Teachers often benefit from two “new years” in the annual cycle and I for one love both. It is a chance to look back and plan afresh, albeit a simple psychological pitstop. Taking down my live festive tree as the season ended, I thought about how small the window of use was and if it is a justifiable decoration. This led me to consider the impact woodwork lessons have on the environment.

 

I often tussle, reconciling nature’s bounty versing yet another cabinet. Perhaps a little early in the year for mathematics but… we use approximately 2,000 board feet of alder from Vancouver Island each academic year, in addition to 600 board feet of maple, 200 board feet of western red cedar, 15 sheets of ¾” Baltic birch plywood, 10 sheets of ¼” birch plywood, and a selection of tropical hardwoods for accent trim.

 

There is a system in place to maximize the materials with project challenges scaled to suit, and only when offcuts become too small to safely use or they are quality deficient do they go to the stove. That said, I am still not satisfied. Quality products that are used for years or become a cherished gift or a nostalgic pleasure can certainly help soften the blow. Deeper design thinking and problem-solving skills that can be reasonably explored add another few pounds to the teetering scales.

 

Then I consider the faces of the students when they apply the final coat of wax to their patiently sanded table or the excited shouts when a tricky glue-up finally locks in. When the visiting alum walks through the workshop doors, breathes in the past and smiles. The hands-on contact with natural materials holds a worthwhile connection. Developing an experiential understanding of how every tree is individual, just like people. It has its own DNA, yet its immediate environment can inform growth, weaknesses and strengths, beauty, and scars. And as with people, we need to respond to them with understanding, compassion and perhaps an acceptance that some will be harder work than others. If we can honour the felling through the creation of something that can enhance the quality of life, improve mental well-being, offer a taste of success, or simply adorn a room then we add rather than take.

 

Around 200 students take advantage of the program each year. There is a learning curve that does not always optimize efficiency or top quality, but rather is testament to growth. Growth in mindset and dexterity. Growth in independence, courage, and self-compassion. I believe that with the personal connection, the sweat of brow, the thrill of achievement and ownership of the product comes longevity of care and use, extending the product life cycle. In the ever-quickening world of artificial intelligence we must at least wait for the tree to grow even if design and manufacturing eventually become automated.

 

I often run through the woods here on campus and try to be present in the natural environment, among the trees, regularly weighing up these pros and cons. As a school we are exploring a replanting initiative that reflects the annual number of students in the program as a way of sustaining our learning opportunities. Taking 80-120 years to grow, these trees are unlikely to be harvested in the lifetime of the students. However, we can ensure the future has been planned for and perhaps it is the learning and appreciation of nature’s fragility that will inspire a more thoughtful existence that treads lightly on the planet. In the end, these are questions that each woodworker must ask of themselves. Does the depth of their design thinking, or their commitment to precision, or their willingness to repurpose or reduce materials grant them permission to pursue the craft? Do they see themselves as guardians of nature or consumers of wooden products? I feel that the balance currently tips in our favour, yet we must remain vigilant of our intentions amid the backdrop of the consequences of our actions. If only this were cut and dried…