Written by: Kevin D'Arcy
Up to this point, the workshop had shape and structure, but it was still exposed.
Walls stood. The roof held. Light moved freely in and out. It was a building, but not yet a place you could settle into. Insulation is the work that changes that. It is not dramatic. It does not show up in finished photos. But it defines how a space feels to be inside.
This phase was about warmth. Not just temperature, but comfort, quiet, and control.
Creating the right environment
This is a space I plan to spend a lot of time in. Comfort mattered. Focus mattered. But there were practical considerations too. Wood, finishes, and epoxy all perform best within specific temperature ranges. If the environment is unstable, the work suffers.
Sound was part of it as well. Living in a small town means being mindful of neighbours. I wanted this workshop to hold noise in, not push it out.
In more than one conversation, I joked that the goal was woodworking inside a high-end humidor. That idea stuck. A controlled environment where everything behaves the way it should.
Choosing materials and doing the unseen work
I chose Rockwool insulation. It is easy to work with, resists pests, and performs well thermally and acoustically. I installed it myself, with some help from my good friend Ryan.
This was slow work. Detail heavy. Inches mattered. A quarter inch mattered. You think something is close enough, but that small variation ripples outward and shows up later where you do not want it to.
This phase reinforced something that keeps coming up in this build. The invisible details are where you learn the most.
The shift in feeling
The real change came when everything came together. Garage door installed. Windows in. Man door hung. Insulation complete.
Outside, it was minus twenty. Inside, I fired up the heater and watched the temperature climb quickly. The warmth settled in. The air changed. The space stopped feeling exposed.
That moment was deeply satisfying.
Why warmth matters
Warmth is not a luxury. It is a condition for good work.
When the space is comfortable, you slow down. You notice things. You take the time to do them properly. That is how I want to work day to day. Paying attention to small details. Choosing patience over speed.
The invisible work matters because it reflects how you approach everything else. It is a chance to learn. A chance to do better.
A place that holds you
If the first phase was about beginnings, and the second about structure, this one was about warmth.
Not just physical warmth, but the feeling of being held by a space designed with intention. A workshop that supports focus, care, and the kind of craftsmanship I want Redbird to stand for.
From here on, the work turns outward. Tools move in. Benches get built. Furniture begins to take shape.
But everything that comes next will happen inside this envelope.
