Unpaid shop work · Midway, Texas
We don't need a lot. We need a few good people who'll show up on a Saturday, sweep cedar shavings out from under a workbench, plane a length of white oak by hand, and stand by ready to pass the wagon maker the right wrench when he asks for it. That is the volunteer job. It is not glamorous. It is, honestly, a privilege.
The shop runs on a 19th-century clock: daylight in, daylight out. Here's the rough arc of a volunteer Saturday at 7242 Wiseman Road, give or take an hour either side of the weather.
Kelly is already in. You sign the volunteer log on the workbench inside the side door, hang your jacket on the hooks by the forge, and pour yourself a cup of the strong stuff from the percolator. Introductions are handled in about ninety seconds.
Three-minute walk-around of the shop floor — where the tools live, where the fire exits are, where the eye-wash and the first-aid kit hang. Then Kelly assigns the day's task. Almost never anything that requires prior experience. Almost always something that needs two hands and a steady pace.
Hand planes, drawknives, spokeshaves, the bandsaw under supervision, the bellows on the forge if you've been around long enough. You'll learn how to read grain, how to lay out a felloe, how to lay a length of iron across the anvil. You will not be asked to do anything that hasn't been shown to you twice.
Bring a sandwich. Coffee, water, and sweet tea are on the shop. Forty-five minutes, no work, real conversation. This is the part of the day where most of the wagon-making lore actually gets passed down.
Afternoon work is finishing, sanding, oiling, leather. Cleanup begins around 3:30. By 4:00 the power tools are off — that's a rule, not a suggestion. Hand tools and bench work can run a little later if the light's good.
Everyone sweeps. Tools get wiped down with a rag and a thumb of oil before they go back on the wall. You sign out, take whatever shavings you want for your own kindling, and head home for the Saturday evening you earned.
We don't have many. The ones we do are written in the kind of ink that came from real things that happened — a finger, a spark, a Saturday that almost went badly.
Volunteer time is a real gift, and we don't want to waste it — yours or ours. Here's where the workshop genuinely needs hands, and where (for now) it doesn't.
Call Kelly or email Kristy. Tell us which Saturday you're thinking, whether you're bringing anyone, and any experience you have with hand tools (none is a perfectly good answer). We don't carry more than four volunteers on a normal Saturday — the shop floor only fits so many bodies safely — so first-come on the calendar.
It's about a mile and a half off the county road, between Madisonville and Centerville. The drive is gravel for the last third. The shop is the larger of the two metal buildings — the one with the chimney off the back wall. Park anywhere on the grass.
Sign on for a Saturday
Call Kelly. He'll put you on the volunteer calendar and tell you whether to bring lunch or whether the chili pot will be on.
