I can’t afford my own work!!!!

 

The whole “I can’t afford my own work” line is nonsense. The truth is, you can afford it—you’re just choosing not to.

Take a hard look in the mirror and decide: you have the time and ability to get it done. Is it hard? Absolutely. Is it cheap? Not at all. But is it possible? Yes.

You need to pause and prioritize yourself and your family. If you have the funds to hire someone—great, go for it. If not, then roll up your sleeves and do it yourself.

Your dreams and goals aren’t gone—they’re just delayed. You haven’t failed.

Know your lane!

 Know Your Lane

Picking a lane and sticking to it can feel a lot like merging onto the highway for the first time—it’s awkward, slow, and uncertain. You start in the slow lane, ease into the middle, and eventually find your way to the fast lane.

As your skills and confidence grow, so does the scope of the work you take on.

But there’s a tipping point. Taking on too much across too many trades can swallow you whole. Suddenly, you’re surrounded by tools, supplies, and half-finished projects—starting to look more like a hoarder than a craftsman.

That was me. Not quite Sanford & Son, but the volume alone could be overwhelming.

Today, the mentality is to “stay in your lane” and become a master of one craft. The problem is, then you’re constantly hustling to find that exact type of work.

Or—like I did—you become a one-stop shop:

Furniture making to furniture repair.

Cabinets and built-ins to custom moulding and millwork.

Fabrication to installation.

Raw wood prep to final finish.

Then carpentry: framing, finish work, doors, windows, flooring, cabinets, demo, repeat.

My mindset was always: Why wait for someone else when you can just do it yourself?

There’s a saying: “Jack of all trades, master of none,” but the full version goes: “Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.”

Looking back, I’m grateful I took on all that work. That range of experience let me remodel my home, build my shop, and take on projects with real confidence.

Still, my best advice? Pick a lane.

Master it.

Buy only the tools you really need.

Then grow intentionally from there.

Happy building.

I lost my way!

 

I’ve lost my way…. Years ago. Somewhere along the line, I started chasing money instead of doing what I truly love. At my core, I’m a historic furniture maker and millwork specialist. My inspiration has always come from the past—I borrow details, rework them, and make them my own. These elements never go out of style. They may feel modern to some, but that’s only because timeless design always feels right. And if someone disagrees, it often means their eye hasn’t been trained or they don’t fully grasp the language of classicism. Even modern tastes are grounded in traditional lines, whether people realize it or not.

I love  my time working as a site superintendent, but there’s an undeniable void. I feel like I have more to give—like something is missing. The creative drive that once flowed through me feels buried. There’s something sacred about making things with your hands, especially when you’ve spent a lifetime honing the craft. It’s a shame to let those skills sit idle.

The truth is, staying in the trades isn’t the hard part—making enough money to do the work I care about is. What I really want is to create small runs of custom millwork, build period-inspired furniture, and repair high-quality pieces that deserve to be preserved. But I can’t do it at a loss. I’m not the guy you call for a quick fix or a bargain. You come to me for quality, for care, for preservation.

At this point in my life, I choose to live—not to be a slave to my work. My void is now my hobby. So each morning Monday thru Friday I wake up excited to drive to the site and see what the day brings. But I am also excited about locking the site and not having to worry about work. There is something special about this feeling- and it’s hard for some to understand, but boy does it feels so good. 

Cheers! 

Apprentice, teaching, running a business.

 Historically, apprenticeships lasted anywhere from 5 to 7 years before someone could call themselves a “carpenter” or “furniture maker.” And honestly, I believe that should still be the standard today.

When I attended the Furniture Institute of Massachusetts, the two years I spent there gave me a solid foundation—an understanding of hand tools, power tools, and how to approach the work. But did that mean I was ready to build a bombe chest or install an entire room of wainscoting? Absolutely not.

Applying what you learn in school takes years. Real-life experience is what shapes a craftsperson. Growth continues long after the classroom.

That’s why I would never take a class from someone who just graduated. It’s not about whether they’re capable—they simply haven’t had the time to try enough methods or face enough challenges to teach effectively. I’ve taken courses like that and walked away wishing I’d asked for a refund.

