The sawhorse was two triangles and a beam. Two A-frames connected by a horizontal board. You set two sawhorses four feet apart and laid a plank across them and the plank was your workbench. The sawhorse was the simplest piece of furniture on the job site. The sawhorse held the work at waist height so the carpenter did not have to bend over. The sawhorse saved the carpenter back. The carpenter back was worth more than the sawhorse. The sawhorse knew it.

The carpenter built the sawhorse from scrap. Two-by-fours left over from the framing. The sawhorse was not bought. The sawhorse was made on site from whatever was lying around. The first thing the carpenter built on the job was the thing the carpenter built everything else on. The sawhorse was the tool that made the other tools possible. You cannot cut a board without a surface to cut it on. The sawhorse was that surface. The sawhorse was the foundation of the workday.

The sawhorse had saw cuts in the top beam. Every cut the carpenter made went through the plank and into the sawhorse and the sawhorse collected the cuts like scars. A new sawhorse had a clean beam. An old sawhorse had a beam that looked like a comb. The scars told you how much work had been done on that horse. The scars were the sawhorse resume. A sawhorse with no scars had never worked. A sawhorse with a hundred scars had built a house.

Two sawhorses and a door made a desk. Two sawhorses and a sheet of plywood made a table. Two sawhorses and a plank made a bench. The sawhorse was the most versatile piece of equipment on the job because the sawhorse did not have a single purpose. The sawhorse had one ability — hold something horizontal — and that one ability served a hundred purposes. The specialist does one thing one way. The sawhorse does one thing a hundred ways. The generalist outlasts the specialist on every job site.

They sell plastic sawhorses now. Folding. Lightweight. Stackable. The plastic sawhorse weighs eight pounds. The wooden sawhorse weighed thirty. The plastic sawhorse folds flat. The wooden sawhorse stood in the corner of the shop like a dog waiting for the next walk. The plastic sawhorse is a product. The wooden sawhorse was a companion. The carpenter who built a sawhorse from scrap lumber on a Monday morning was telling the job site I am here and I am staying. The carpenter who unfolds a plastic sawhorse is telling the job site I brought this from the truck and I will put it back when I leave. Staying and visiting are not the same thing.

See also: Truss, Bracket