I continue to be taught by my tools and the wood and earth that I now work with on a day to day basis. It is a wonder how much a table saw can teach us if only we listen. My bandsaw lays in waiting for the lesson to be taught. A piece of lumber is a particularly harsh professor. Lacquer is a nun with a ruler.
The oak that I saw lures me into the comfort of knowledge only to take it away again, leaving me in the darkness of ignorance; but there is always a light at the end of that educational tunnel. The maple slabs never let me slack nor do they allow me to rest my weary head. I lay my well-worn sander on them only to find a new lesson.
My jack plane is a peculiar teacher. The razor sharp iron lures me into comfort and laughs at me again and again as its paper thin slices suddenly turn to chunks of precious wood. I cry and it offers no solace and so I am angered and it is entertained.
My shop lays in wait at night for me to wake and try my luck again at learning a trade that I thought I knew. It proves me wrong and I still fight. There is no “first place” or empathy; there is no participation points. I am learning from the best teacher that I know of: my own mistakes; and teach they will, one way or another as long as I keep trying.