Swinging a Hammer

I came home for a month to help my dad re-roof the female barrack for the Forest Service Hot Shots in Sawyers Bar on the Salmon River. If you think I live in real Northern California, just talk to the folks down the Salmon River.

Helping my dad, being home for a month, and good pay (along with flexible employers in LA) motivated me to come to work. But, there were a few things that worried me: the pitch of the roof is rather steep, I've never roofed before, and, to be honest, I'm not too good at swinging a hammer. I'm actually probably better at pulling nails than I am at driving them.

This is kind of a shameful thing to admit, being a carpenter's daughter and all. I know that my brother received a little hammer on his third birthday, and while I don't know if I did or not (I lean towards the first), I have received hammers since as gifts from my father.

In my defense, I've probably been asked to use electric or battery operated tools more often than hand tools, but I can't really say I'm a pro at those either.

I'm trying not to be too hard on myself though. No sense in beating yourself up if you only lift a hammer on a frequent basis every few years when your father needs some help. Plus, it's not easy to fulfill your parent's legacy right?

At any rate, my dad tried to make me feel a little better as I told him about my doubts as a hammer swinger: "That's why they made nail guns."