My blade makes a long, clean slice through the shrink wrap. Three more passes, and I’m transported from the first 60-plus degree day of spring into my Bertram’s cockpit. It’s dark and musty, a time capsule from the summer of 2023 when we last used it. Hoses and shore power are neatly coiled, and Connor’s beach toys rest still in the bottom of his orange bucket. I creep into the cabin, and almost everything seems just as I had left it. Almost.
My once-flat salon table, which converts to a berth, is now significantly more U-shaped. Time and moisture had warped the wood considerably. While it might have served us for another summer, the deformity would have driven me crazy. It would need to be addressed.
Standing beside a fire with a cold beer in hand, I offhandedly complained about the table to my neighbor, Keith, during our weekly airing of grievances. An engineer with a passion for woodworking, he not only possessed the knowledge of how to best fix my table but also had a killer barn/woodshop with more tools than Harbor Freight. The next morning, he pulled into my driveway on his dirt bike and said, “Alright, let’s see this table.”
I held up my now taco-shell-shaped salon centerpiece. “Okay, bring it down to the shop, and we’ll see what we can do,” he replied. I sensed then that this would be no quick fix. Upon arrival, my fears were confirmed. He suggested I go up into the loft and pick out some Hickory boards I liked. I knew exactly where they were—the previous summer, I watched, and one time helped, Keith as he milled the wood himself from a tree that was encroaching on our neighbor’s septic system. Jokes about that “crappy tree” knew no end.
Quickly, I learned that I was going to be getting a lot more than a new table. I was going to get a re-education in woodworking. Of all the disciplines necessary for caring for old boats, anything with wood is usually my best and favorite. Plumbing… eh. Electrical… better stand back. Mechanical … repeat after me: “Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey.” And I’m by no means some great carpenter, but it’s easily what I like the most. The sound of a circular saw ripping across a 2×4, the smell of sawdust when sanding down a toe rail, or the feeling of gliding on a final coat of varnish are all appealing to me. What I like best about working with wood is that the outcome is always a direct result of the effort applied. Cut corners—sometimes literally—and it will show. Take your time, sand your work with finer and finer grit, add another coat of varnish after you’ve reached “good enough” two coats ago, and you’ll have something beautiful to show for it.
So, while the planning, sanding and gluing of the Hickory was certainly a fair amount of work I hadn’t planned on while airing grievances deep into the previous night, it was, dare I say, fun. And I was learning a lot, too. For example, when Keith said he was running to the house to grab biscuits, I was pumped—this impromptu woodworking session didn’t come with a lunch break, and I was starving. Alas, as many of you know, and I learned, biscuits are what we would be using to hold the boards together.
As tends to happen, it seemed as if the entire neighborhood descended upon the shop to see what all the fuss was about and offer opinions. It would take a few more sessions together, but eventually, after applying a final coat of poly, we had ourselves a brand-new table made from a tree that once shaded our summer hangouts. While I made a note to be more careful discussing potential projects around the fire pit, I was thankful for all the supplies, help and skills Keith gave me during the project.
Now, nestled in the cabin, the table truly is the centerpiece. Not just for decoration, it will be where I work in the summer, where my growing family will play cards and other games, where Karen and I will enjoy coffee together in the morning and wine in the afternoon/evening (depending on the day). It’s where we’ll enjoy meals and make memories. I guess that ol’ Hickory tree wasn’t so crappy after all.
See you on the water,
Dan
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@danhardingboating