Sincere thanks to all who took the time to write and submit stories for the True Tales of Woodworking Contest held by Lost Art Press to celebrate the publication of their new edition of “Making Things Work: Tales of a Cabinetmaker’s Life. Congratulations to the winner, Bruce Chaffin! The remainder of the judges’ top picks will continue to be published over at https://blog.lostartpress.com. I’ll be posting others (lightly edited) here over the coming weeks–they’re too good not to share.
Heartbreak at Granadillo (or “How I Learned to Love Hide Glue”) by Kevin Almeyda
Granadillo is a beautiful wood. Reddish brown with some fantastic striping. And it’s as hard as it is lovely, perhaps more so. Imagine a wood made of the same material that Captain America’s shield is composed of. Now make it a touch harder. OK, you’re getting in the ballpark.
I bought a rather small board of the stuff as I set out to make a teabox I saw in Fine Woodworking magazine. I had to order it from an online dealer as my local hardwood dealer not only didn’t carry it, but the always-helpful, and never condescending, employees hadn’t heard of it. And of course I’m being sarcastic. I’m pretty sure lumberyard workers take the same customer service classes that are required of employees of plumbing and electrical supply houses.
After the milling, I prepared to lay out my dovetails. I grabbed my very sharp marking gauge and struck my lines on the tailboard–or at least I thought I did. Let’s try that again. This time using enough force to induce hernias in lesser woodworkers. There. Much better. Now I can almost see a line.
Granadillo. Really hard stuff.
The tone was set for the rest of the dovetailing experience. Sawing was a cakewalk compared to chiseling to my line. It felt more along the lines of chipping away at ceramic tile then working with wood. It wasn’t the most fun I’ve had dovetailing but things were moving along well enough.
When I test fit the dovetails, they were just about perfect. Actually, dare I say, they really were perfect! They were gap-free and came together with a minimal use of force. My heart sang with delight. The editors of the leading woodworking magazines would be competing to feature me on the pages of their next issue. Has anyone gotten rich by simply writing a dovetail article for a woodworking journal? I’m guessing no. But with these dovetails, I’m destined to be the first. Would the fame go to my head? My narcissistic inner-child squealed with delight at the thought of walking the halls of the next woodworking conference while my cadre of assistants insisted no one make direct eye contact when speaking to me.
Let’s glue this bad boy up and prepare for our victory lap. I carefully applied the yellow glue to the walls of the pins.
As I assembled the box, the tails in corner #1 mated with its tails in a loving embrace. They shall be joined forever. No pre-nup needed. Their union was perfect and eternal.
Corner #2 came together as easily as the first. I was halfway home.
It was then that I noticed the smell of the delicious food my wife was cooking. I could hear my children playing together beautifully. Sharing and caring for each other.
Suddenly, the sun, which had been shining brightly just a moment ago, was enveloped by thick, sickly-gray clouds. Thunder crashed in the distance. A wolf howled.
I tried to press-fit the joint together but it had other plans. It was going to take a break halfway in, stop moving, and grab a smoke. That’s okay. I’ll finish up on the last corner and come back. The last corner must have seen what corner #3 was up to and decided “if they don’t have to come together then we sure as hell don’t either!” I had a revolt on my hand. But that’s okay. I grabbed my rubber dead-blow mallet off the wall and prepared to persuade these last two corners to fall in line with the others.
Tap, tap. Hmmm. Let’s try this again. TAP, TAP. Am I sweating? Why on earth am I sweating?
TAP, TAP, TAP. Please come together. TAP, TAP, TAP. Do I smell dinner burning? TAP, TAP… “If you kids don’t stop fighting I’m sending you to your rooms!” TAP, TAP, oh ****!
It had gone so wrong, so fast. Those perfect joints, drunk on the water in the PVA glue, swelled enough to seize the joint. The extremely hard, and brittle, granadillo couldn’t stand that incessant tap, tap, tapping and decided to implode rather than subject itself to any more mallet blows. I’ve never had a project before, nor a project since, be so completely unsalvageable after a mishap.
Then something odd happened. I started crying. Not because of this mishap. But this pushed me over the edge. I was coming off a terrible week. A family member was desperately ill. I had spent countless hours at the hospital and many more researching long-term care options. I had kept my emotions bottled up and I finally reached my breaking point and they came pouring out.
Spending time in the shop was, and is, my refuge. It lets me be with my thoughts or forget them entirely. This project’s failure felt symbolic of the utter chaos and helplessness of the past week’s events. And I just lost it.
I tossed my tools on the bench and retired to the family room. I had no desire to be in the shop. The thought of going back in there sickened me. I told myself, “just take a few weeks away from the shop and maybe you’ll feel the urge to step back in.”
Well, weeks turned into hours because later that night I re-ordered another piece of granadillo. And yes, I did pay extra for two-day shipping. This fiasco turned out to be incredibly cathartic. I got my urge to step back in the shop, be with my thoughts, or forget them entirely, and give it another go.
Aside from being my hobby, woodworking is also my therapy. It broke my heart when I needed some support, but jumping right back in (and learning from past mistakes) was exactly what my spirit needed especially when “teabox 2.0” gave me a big pat on the back upon completion.–Kevin Almeyda