Musings of a Woodhack: Prologue

Greeting and salutations from one woodhack to the eternal brothers of arboreal particulate matter, aka wood dust. In order to form a more perfect communication, allow me to introduce myself:
I was born in Reno, Nevada at a very young age. I began driving nails as a toddler. Wanting to re-establish family ties, my family and I immigrated to Arkansas in 1964. I graduated high-school in 1974, Phydie Kumba Laurem. Bypassed higher education and joined "this man's navy," and learned the words to "Anchor's Away My Boys." I cry during Taps at military funerals.
After military service, I got married and embraced higher education. I crammed four years of college into six and graduated with a degree in education. I participated in the conception of two children; one of the female variety and one of the male, who were priority-mandated by my significant other (wife). From there, I embarked on a twenty-two year career in teaching biology. Many of the children were worthy of adoption; others, not so much.
I began woodworking, and out of the chaos a box was created. Later a lid was added, and presto-chango: Blanket-chest. All thanks to the lowly pine. Spurred on by initial success, I commenced the process of collecting tools and wood. Much to my wife's chagrin...

My most difficult project: Queen Anne Low-boy, featuring carved trifid feet and shell. Including drop finials. And of course, the requisite hand-cut dovetails.

My current claim to fame: Six pieces published in various woodworking periodicals.

Most recent contribution of humble creation: An audio cabinet, published in Fine Woodworking's Design Book 8: Contemporary Designs.

My most life-changing personal epiphany in furniture design: THE CRAFTSMAN PHILOSOPHY, an eye-opening recognition of the highest order. In my limited understanding, the Arts and Crafts lexicon includes Mission, Green & Green, F.L. Wright, Stickley, Roycroft, and assorted designers, too numerous to mention.

My future blogs will contain my experiences in tool choices (what works for me), jig/fixture construction, and building and designing Mission furniture, et al., all encapsulated with a subtle attempt at humor, to those so inclined. And with one caveat, everything I do is rife with the reality that my ability is definitely limited. Readers should remember that there is always more than one way to skin a cat. Then for a break in the normal fare, I may occasionally digress into stories of yore; which include regurgitations of quasi-historical half-truths, hyperbole, and bald-faced lies.