ability is a pleasant surprise and learning process all in one. Not too long ago, I wasn't creating anything, in any aspect of my life--I had Jason, great friends, a fun pad, and a decent job that I tolerated to greater and lesser degrees, but I wasn't actually making anything.  Now I make stuff daily, all kinds of things.  Cool.

So.  (Ahem.)  Since last August, I've built the girls' run and their coop, the coldframe, a small table/stand, and a bench.  I've had much appreciated help along the way, too--Christiana & Jason.... And since so much of this wood is second-hand and warped a bit, I just blame the wood rather than my breezy measuring if there are any, um, quirks, in the final product.  :)