“The Menominee
In a shop in Milwaukee,
Where cedar curls like smoke,
Nine young builders gather
To shape a dream from oak.
At All Hands Boatworks’ benches,
Under Trent and Eddie’s care,
They learn the quiet language
Woodworkers share.
Chines first—a mystery word
That now lives in their hands,
Where compound cuts and hand-sawn lines
Obey their measured plans.
Garbord planks rise gracefully,
Scarf joints stretch end to end;
Epoxy sets like promises
That wood and will can blend.
Stitch-and-glue becomes a rhythm,
A steady, patient beat—
More than fastening timber,
They’re making something complete.
For in each stroke of sandpaper,
In every careful choice,
Leadership is whispering
And teamwork finds its voice.
Focus grows in quiet moments,
Safety in each steady stance;
Workmanship blooms like confidence
Given just the chance.
And the boys—bright-eyed, determined—
Are learning how to learn:
That craft is built in layers
And respect is something earned.
So the Minomenee is rising,
A canoe, yes—but far more:
It is a vessel of becoming,
A small school with a wooden floor.
And when at last she meets the water,
Built by many hands yet one,
She’ll carry not just students—
But the makers they’ve become.