Bodging in Town

It's A Strange World For A Bodger

I find it so weird when I get asked to demonstrate at, say a country park, and when I get there I find no not here, it's just down the road in the town centre!  What is that all about?  I don't mind but I just wish I knew in advance - it's the type of kit you need to take.  I chatted at length with the organiser but then the plans are changed but no one person from the organisation passes the info on to me.  So why is there a problem?  It's not big but I like to nail my lathe to the ground with good solid wooden tent pegs just because it's the fashion for some folks to lean on anything they come into contact with.
No my lathe isn't going to topple over, but when you're turning and someone is bopping in rhythm to the treadle it doesn't make for the best finish. 

I was asked to set up in the car park at this little gig but sometimes you've just got to do your own thing so I took up the 'keep off the grass' sign and set up here.  Turns out (forgive the pun) that this was to showcase what could be a possibility at the Country Park but the powers that be thought no one would attend because of the mud!  Well mud is an occupational hazard of being a Bodger - wellies/stout boots are always around and generally when folks go into the country they are prepared.  I expect they look in their cupboard & think right platformed gold sandals - perfect for a walk in the woods or should it be my diamante Jimmy Choos - I just don't know what goes on in folks minds.  Note the safety tape - that was just to stop me running around wildly I expect.  It was a fantastic day in fact, plenty of chat and I put the 'keep off the grass' notice back at the end...

SILVER BIRCH - A TREAT FROM THE TREES

A wood for all Seasons

 

Walking through the forest of Epping is a pleasure few seem to take advantage of.  Mostly it's dog walkers who seem to appreciate the invigorating thrill of being in the arms of Mother Nature.  On a Monday morning I see the cuts in the leafmould from overweight cyclists. (In their dreams I think they believe they're Bradley Wiggins on the Tour de France - it did go through the forest a few years ago - if you blinked you missed it!) New shelters made by excited children with parents who probably have as much fun imagining themselves to be Bear Grylls on deserted islands.  Strange teepees with no doors that are made by wise folks standing up long hornbeam limbs for the wood to dry before carrying them home for warming firewood later in the week.  I'm listening for life,  watching the mosses change colour to the richest emerald and sitting hearing the sounds of the wind in the canopy and eerie calls of parakeets who don't know quite what's disturbed them as a buzzard swoops through swift and silent claiming it's lunch on the wing.

I collect some branches, left lying by conservation volunteers, not only silver but rich ruby reds, brilliant tawny gold and imagine these beautiful kindling sticks as something else.  My mind is a butterfly hovering and it's not until my axe and knife are in my hands that they can be transformed.

Into the workshop - it's warm in my Waltham Abbey workspace now.  It's as if I'm in a comforting woody bubble enveloped by aroma of Sweet Chestnut, still lingering from the last Green Woodworking Course that I ran, spicy mixed with linseed oil and beeswax.  This is where the transformations will take place...

 

   

















Shrink Pots are a truly therapeutic form of fun - useful yes for pencils, wooden spoons & if you get a truly great shrink onto the base the perfect woodland drinking vessel...
Then the lathe for a little light excercise and some freehand turning, mind flowing freely and the chisels cutting through soaking wet wood spraying me with sap and becoming something barely recognisable as firewood but handy for the chef in my kitchen.