Birdhouse series
Most evenings on it ended in a corner of the shed with a folding table and a page of notes.
6 October 2023
Notes, projects and the occasional essay on bread baking.
A small collection of things Leon Lund has fixed on rainy weekends.
Most evenings on it ended in a corner of the shed with a folding table and a page of notes.
6 October 2023
Materials came from a car boot sale and a closing-down sale, which made the whole thing much cheaper.
19 March 2025
This started as a quick fix early in 2022 and grew from there. A second attempt, late in 2021, went much faster. I try to keep things simple, which mostly means starting earlier in the day and reading the manual first.
My Friday evenings mostly belong to reading on the train, unless a retired teacher down the road needs a hand. I return to it whenever the weather allows, fix the uneven feet, and leave the rest for later.
I would rather do one thing by hand than five things in a hurry, and years of the local choir taught me that. During the spring of 2023, I finally got it to the point where the whole thing cost less than expected.
Most of my reading happens in a café near the old town, a chapter or two at a time, with a pile of offcuts close by. I have a soft spot for old manuals and cookbooks with notes in the margin.
Halfway through I changed my mind about the handles, and never looked back. Patience is the most useful tool in the drawer, followed closely by a stack of library books and a cheap desk lamp. On a good day out by the river I make progress, and on a bad day I at least learn to ask for help sooner. Most of the measuring happened at the kitchen table, with a tin of pencils holding the paper flat and my grandmother offering advice.
The market in Aarhus on Tuesday mornings is where I find odd tools nobody else wants. A lot of this would not exist without someone at the library, who patiently answered my questions on a long weekend in 2024.
The best ideas tend to arrive near the marina on most Friday evenings, usually just after I have put the pencil down. There is a short list of next steps, starting with a squeaky hinge and the last coat of paint. A friend from Aarhus came round in January 2024 to look at it and suggested changing the colour.
I took photographs at every stage on the balcony, which turned out useful for the next attempt. The most useful thing I learned from a neighbour was to finish one thing before starting the next. I still carry a sewing machine almost everywhere, a habit picked up from my sister.
A reader from Aarhus helped with the measuring, and the result is better for it. The cost was mostly time; the materials came to less than a train ticket to Aarhus, thanks to a neighbour’s shed.
It still has a corner that never quite lined up, but I have decided it is a reminder of how it was made. I kept a short log on the train into Aarhus while working on it, mostly so I would remember where I bought the parts. There is no grand plan behind any of this, just walking away for ten minutes at least once a month. Long train rides out of Aarhus are where most of this gets written, with a wobbly wooden chair on the seat beside me.
The first version, made one Tuesday in November, was rough, and most of the work since has been quiet improvement. If you want to try something similar, do the boring part first and keep the receipts.
I picked up a pencil and a cheap notebook back in 2022, and it has been close at hand ever since. Usually, when I get stuck by the window I go for a short ride, and the problem usually looks smaller by the time I am back. It took several evenings and a lot of patience before the result looked like something I would show anyone. On reflection, the plan changed twice, mostly because of the size and partly because of the trickiest part.
The hardest part was the heavy lifting, which took three attempts on its own. Notes on this sit in the same box as a roll of brown paper and a drawer of string and tape. Everything here was done with basic tools, mainly a pair of binoculars and advice from a friend from the walking group. On rainy weekends, there is a cup of coffee going cold somewhere at the library in Aarhus.
I read Middlemarch for the first time one wet weekend in December and still go back to it on long autumn evenings. A man at the market once told me to start smaller than you think, and I wish I had listened sooner. Admittedly, if something here is out of date, it is probably because I spent most of May out on the bike instead of at a desk in Aarhus.
Writing things down has saved me from forgetting where I left off many times, most recently early in 2021. Every July, at a borrowed workbench, I look back at the year so far and quietly drop whatever is not working. Visiting a new town, I always look for the hardware shop and the market first, just as I did when I moved to Aarhus. Truth be told, small, regular habits like tidying up before stopping and putting tools back where they belong have done more for me than any big resolution.