Where Federation space meets the wood shop
Healing | The joy of a skid steer
Hello and welcome to the Hungry Woodworker, a humanistic exploration of woodworking, purpose, and trying to make a living from the skills of my two hands. I’m Taliesin and one thing I do when not working is write; some of those notes get edited into essays, which I share every other Thursday. Thank you for being here.
Greetings!
You know what I really want? The words wood and shop to be combined into one. I find that space in between is inconvenient and forgettable, until I’m reminded by the red squiggly lines.
My arm continues to hurt, but I’ve gotten to know a great occupational therapist who is helping me manage the pain and get stronger as my torn tendon heals. Looking for a wicked painful massage? I can recommend someone terrific for you.
During the day, tape on my arm helps to lesson tension on my tendon and at night a wrist brace keeps the lower part of my arm in the right position. (All your advice was spot on,
!)
Essay is below. I hope your next couple of weeks are filled with handy, inexpensive aids that make it easier for you to do the things you love!
A day spent in the lumber
As I’ve mentioned, my dad has quite a bit of lumber he’s milled over the years. I offered to help him sort it out and put together some pallets to sell at auction nearby. Admittedly, my contributions are minimal—mostly grunt labor and heckling (Dad says he knows I’m doing okay when I’m regularly giving him shit, it’s when I get quiet that he worries).
We started working on this project last week, sorting through stacks of Black Walnut, Red Oak, and Cherry.
The wood is stored in bunks: the lumber is arranged in rows, usually about 3–5 boards in a row (depending on how wide the boards are) with stickers (3 foot long square pieces of wood) in between each row. Generally, depending on how thick the lumber is, the rule of thumb is for each bunk to be about 6–8 boards high.
Each bunk has three pieces of twine wrapped tight around it (each side and the middle) to help keep the wood from twisting as it dries. Bunks are then stacked on top of each other.
Moving the bunks requires the skid steer, a small, heavy duty machine that always makes me think of shuttle craft from Star Trek. (Here is where I admit to being a huge Star Trek fan and sharing my humble opinion that the third season of Picard was such a treat.)
You operate the skid steer with right and left handles to move it, and with right and left foot peddles to lift, lower, and tilt the hydraulics. Dad generally has two metal tines on the front, which are used to move lumber and logs.
In the last few years I’ve used this skid steer, but wouldn’t say I’m terribly proficient. Usually I watch Dad move lumber or logs, keeping out of the way.
Lately I’ve been feeling the need to learn as much as I can about all the equipment and wood that we use in the shop. Partly this is my bunker mentality, partly it’s my way of alleviating anxiety.
I don’t know about you, but I feel unease when I don’t know how to do something.
Let me be more specific—there’s lots of things of which I’m ignorant and feel fine (as cool as it would be to do brain surgery, I don’t feel a great longing to learn how to take a scalpel or drill or pliers or whatever doctors use to someone’s skull).
But in the shop, if, say, there’s a joint I want to use, but I haven’t made it before or had much experience with the tool(s) needed to make it, I feel a low-level anxiety. The kind that leads to procrastination. A quiet avoidance that feels good in the moment but bad in the long run, because I have a small business and there is no time for work not to get done.
I’m not some grind-loving go-getter, but to keep afloat, progress has to be made on projects every day.
However, learning takes time. So much in woodworking is about slowing down. Slowing down to learn. To watch someone skilled before trying the skill yourself. To take the measurement twice, double check the saw’s alignment, or ensure that last cut was square.
Learning to be a woodworker while running my own business, it’s like I teeter-totter between figuring out how to get things done and actually doing the work. When I try to rush the former, it slows down the latter.
Instead of fighting that tension, this year I’m trying to embrace the wobbly balance between the two. Though I have a number of projects on my docket, I have also built in time for learning.
So I asked Dad if I could learn how to move the bunks; essentially improving my skill on the skid steer and gaining confidence in handling another aspect important to my overall work. Lessening future anxiety and increasing future competence.
For the first bunk, Dad demonstrated how to maneuver the skid steer and I just watched. But there was a different quality of watching. It wasn’t with half a mind on other things to do or previous conversations. It was attentive, focusing on the details of how Dad lifted, lowered, and tilted the tines, lining them up under the bunk just so, turning smoothly so as not to knock the stickers off the top.
And then it was my turn. The retrieval and moving and setting down was not nearly so smooth, but I didn’t drop or break anything.
It reminded me of Captain Jean-Luc Picard’s patient tutelage of the younger officers. Instead of taking the reigns from his subordinates (particularly in situations in which it was obvious he could do better), he focused on helping them grow into the competent, capable commanders that Star Fleet would need in the future.
We sorted through three bunks last week, finding about 20–30 boards of Black Walnut and Red Oak to sell. We saved all the Cherry. Dad says it’s hard to get your hands on good Cherry in our area. And we saved several prime Walnut boards, some because of their beautiful straight grain, several with gorgeous feathering, others that were thick enough to potentially build stiles for these hanging bookshelves I want to make.
My aim is to help Dad sell boards. But he says his priority is ensuring I have access to the best lumber possible.
I feel grateful, humble, fortunate that I have the time to slow down, because these are the moments that it’s worth taking time within.
Make it so. (I couldn’t help myself.)
I need to finish season 3. The first two were amazing. Taking it slow and double/triple checking definitely is a skill that needs work.