THE SHOP
Read time: 2 minutes
A one‑person heritage woodworking shop in Winnipeg, built wall by wall and bench by bench.
Each morning I unlock the shop and push open the door, coffee in hand and still waking up from the night’s sleep. The smell of wood washes over me and wakes me faster than any caffeine-drenched coffee ever could — and I haven’t even turned the lights on yet.
Some mornings I sit for a minute, sipping my coffee with the radio playing, enjoying the solitude before the daily grind begins. I look at the day’s project and start planning the work in my head. And if the latest job is out the door and I’m between the end of one build and the start of another, I get a rare moment to simply look around the shop — this space that works with me like a silent partner, helping turn ideas and dreams into something real.
The shop itself has been a long process of wants, mistakes, successes, rebuilds, and slow evolution as new machinery and opportunities arrive. I designed it wall by wall, bench by bench. Sometimes I got it wrong, but that’s part of learning how to make a small space handle big projects. It works well for now, though the router table is looking dated and might be the next thing to rebuild. It’s the oldest part of the puzzle.
Every wall is used from floor to ceiling — benches, saws, drills, the lathe. Above that, lumber racks right to the top. I’m officially out of space. I had a few pictures I wanted to hang in the shop; we ended up mounting them on the ceiling because the walls were full. We even picked up a 12' cargo trailer just for storage (and occasionally hauling), and built a floor-to-ceiling wall system inside it to squeeze out every inch of space.
Everything wood in this shop was built by me — even the drywall. And for a single-person shop, it works beautifully. The newest challenge is my son and apprentice, Leo, working alongside me. The shop feels smaller with the two of us, but that’s when I adapt. We’ll see where this new era takes us.
My workshop is where chaos becomes clarity. Where tools aren’t props — they’re partners. Where sawdust settles the mind better than any meditation app ever could.
This is where I build heirloom tables, desks, cabinets, and the occasional questionable experiment. This is where I photograph tools like they’re supermodels. This is where I feel most like myself.
And one day, this is where Leo will stand — hands on the bench, tools within reach — carrying the craft forward.
Mind the shavings. You’re in the right place.
Step inside Behind the Grain, if you’d like to sit awhile.
