Heard this on the radio this morning on the way to work and thought it was worth sharing on the wreck:
In a lot of ways this poem expresses exactly how I've come to feel about woodworking in the serveral months I've been at it. There's something magical when you hit your stride. You move slowly and carefully in an almost casual way, as everything flows at it's proper pace. Not the slow, awkard fumbling of a beginner (though there's still plenty of that for me, whenever I'm learning a new tool, joint or technique - but that's all part of the fun) just the steady rythym of hands that know what they're doing. You hit that sweet spot and you just... build and it's wonderful.
Then you do something stupid like hand cut the very last mitered tenon in your project completely backwards and start cursing and stamping around the shop and have to bag it for the night because you should never 'saw angry' :-) I think in a way even the screw-ups are part of the fun, they give us something to laugh about...
Anyway back to doing that work-thing I do for eight hours a day so I can afford to make sawdust during the rest of the day....
Cheers,
Josh