After graduating, I spent years assisting in 10–15 courses a year, taking notes not just on the craft, but on how to teach. Because being a skilled craftsperson doesn’t automatically make someone a good teacher. Sure, some folks teach to supplement their income, and yes, we need more teachers to pass along knowledge—but the truth is, not everyone is meant to teach.

If you need proof, just scroll through YouTube. There are plenty of videos that just aren’t worth your time.

And that’s okay. It’s okay if it takes 5 to 7 years to really feel confident in your craft. It’s okay to keep your passion as a hobby or side hustle. Never stop learning. Never stop reading. Never give up.

This is the reality many of us face. As a site superintendent, my passion for woodworking isn’t as visible as it once was. That’s hard to accept. But losing money because people don’t pay is even harder. If you want to make furniture, cabinets, or millwork for a living, you also need to go to business school. There’s too much on the line. The truth is—it’s far easier to work with your hands than it is to run a business.

Hobby or profession…

 It’s easy to understand why there’s such high demand in the trades—especially in HVAC, plumbing, and electrical. At the same time, it’s also clear why we’re seeing fewer and fewer carpenters.

Carpentry requires a broader range of knowledge and significantly more tooling than many other trades. I only need two totes for electrical tools and three for plumbing. But when it comes to carpentry, I have separate sets of tools for demolition, rough framing, finish work, millwork, furniture making, and production. Furniture and cabinet making require the most tools, followed closely by finish carpentry.

The amount we invest in tools is staggering. What’s even more frustrating is when an employer expects you to use your own tools on the job—but offers no support when they break or wear out. If someone’s profiting off your labor, they should also share the responsibility of maintaining the tools that make that work possible. The same principle applies when you own a business—there needs to be a tool fee built into your rates to maintain knives, saw blades, and other consumables.

Woodworkers and carpenters deserve more respect. People seem to have no problem paying for plumbing or electrical because they view it as necessary. But the same mindset should apply to woodwork. No, you don’t need a $100K kitchen or a $50K bathroom—but you do need a roof over your head and living spaces that at least meet code. These are essentials—for both safety and survival.

So next time you consider asking a woodworker to lower their price, take a moment to really think it through. In most cases, they can’t do the work for less without compromising quality. And when corners are cut, the final product suffers. Yet the expectations from the client usually remain just as high.

This imbalance—between what people want and what they’re willing to pay—is exactly why many skilled woodworkers grow disillusioned with the trade. It’s also why some eventually wish they had kept it as a hobby rather than a profession.

FIM- The Furniture Institute of Massachusetts

This is Phil Lowe in the bench room. 

A place once alive with passion, dedication, and love for the craft and art of furniture making. The Furniture Institute of Massachusetts—FIM—was more than just a school; it was a sanctuary for those who truly wanted to learn the trade the right way.

Just today, I heard from a former student who attended one of the workshops. He told me how much fun he had—even though it was the hardest class he’d ever taken. Yet, he misses the school. That sentiment makes me happy, because I loved FIM deeply. It was a joy and privilege to walk those halls and be part of that world.

For those who never had the chance to step foot inside, let me try to paint the picture:

You’d walk in and see the drafting room—four full-sized drawing boards lined up, surrounded by a library filled with books ready to be studied and referenced.

Step out into the hallway, and there it was: a full wall of incredible sample work. Many were period reproductions, and most were done by Phil Lowe’s hand over the decades. It was like a museum in motion.

The first door on the right was Phil’s office—a place he had a love-hate relationship with. It was filled with paperwork, emails, chasing down students, and billing. A necessary evil, as he might say.

Farther down the hall was a bank of drawers where Phil kept his vast collection of veneer. I now have those drawers, and I treasure them. I open them often, and when I do, I think of Phil.

Across from those drawers was the finishing room. Right in front of that space stood a gorgeous period casing—crafted by Phil for a client in NYC who later wanted a different version. So Phil hung the original in the school for us to enjoy. A daily reminder of his craftsmanship.

