Alright, let me tell you about this thing that got me occupied for a while. It started when I picked up an old piece from a clear-out sale, a solid workbench, really sturdy. Found a faint maker’s mark on it, looked like ‘Joseph Aston’. Never heard of him, but the quality spoke for itself, you know?
Digging In
So, naturally, I got curious. Who was this guy? I started poking around. First, the usual online searches. Not much popped up right away, just a few mentions here and there, nothing solid. It felt like searching for a ghost.
My next steps involved a bit more legwork:
- Checked some old trade directories I have copies of. Found a few Astons, but matching them to ‘Joseph’ and ‘workbench maker’ was tough.
- Tried looking through local history forums online. Posted a query, got some suggestions but no direct hits.
- Even went to the library’s local history section one Saturday. Spent hours scrolling through microfiche records – births, deaths, census data. Found a couple of Joseph Astons, but linking them definitively to woodworking in that specific era? Still tricky.
It was becoming a bit of an obsession, taking up quite a bit of my spare time after work. You get sucked into these little historical mysteries sometimes.
Life Happens
Then, things got shaken up. The company I was working for went through a big restructure. My whole department was basically dissolved overnight. One day you’re planning projects, the next you’re packing your desk. Hit me pretty hard, not gonna lie. Suddenly, hunting down the ghost of a 19th-century craftsman didn’t seem quite as important as figuring out my own next steps.
All that energy I’d put into the ‘Joseph Aston’ search? It had to be redirected. Job hunting, updating resumes, networking – that became the main focus. The research notes got put in a folder, the workbench sat in the garage, waiting.
Back to the Bench
Funny thing is, after the dust settled and I landed a new gig – actually a better one, turned out – I went back to that workbench. Didn’t really care as much about finding the original Joseph Aston anymore. Instead, I started restoring the bench itself. Sanding down the old wood, tightening the vise, refinishing the surface. It felt good, working with my hands after all the stress.
Putting my own mark on it, in a way.
So, the big mystery of Joseph Aston? Still unsolved, really. I never did find conclusive proof of who he was or the story behind his work. But the whole process, the searching, the unexpected interruption, and then finally fixing up his creation – it became its own kind of story. Sometimes the journey you take because of something is more interesting than the destination itself. And I got a great workbench out of it, solid as a rock. Still use it almost every day.
