One thing that amazes and inspires me is woodworking. When I look at a well-crafted table or recycled-wood wardrobe, I'm inspired. The ability to take something beautiful and make something both beautiful AND useful is a skill I covet but have never taken the time to learn. Just thinking about it makes me want to run out and buy a hickory sideboard for my gathering room or a recycled corner cupboard for the piano room. Alas, money is tight. If only I knew a carpenter.That's a joke, see.
My husband used to be a carpenter--spent his younger days "carrying houses," he liked to say. He'd come home late at night, dog-tired, and I'd get mad at him for collapsing on the floor, asleep in a cloud of sawdust and smelling like a hamster.
He has a desk job, now, and smells more like water softener salt when he gets home, but I've never let him forget his carpentry skills. I've roped him into working on a few things over the years, including a wood floor and trim in our new house, but he's thankful that he's no longer a carpenter by trade.
The way I figure it, this could be a good thing for me. You know the old saying about how a carpenter's kids never live in a finished house? I knew a guy like that. Seven kids, a wife with a nervous tick, and a big house that wasn't finished. He didn't finish it the year his son and I got on the kindergarten bus, and it wasn't finished the year we stepped off that bus for the last time in our senior year of high school. Having walls is kind of important to me, so I'm sort of glad Bo's no longer a carpenter. I want my husband to have the time and the interest for woodworking. 'Cuz not only do I love stuff made of wood, but my boys love to work with wood. I can see that since Bo's no longer a carpenter, working with wood is becoming more and more something he enjoys doing instead of something he feels he has to do. When he does complete a project, like the gorgeous cedar deep beds he made for my garden, he's happy with his work. Proud of it, really. So, there's hope, see.
The flip side is that things made of wood can also be fragile and temporary. Like the outdoor plant stand that was inadverently held-together (temporarily) with non-galvanized screws. It split and cracked and eventually fell apart. The gorgeous cedar bed I mentioned, in fact, was broken just last week, right before planting season. My nine-year-old son Monet was doing some daring feat, bouncing around like boys tend to do, and landed on my favorite cedar bed, completely obliterating one side, shattering the board into splintery pieces. He felt badly. I think I felt worse, but I can't be sure of that.
The day before Mother's Day, Monet stood beside a little roadside Amish vendor's table and looked at the wares. He especially had his eye on a bluebird box, a wooden box designed specifically for the nesting of eastern bluebirds. He had six dollars balled up in his fist, but the box was fifteen. I knew he wanted to buy it as a Mother's Day gift, but I was also glad that he didn't have enough money. Fifteen dollars was too much for a yellow pine birdhouse, especially when they were so easy to make. If I just knew a carpenter.
When we returned home from our little excursion, I dug out a set of bluebird box prints I'd picked up at the Mohican Wildlife Weekend a few weeks ago and handed them purposefully to my husband, Bo. "Monet wants to make a bluebird box," I said. And, because this was totally and completely for Monet, I added, "You know. For Mother's Day." I knew that our funds were quite low and that there were other household projects that needed to be completed, so I wasn't sure if the bluebird box would be a priority. I got out of the way, and just let whatever was going to happen, happen.
A few hours later, Monet sought me out while I was curled up in my bed enjoying a good book. "Hey, Mom! I want to show you something! We made a bluebird box! But it didn't come out like the picture." He thrust the drawing I had given Bo back into my hand. "See, it's supposed to look like this, but we put the roof on crooked, and we accidentally drilled two holes in the front. But I think you'll like it, anyway." I was wondering how my carpenter husband would allow a crooked roof and two entry holes when I entered the garage and realized that my chain had been yanked. There, lined up neatly in a row, were five perfect, gorgeous, hand-made by my men bluebird boxes. I had enough boxes for my very own bluebird trail, something I've wanted for some time now. I picked one up, amazed with it's solidity and perfection, and noticed the wood. Cedar. Where did he get...?
"We used the wood from the deep bed Monet broke," Bo said. "It wouldn't have held up much longer as a deep bed, anyway. But as bluebird houses, it'll last forever."
Monet was beaming from tip to top and ear to ear. "I fooled you," he said. "Did you really think we'd messed 'em up?"
Yep, I told him. You fooled me alright.
On Mother's Day, after we returned from a 10K hike for Cystic Fibrosis, accompanied by Pensive Wandererand her family, Bo and I walked around our property and created our very first bluebird trail.
As we walked, Bo said to me, "You know, I really had fun putting these together. The whole time we were working, Monet was right there, handing me the right tool and asking me the right questions. He gave me a hug and said, 'Dad, you're a great carpenter.' I thought, wow. My son admires me for something this simple. I told him that if he watched and paid close attention, he could be an even better carpenter. I really enjoyed putting these together," he repeated. "I think we'll make an owl box next. We still have some wood left from that deep bed."
Yeah, the bluebird boxes are great. I get a warm feeling every time I look out my window and see them. I'm amazed but not yet frustrated by the House Wrens' ability to find and trust something so quickly and we've cleaned out the wrens' stick nests twice already to make room for the bluebirds who will eventually make their homes there.
But, more than the boxes themselves, I love that my guys spent the day together, restoring a broken project, creating something new with their hands, making memories and building a better relationship.
What more could a mother and wife of a carpenter want?
Well, other than a big cabinet for my gathering room made of wood recycled from a centuries-old farmhouse. Other than that, of course.
Wait, I think I have plans for a picnic table around here somewhere, too...
