Piles (upon Piles) of Scraps

I hate throwing things away. Chalk it up to my upbringing in a household still feeling the influence of Dutch Protestant standards of frugality. I’m not really so bad within the house, although we still make a point of recycling as much as we can. In the workshop, though? It’s a real problem. 

I have tubsful. Well technically, I have one actual tub that is full and then a couple more tubs worth that are simply in piles on the ground. Behind the bandsaw and beltsander is a pile of medium-sized scraps. Most of the bits and pieces relegated to this mound will become chip clips or coffee stirrers. At one optimistic point this past winter I convinced myself that I’d start a line of mobiles using pieces from this pile. Once the optimism of the holiday season wore off, I admitted to myself that I can’t realistically add yet another product line until I know that I’ve solidified the existing ones. So for now, just chip clips and stirrers.

Crowding the pathway into the shop just inside the door is the pile of large scraps. Most of the chunks in this pile have just enough heft that they might still realize the dream of becoming a full-size utensil. That dream will depend on my ability to work around a knot or crack that I dodged when working with the original piece of wood.

The most obnoxious mountain of scraps includes a 30-gallon plastic trash can that long ago overflowed onto–and then under and around the table that holds my small bandsaw. I finally moved that can out of the portion of my workshop and into my lumber storage space. Since then, a couple other 5-gallon Home Depot buckets have been precariously stacked on top of it. 

These admittedly ridiculous piles of burnable scrap would prompt most people to say something like, “If you’d keep your space in order, your brain would be free to focus more effectively on the item you’re working on at the moment.” These people would be wrong. For me anyway, having all of the remnants in my workspace is part of what fuels the production process.

Perhaps I could buy more tubs so the scraps could be nearly removed from my immediate workspace and into the lumber room. But I think I’d miss the whisper of encouragement that comes from the piles: “Look how much beautiful scrap you’ve produced. Keep going.”