Shop rules
Hello and welcome to Hungry Woodworker, a humanistic exploration of woodworking, purpose, and making a living. I’m Taliesin and one thing I do when not working is write; some of which gets edited into essays and shared every other Thursday. Thank you for being here.
A little update: My online relocation is done and I'm happier for it. Sitting in front of a computer for that many hours is not my strong suit (I say this recognizing that my partner, the gallant Josiah, spends most of his working hours in front of a computer screen—I am spoiled by my shop).
I've been working on my grant project (I'll write more about it soon). One item I'm making is a lamp and I used Gary Rogowski's advice to make a mock-up out of cardboard first. This helped me get a sense of the size before committing more resources to it.
And here is some of the raw lumber I'm turning into more lamps and trays. The middle photo is some re-sawn Green Ash that I made into a tray with Black Walnut sides. The last photo is my little glue up solution (the pieces became a rectangular lamp body).
My essay is below. I hope your next couple of weeks are full of successful glue ups and fun mucking around in the raw lumber of life (whatever that might mean for your circumstances)!
Shop rules
Shop rules
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Some of my favorite books are those featuring Jack Reacher, author Lee Child’s nomadic former soldier who rights people’s wrongs. Reacher is a strange duck, but he’s like no other: his 6’ 5”, 250-pound body; his solitude and willingness to say nothing where others would fill the void with nonsense; his freedom from belongings and locations, from the things that trap most of the rest of us in place.
And he always wins. There is no question of that, no matter the circumstances. He doesn’t come with the baggage other characters do where you have to wonder if they’re going to work through all their personal malarkey to find their way to redemption in the end. With Reacher, you only have to wonder how long until the bad guys give up or are put down.
Reacher’s world is brilliantly clear cut in the way that real life can never be. He’s also a character who lives by rules. Strike first. Don’t destroy the furniture. Or, from the latest season of the TV show adapted from one of Child’s books, assumptions kill.
I’m happy to say I’ve never been killed (or even nearly so) by an assumption, but in Reacher’s life I can see how that might be a hazard.
And here is the one intersection between Reacher and me: No, not height, not muscles, not nomadic freedom. Rules.
Specifically rules for my shop. In the first category are those for anyone coming into my shop:
1. Don’t startle me when I’m using any machines. Wait until the cut is done to walk over.
2. Don’t move any tools. I have a hard enough time figuring out where I put the measuring tape.
In talking with other woodworkers, the most common rule I’ve heard is some variation of that first one. It’s dangerous to be startled when you’re making cuts at the table saw or radial arm saw or any of the other mechanized blades near your hands and body.
This rule has been one of the toughest to teach my children, who have the patience of, well, small children. There is an instant-ness, an itch to have their needs met as soon as they realize one has arisen in their lives, and learning to pause while Mom finishes ripping a board on the table saw was a monumental task. Maybe even as Herculean as Reacher taking on the Romford Boys gang in London.
I don’t like jumping bodies or waving hands or voices yelling in the background when my attention is required on the board and the blade. Both kids are now great about standing back on the other side of the garage while the machines are running and only coming over when I’ve turned them off. Probably helps that they hate the sight of blood and like me having hands to rub their backs.
And then there are my own rules, the ones I try (and sometimes fail) to follow:
1. Maximum swearing is allowed. However, not at myself even if I’m making the mistakes. Best not to dwell.
2. Always run through hand and body positioning and what I’m about to do before turning on any machine.
3. Take time to think.
4. Be playful. Anything is possible until it become firewood.
5. No woodworking when tired, worried, distracted, or sad.
That last one was actually my first rule, which came about after I cut the tip off my left-hand middle finger. I was tired and just wanted to finish cutting the pieces for the doors on a cabinet so I could call it a night. My now crooked fingernail on that hand reminds me that no project is worth getting done if it means working while tired.
The swearing rule is self-explanatory. All kinds of evidence has shown the value of swearing to alleviate pain and handle stress. However, I try not to overly berate myself. I’ve spent too many years angry at myself for this choice or that issue; perhaps it's a middle-age thing, but now it just seems a waste of energy. Better to leave that to others (who can dislike me all they want, as I have another rule, from my great-grandmother when asked if she was worried about someone else’s opinion of her: No, she replied, I ain’t sleeping with ’em, wouldn’t want to be).
The second is a newer rule for me, thinking through the actions I’m about to take with my board in hand and the machine turned off. For example, I was recently cutting stopped dadoes on my table saw. Before turning on the machine, I stood at the side and practiced the motions, noting where the blade will touch, how it will want to kick the board back, how my muscles will react. Then I began.
It’s shockingly easy to get entranced while cutting boards. And all the times nothing bad has happened can lull you into this false sense that you’re in control. I try to approach each task with a beginner’s mind so I don’t accidentally let my mind wander or get lulled into complicity. A beginner has a heightened awareness of danger and to paying close attention to get things done right.
This ties into the third rule, taking time to think, an activity that doesn’t come naturally or easily to me, as I’m more wired to jump in and figure it out as I go. This lack of hesitation gets me into all kinds of trouble, from putting a dado on the wrong side of a cabinet leg to cutting the rounded edges of a tray front without pausing to realize the minimum height must equal that of the sides.
Not the end of the world, but it takes time to fix, and time is not always in abundance.
So the third rule is a work in progress for me. As is the fourth. Mostly I’m trying not to get so hung up on exactly how I want everything to be that I spend the day spinning in frustration as various problems crop up. And they always crop up. From an unexpected twist in the board I was planning to use to not being able to find my measuring tape.
You can plan, you can scheme, you can make rules, but sometimes life goes off your well-plotted rails anyway. As Reacher says, hope for the best, plan for the worst. And then expect your plans to go out the window when the action starts.