Carving a Seat during a Tornado

Most of my building experiences revolve around my family. Our house is often on fire, tiles falling from the ceiling, raised voices bouncing on walls.

A few months ago, while picking up my daughter from her babysitting gig across town I noticed an old Oak tree had been felled across the street from the house where she was working. (She baby sits for her niece, my sister’s kid...family is everywhere in my life.)

The tree was a gnarly old thing that had been sawed into 70lb logs. I nabbed as many as I could fit in the hatch of my pathfinder. (Spent the following weeks with excessive amount of saw dust and tree grit in the car. From then on I brought a painter’s tarp on my foraging trips to prevent this issue)

Last summer I was taught how to split logs using wedges and gluts. These logs in particular were not the very first logs I attempted to split but were definitely early days. I worked on establishing that first crack for hours. I made multiple trips to Lowe’s to buy sets of iron wedges. Made multiple wood gluts which went on to completely shatter in the old twisted logs.

After the 2nd frustrating day I managed to split one of the logs down the middle. The split was super twisted and had seemingly ruined the log or at the least wasted a significant amount of lumber. I called my dad. Went to his house and proceeded to make sashimi out of the remaining logs using his 16 inch chain saw.

After all the fruitless labor whacking the log with a sledgehammer I had a real Tom Hanks from “Castaway” moment using the chain saw. I took the time to quarter saw the remaining logs and rift saw a few planks, just for fun-sies.

The heart of our story takes place many months later in mid January. There was a storm forecast and as a result schools were dismissed at midday. I found myself home by noon, and free to work in my shop.

After staring down this pile of gnarly oak for months I decided to clean up my favorite slab and carve it into a seat for a high stool.

The storm outside slowly built up a head of steam. When I began my labors it was breezy, cloudy, cold and quite humid. By 3 I had a decent butt scoop and had worked the edges to a place of contentment. The oak tore out like the one inshave was a personal insult so I added the travisher and card scrapper to the sculpt procedure. Rain lashed the window, our mini-greenhouse was upside down and had tumbled across the yard.

By 4:45 a tornado had touched down across town. One of my students had a window sucked out of the rear side of his car. I popped my head into the house to get something to drink. This was when my wife told me that our ceiling was leaking. Sure enough a steady drip, drip of water could be heard in the living-room. I set out some buckets and a towel grabbed a beer and went back out to the shop.

In this moment I learned something about myself. Working with my hands soothes my tendency toward physical stress. I’m a pacer. I’m a jaw-clencher. I am a compulsive runner. I use physical activity to feel good. (Hints whacking a log for two days before opting for a chain saw.)

The steady sculpting of the seat in gnarly oak steadied my hands, slowed my mind down and relaxed me. Then the tornado warning blared from my phone.

At this point my wife came into my shop to ask if we should pull all the kids downstairs, just in case. She made a concerned face.

I said, “yeah probably smart.” And kept scooping. Before leaving the shop she told me that our dog had peed by the door. I needed to go clean up it up.

I did. A short time later she came back to the shop to ask me to come inside too. The weather was getting legitimately bad. Cause for concern. I said I would, and kept scooping. A few more minutes, I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh, and penny peed again.” She said.

What the fuck?

She’s and old dog but her bladder isn’t big enough for all this mess.

Turns out water was somehow seaming down the wall, through the base boards and into the house.

My house appeared to be coming apart at the seems. I did a quick caulk job and then came inside while the worst of the storm passed.

The house shook.

Sections of town lost power. Fliers went out the next day from injury lawyers recruiting folks who suffered damages in the weather.

All I wanted to do was scoop out the damn seat. I paced the house instead. As soon as the last band of high pressure passed I was on the roof pressing poly-caulk into gaps around a window.

What I discovered in this moment was that I am not always what my family needs. Sometimes I’m barely holding on. Sometimes I’m one leaking wall away from screaming. I’m fragile and I hate it. I like to cast myself in the image of my father. The guy who does the tasks, the guy who shows up, the guy who works hard and smart. In reality I’m normal. I have feelings. Sometimes those feelings are shitty and angry.

I am glad to have my hands to keep me busy. When my house is washing away in the next climate-change-fueled-super storm at least I’ll have a cool high stool.

JB