
Opinion
Bouldering: why you should try things you think you’ll hate
by Stefanie Lechthaler
My knees get weak at the sight of screws, paint pots and wooden boards.
I have a confession to make: although I work for an online retail platform, I love hardware stores. Those massive halls, crammed to the rafters with screws, dowels, paint, brushes, drills, saw blades, wood, flower pots, plants… I could wander through the aisles for hours and look at, touch and marvel at everything.
The smell alone does something to me. All I have to do is enter the hallowed halls of a hardware store and I’m hooked. It smells of wood, oil and varnish. This unmistakable mix assures me: here’s where it all begins. Every picture hung, every renovated kitchen.
Each department has its own smell. The tool aisle smells of metal and grease. A few metres on, there’s parquet flooring and timber. It smells of the forest here. At least that’s what I think. And then the section with plants and flower pots. Like a walk through the jungle compressed into a few square metres.
The paint section makes my heart beat faster. When those pots containing different shades, sometimes differing only slightly, are piled up to the ceiling, I feel like a little kid in a candy store. Boldly lacquered furniture and delicately painted walls appear before my mind’s eye. I see myself wielding a paintbrush and wiping blobs of paint off the floor.
I’m not forgetting the countless screws, nuts, nails and washers either. They glisten in their packaging and whisper to me: «Take us with you. Who knows what else you’ll need us for.»
Maybe it’s because I come from a family of DIY enthusiasts – there was always a slight workshop smell wafting through our house. My dad was a car mechanic, my grandpa a bricklayer. If something was broken, Dad fixed it. I still remember how he and Grandpa repaved our patio «just like that». Or installed new windows in the bedroom, including a new brick wall.
As a child, I stood by in amazement and helped where I could. Even if I was only carrying a brick. I remember Dad giving me a small hammer, a few nails and a board when I was three years old. «Here, try it out. It’s important you learn that.» I don’t know how many times I hit my thumb with a mini hammer back then. And Mum was probably very angry at Dad. Luckily, today I know how to hammer, drill and paint.
I’m sure I caught the DIY bug back then. It’s simply a wonderful feeling, being able to create things myself. According to my own plans, with my own hands. Like my kitchen, which is finally finished. Even if I almost didn’t believe it myself.
If I hadn’t become a journalist, I’d probably have chosen a trade. Carpenter, or painter.
Oh well, enough daydreaming. Time to visit the hardware store. They had such great flower pots there the other day…
Are there like-minded people out there – or am I the only crazy one? Please let me know in the comments.
As a child, I was socialised with Mario Kart on SNES before ending up in journalism after graduating from high school. As a team leader at Galaxus, I'm responsible for news. I'm also a trekkie and an engineer.