My woodworking teacher’s name was L. Woods. She was no joke, but the name still makes me smile—first because of Legally Blonde (this woman was neither perky nor pink) and second because Leah Woods was into, well, wood. But here I am, Martha DeFlorio the florist.

Leah was petite, with red pixie-cut hair. She was among the strictest of all my college instructors: she was a tough grader and her attendance rules were savage—three minutes late to her class meant an unexcused absence. In the first weeks of class, I was extremely anxious not only about my teacher’s expectations but also about working with powerful machinery and sharp tools. Band saws, joiners, planers, and chop saws filled me with fear and I had visions of making a big mistake like, you know, losing a finger. Leah’s assistant was, in fact, missing part of his finger.

But something had called me to enroll in this class, and as the semester progressed I slowly became accustomed to the woodshop and the machinery, and an interesting thing started to happen.

Read the rest of this post at https://madefloral.substack.com/p/always-learning