“Whoa, Jerry!”
I’m in full Kramer mode today. It’s not Seinfeld, but it’s Christmas, and that’s close enough. I’m sliding through doors, wide-eyed, amped up.
The workshop is in overdrive. Dad sent me an Alaskan sawmill. It’s a nifty attachment for the chainsaw that lets me rip lumber from a log. The pile of cedar under the woodshop is mostly milled down to…sawdust. A blue smoke hangs in the shop as tablesaw blades argue with the heathen timber. Beats the oily haze around the chainsaw block.
I got a new blade set called a dado. It’s basically a stack of circular blades that goes on the table saw, cutting a wide slot in the workpiece. Woodworkers will nod knowingly. For the rest of you, it looks like Mad Max’s mild-mannered brother invented something. It goes wooosh when it spins, pushing a lot of air.
When it winds down, you might hear The Cambridge Singers weaving a haunting Christmas melody among the sawdust that falls in lieu of snow. Or AC/DC. I keep changing the channel. Sometimes Frank Sinatra sings about a forgotten season. And lots of muttering as I talk to myself.
D’oh! Thirty inches and a quarter from the OUTSIDE.
There’s mistakes, but so far the only injury was from a flying chunk of cedar kicked off by the saw. It was small, and only a wake up call.
I love writing. I love thinking, and talking ideas, and looking at the stars.
But it’s good to get in the shop and put something together that I can see, that’s beautiful in the wisdom of the oak and the pine, the sunlight and red clay that grew the lumber on Long Mountain.
I saw a shirt on YouTube as I puzzled over making a jig. (Woodworking should be called jig making, come to think of it.)
“Be Humble. Build Something.”
I like that.
Off to go talk about Elon Musk with some senior buddies and finish a newspaper column and get back to the shop this evening.
Don’t forget, the Geminid meteors peak tonight. Keep an eye to the sky (late at night).
Josh
Cedar from the farm, ready to get cleaned up.