Making

My grandfathers, both of them, were men of hands. They made and fixed things on their own. Sure, they had specialties, but their default position was trying to do it themselves.

My mom's dad kept a huge garden, seeming endless rows of had planted and watered vegetables. Corn, green peppers, tomatoes and squash. Even as he got older and the work become more difficult, this craft he tried to hold onto. When he wasn't in the garden, he was in the wood shop, using bandsaws and routers, scroll saws and sanders to make wooden toys and shelves, letter candlesticks and cabinets. He was always making something.

His counterpart, my Dad's dad, in all the ways he was different, was also a maker. He didn't have the same amount of space, but he made incredible use of his yard, causing it to produce the vegetables he loved. He did all the car work himself, in the days before every car had a computer. He even helped me buy and replace the engine of my first car. Additionally, he built most of his house, taking the small house he purchased and expanding it for his family. I think he could do electrical, plumbing, construction and finishing. If it could be done with your hands, I'm pretty sure he could do it.

Something changed across my Dad's generation. I don't know if it was money, or specialists or interest or what, but the time of the maker is waned. My dad kept a workshop and did a good amount of the repairs in our house growing up, but it was different. He was capable of doing many of the same things, but his interests were spent elsewhere. He read and played with computers, collected knives and records, watched TV and called professionals, when needed. Of course, he had pride the the work he did, his tools, his skills as an electrician, but it was different.

I have never kept a garden in my back yards, in fact, I'm not even very good at keeping the grass cut. The only garden's I have kept are in FarmVille or Minecraft. This is kind of the symbol for the kind of maker I gave become. I've made electronic fish and decryption algorithms, I've done a little bit of writing, but rarely on paper anymore. The homes and chairs and shelves I've built exist can't hold a real book because they are made of 1s and 0s.

My tools may be pathetic and my creations virtual, because I am not a maker. But, I understand why my ancestors were. Of course there is the function of the things they were making, but that is only a part. You don't make little wooden toys for the function, you make them for the joy of the child who received them, for the parent that is impressed you made it, for the artistry.

I could learn how to do many of the things which can be done around the house, or in a woodshop or garden, but this is not where my friends are. Most of them, like me are I virtual space, I know them face to face, but we are not in each others houses. We are, though, in each others games, blogs, Facebook pages. So, I craft a power plant out of obsidian and glass in Minecraft, I create challenges and story for my Saturday night gaming group and I type a few words on this blog. When someone admires my work, it is like tasting sugar in the air, not the pure confections of my grandfathers, but sweet with maker-nostalgia.