A quiet morning. My first time home for an entire week in quite some time. There’s not many dishes to put away. Just a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. An empty coffee cup. Life is pretty simple when I’m by myself.

It’s misty outside when I head out the kitchen door and begin my walk up the hill. The fall colors are about as strong as they get in this part of Georgia. A touch of yellow. The sourwoods are a brilliant red. I have one Chinese Flame tree that’s showing off. The driveway is littered with the carnage of the season.

There’s a little bit of anticipation in my bones as I open the side door to my woodshop. I’m not sure how to describe it. A hankering for the familiar. A calling to the soul. Maybe like that feeling you get when you’re going home for the first time in a long time to see your folks. You’ve been away, and as you approach the house your senses come alive with the smells of Mama’s kitchen. You can see your dad sitting in his favorite chair with his boots off, reading the paper.

I don’t mean to be melodramatic or sentimental about an old woodshop, but I haven’t spent much time inside this place lately. I’ve been chasing the road to unknown destinations. Having exciting adventures with the people I love. No regrets, but I’ve been away more than at home lately.

The darkness inside is full of shadows from the morning light that spills in through the windows. I hit the light switch and 5,000 lumens each from four overhead LED fixtures make my world come alive. I stand for a moment and take in the aroma of sawdust. I glance around. None of the tools have moved while I’ve been gone.

“You’re back,” they say.

I grab the key off the nail and remove the locks that secure the rollup door. My not-so-nimble bones reach down and lift. The coil spring responds and the door chatters in its tracks as it rises. If I don’t push hard enough it won’t go all the way up. If I push too hard it will slam against the brackets at the top. I shove and at the same time keep just enough backpressure on the little rope that dangles from the door so that it gently kisses against the top rest.

The big door connects the indoors to the outside world. With it up, I can see when the Amazon guy shows up. I can watch for my neighbor who sometimes walks the loop in my driveway. She’ll wave or stop for a chat some days. I can see the wind carry the leaves through the woods. I can feel the breeze on my back when I’m standing at the table saw.

I don’t have a real, honest to goodness project in mind today. I have serious work that I could be doing. I need to take the front door off the hinges. It desperately needs some repairs and TLC. It has looked forlorn and neglected for a long time. The finish is faded. Some of the wood is cracking and peeling. If I wanted to, I could work on my door today.

But I don’t want to. Not today.

Today, I have come out here to play in the shop. I have it in mind to piddle and see what I can get into. Take a few scraps and have fun with making something that doesn’t matter to another soul but me.

Marion gave me several shop tools for our anniversary a few weeks ago. They are laying on the worktable. The boxes open. Plastic bags crumpled. A 3D square. A set of machined set-up blocks for cutting repeatable and precise depths and widths. And a small scraper for cleaning up dried glue.

I’m looking around trying to decide where I should keep them. I don’t want to toss them in the corner. I don’t want to pile them up on a shelf already cluttered. I know, I’ll add a shelf. Then I’ll make a little box for the scraper, so the blade won’t get nicked.

Thus, the fun begins.

I don’t measure much when I get going on something like this. No need to. There’s no plan other than trying to keep up with the hamster that’s running on the wheel inside my head. I just hold a board up to where I want it, make two pencil marks, take it to the chop saw and in a few minutes I have a shelf.

The box is the same. I dig around in the rack where I keep my plywood scraps. It won’t take much. I lay the glue scraper on a piece and make a few pencil marks that give me a rectangle that’s not too tight. That’s the bottom.

And it’s really more of a tray with sides than a box. I cut a few narrow strips and lay them alongside the bottom piece. More pencil marks. A few cuts. A little glue and brad nails. I take it over to my upright belt sander to smooth out the edges, and I’m done.

This is the kind of piddling that, I don’t know, sets me free. I’ve got the music going in the background. I’m sorting through the challenges of life and doing other things with my brain while my hands get covered in sawdust. I think maybe I’m even praying about the things I can’t control, all the while being grateful for the many unimaginable gifts in life that have come my way.

There’s a metal cabinet in the back corner, the top of which has become a catch-all. I’m always digging through the pile. Things get knocked off in the shuffle. I can never put my hands on what I want.

The solution. More plywood scraps. I squint and before I can whistle Dixie, I have a two tiered storage shelf on top of my cabinet. I did take a couple of measurements on this one.

Dang, I’m having a good time.

I’m staring at a 24” wooden bench plane that a good friend gave me a few weeks ago. Made in France back in the late 1800s. It’s like a piece of art to me. Disrespectfully, it’s just been sitting on my bench.

The hamster is on the move again. I had to relocate a few things on my shop wall to make a space for it. Another shelf. Rough cut pine. No measuring. A small ledger around the sides. A brace on the back. And my bench plane is in a good spot. One day I’ll refurbish it and use it.

I’ve gotten a lot of enjoyment out of my shop the last two days. A picture frame. Extra storage features for my pantry. Even a small cabinet for my daughter. None of it fancy. Most of it just piddling.

But that’s what this shop is for. It’s the place where the work untangles my worries. It’s where my hands give my soul room to breathe.

The work is never about the wood.

It’s always about learning to live.