For many years, my working life has taken place at a desk, in front of a computer. I have spent my days writing documentation in response to new products and revisions. Each assignment begins with a request and ends with carefully chosen words intended to explain and record what has been built.

I have always respected the discipline of writing, and I remain grateful for the work it has allowed me to do. At the same time, I have often felt removed from the outcome of my efforts. My role has been to describe and clarify rather than to witness completion. Once the writing is finished, the work moves forward without me, and my part in it is complete.

As I prepare to step into a new chapter, the contrast feels striking.

Woodworking asks something very different of me. It requires my hands, my attention, and my patience to be fully present. The work unfolds at a human pace and responds directly to care and observation. Rather than reacting to constant change, I am learning to settle into sustained focus.

Wood makes its structure known to anyone willing to pay attention. Grain direction, density, and tension are not details to work around. They are the work itself. Before a blade ever touches the surface, there is time spent examining the board and understanding how it was formed. When the tool follows that structure, the cut improves. The effort decreases. The result reflects cooperation rather than force.

This process has reshaped how I experience time in the shop. Work progresses steadily because it is not rushed. Attention remains anchored in the task because the material requires it. When the day ends, I can see clearly what has been made and understand each step that brought it into being.

That sense of continuity matters to me.

As I move toward full-time work in the shop, I am especially excited to return to three areas that feel both familiar and meaningful. Windsor chairmaking has long been part of my woodworking life, and I look forward to pursuing it again with dedication and depth. The form, the joinery, and the balance of strength and elegance continue to hold my interest. I am also focusing on the making of primitive reproduction mallets for both kitchen and shop use. These tools connect function, durability, and simple design in a way I find deeply satisfying. Alongside them, I am making primitive wooden spoons, some intended for daily use and others as expressions of form and surface.

Each of these practices invites attentiveness and respect for material. Each one rewards time spent learning rather than rushing toward outcome.

This work aligns with how I naturally move through the world. It allows me to engage fully, to complete what I begin, and to live within the rhythm of making. As I approach retirement at the end of December, I am looking forward to spending my days in the shop, building skill, refining practice, and creating objects meant to be used and lived with.

This space will be where I share that work. I will write about what I am making, what I am learning, and the craftspeople whose work continues to shape my own. If this way of working speaks to you, I invite you to follow along by subscribing. I look forward to sharing the journey as it unfolds.

Larry