Someone asked me recently if I was a woodworker. I’m not.
Not in the sense of excellent work, learning all the skills, creating fine furniture-grade heirlooms to be treasured forever. But I do make things, from time to time, out of wood.
I watch shows with real woodworkers who create fine furniture-grade heirlooms, who remodel spaces with excellence, who are awesome. I learn a little each time.
Nancy and I have been staying in a cabin near the shore of Whitefish Bay. It is the kind of space that someone might demo and remodel with excellence. It is rustic.
However, I have the sense that it was a family cabin up north. It’s the kind of place called a “camp” on the east coast. It was built with the rounded outside of logs, roofed with tarpaper, windows with squares of glass and hand-made frames. The cabinets are built from logs, not at a factory that turns them out in climate -controlled log-cabin-look styles, but on site while waiting for the rain to stop.
The builder may have said “good enough”. But not in a disparaging way. Oh no. It was “good enough” in a “sufficient to get our family to the shore, our buddies to the fishing, our grandpa to the story-telling, our babies to the memories” way.
And in the “comfortable for a couple needing some R and R who don’t need fancy but need to be up north” kind of way.
When you are writing or building or creating or serving or cooking or any of a thousand things we do, don’t get so caught up in getting it perfect that we miss sufficient for the purpose it is being done.
Fancy knobs may be great. Feeding souls is greater.