Next came the heart of it all: the bench room. Nine workbenches, each paired with its own bookcase. This was where the real magic happened—joinery echoing with the rhythm of mallets and chisels, shavings on the floor, the distinct scent of hide glue in the air. Throw in the smell of coffee, and it was heaven to me.

Toward the back wall of the bench room sat Phil’s personal bench, backed by a wall of tools he had collected and used throughout his career. It was breathtaking. If I had the space, I would’ve taken that wall with me when the school closed. Now, I keep it alive through photos and memory. I spent many hours sharpening those tools—and learned so much in the process.

Then there was the small machine room, affectionately referred to as “The Finish Room.” It held only the essentials: a planer, jointer, 10” table saw, scroll saw, grinders, a Bridgeport (used occasionally), and a portable bandsaw. Phil always said, “This is all you need. Everything else is a luxury that just makes things easier.”

Beyond that was the roughing room—filled with vintage, heavy-duty stationary machines. Most were 3-phase: Oliver planer and jointer, a DeWalt 18” bandsaw, a Fay & Egan 36” bandsaw, Delta and General lathes, an Oliver table saw, a swing saw, foot pedal mortiser and more. At first, they were intimidating, but with respect and understanding, they became old friends.

Behind the machine room was the lumber rack—a beautiful collection of material stored in compartments and loft spaces. Some belonged to Phil, some to students. Walking down the ramp to see the lumber was always a highlight. And off to the side was the scrap shelf—where you could find hidden gems if you took the time to look.

There was also a small mechanical room for tool repairs, and a wall lined with shaper knives.

What a space. What an experience. I wish you all could see it today. I’ll add some images to the post to help keep the memory alive.

I miss the man. I miss the legend. Phil Lowe was my mentor first, a friend second—and as he used to joke, I was “the Puerto Rican son he never had.” That was an honor. But don’t get it twisted—I paid for everything. Phil was a true Yankee, through and through, and I loved that about him.

If you want to experience a bit of his brilliance, search “Phil Lowe Woodworking” on YouTube. There’s a treasure trove of videos where you can learn from him directly. I still watch them—both to hear his voice and to sharpen my own teaching skills.

Until next time.

—Freddy

The school sign! Which I own and will hang again. 

Phil as a student at NBSS

Phil in the bench room with his tool wall behind him a FWW shot. 

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The ramp to the big machine room! 

Phil’s area and work bench. 

Bench room!

Phil’s last piece he made.

The museum hall of samples.

Drafting room! 

The first time I met Phil! 

Phil as a teacher at NBSS! 

Phil early on as a teacher at NBSS

The trade school I recommend…

 In today’s world, craftspeople and tradespeople have more to learn than ever. It’s not just about developing the hands-on skills—it’s also about training the eye to recognize good proportions and fine details.

I’ve been fortunate to learn through hands-on experience, especially by disassembling old furniture and millwork in historic homes. That kind of exposure teaches you so much about design, construction, and craftsmanship.

There’s also tremendous value in reading. I came up during a time when the internet was still in its infancy, and books were the go-to resource outside of what you learned in the field. This was long before YouTube, which certainly has its place—but not everything you see online is worth following.

Today, I see a growing overlap between furniture makers and finish carpenters. Many carpenters want to push beyond basic installs and build with quality, developing their skills through more refined work. At the same time, furniture makers are increasingly taking on house work, simply because people are more willing to spend money on their homes than on generational furniture.

In truth, furniture makers need to think more like carpenters, and carpenters would benefit from thinking like furniture makers. That intersection of trades is where some of the best craftsmanship happens.

People often ask me: what trade should I learn, or where should I go to school? Now that the Furniture Institute of Massachusetts is closed, I recommend the North Bennet Street School. Study both carpentry and furniture making. These two trades complement each other, and together, they offer one of the few sustainable paths to making a living in this field.

That said, keep your overhead low. You don’t need the most expensive tools—just quality ones that are reliable and consistent. It’s amazing how much can be accomplished with solid hand skills—and just as much with efficient use of power tools.

As my mentor Phil Lowe used to say, and it still rings true: “Master the hand tools so you know the limitations of the power tools.”

Keep learning. Keep challenging yourself. That’s the way forward.