The last couple months have been packed with quite a bit of business
travel, however, one trip was very absent of the day job’s influence. A few weeks ago I made the trek back east to
Maryland for Memorial Day. This was the
first Memorial Day without the hero of our family…our Dad. My youngest sister lives there in Maryland and
my other sister came up from Georgia so that we could all visit Arlington
together with Mom.
We spent a fair bit of time at Dad’s grave remembering,
telling stories, hugging, crying and laughing.
The flags were placed at every grave, and off in the distance you could
see the movement of wave after wave of Boy Scouts placing roses on every headstone. I failed to notice the day we laid Dad to
rest…Arlington may be one of the most beautiful places on earth. Thousands upon thousands of our heroes all
placed in rows that echo the focus and precision with which our bravest lived
their lives…and saved countless others.
I was in awe.
The second purpose for the journey was to collect many of
the things from Dad’s shop that I would bring home to my own. Dad was a woodworker, a craftsman of skill, precision
and passion…and he taught me at every chance we had together. For almost 20 years every trip back home
included woodworking lessons. Many times
we would pre-plan weeks before I arrived.
I can recall his voice and his words in almost every task I execute in
the workshop.
My youngest sister was gracious enough to loan me her truck
for the trip back to Colorado, and my Mom and other sister were brave enough to
drive cross country with me to bring this load of precious cargo home…and then
drive back! I cannot thank them enough
for delivering my Dad’s treasures to me.
I could proudly list the contents of an entire pick-up bed
of tools, jigs and wood that we brought on our journey, but there was really
only one thing that I needed to come home with me. While I’m very grateful for routers and
sanders, wood slabs and a mortiser…which I’ll enjoy using for years to come, the
whole, long drive would have been worth it if all that came with me was this…
This is where Dad held court in his workshop. I helped him build the doors and frame the
top at his little shop down on the Potomac River almost 20 years ago. This bench cabinet was built to match the
height of the table saw and served as an in-feed surface and storage for all
things needed to use the saw. While specifically
designed for this cause, complimenting the table saw would not be this treasure’s
greatest purpose.
For two decades woodworking and life happened around this
cabinet. There were many woodworking
lessons, but even richer were the conversations…memories, our marriages,
raising kids, politics, money, war, love and life. We were sitting at this cabinet the first
time he told me about Viet Nam, and the first time I ever saw his eyes well
when describing the heroism of an Airman who threw himself on a loose phosphorous
bomb to save the rest of his crew. I met
those parts of my Dad that he was ready to introduce me to right here at this
cabinet, in this chair.
There is a patina on the bench top where he used to sit, a
well worn surface where his hands and arms rested when he sat there. There are cuts, nail holes and hammer dings
from all of his grandchildren. The grain
of the plywood top is raised by the moisture of many Maryland summers and the
sweating beers and coffee drips that left countless little puddles. Needless to say it will never need sanding. And always at the ready was “the chisel.”
He kept it razor sharp and probably used it on almost every
project for little touch ups or fine tuning any joinery. He had nicer chisels, but this was the go to. Some variation of, “Oh, hold on…hand me the
chisel Bubba” was spoken to me probably a hundred times over the years.
And so now his cabinet is the anchor of my shop, lined up
behind my table saw ready to serve the next crew of Harbin woodworkers. I’ll be giving the lessons now and hopefully
can share even half the wisdom with half the grace the Dad did.
Pete
