Eleven acres in the Ozark hills of southern Missouri, forty years of fixing what's on them. I'm a joiner by trade, and paying somebody to hang a gate has never once made sense to me. The door that won't close flush. The tap that drips whatever you do to it. I show you the job — then tell you what actually happened, which sometimes means admitting it took three tries.
"No sponsors. No miracle products. And I'll tell you when a job isn't worth doing — there are more of those than anybody lets on."
Doors, taps, floors, fences, beds — the bits that wobble and drip and stick. Each one done the plain way, start to finish, with what it actually takes, and an honest note on the jobs that aren't worth your Saturday. Forty years of it, written down.
The door that won't close flush. The tap that drips whatever you do to it. The floor that creaks, the gate that sags, the bed that failed last year and worked this year. None of it is hard — it's just never been shown to you, plainly, start to finish. I do the job first, then tell you what actually happened, three tries and all. No sponsors, no miracle products, nothing bought for the camera. And I'll tell you when a job isn't worth doing — there are more of those than anybody lets on.
The same jobs, two ways. The left is the tradesman's minimum callout — the eighty dollars for twenty minutes. The right is the parts, done yourself with what's in the book. Most of the gap is the not-knowing, and that's the part I fix.
Two hundred household jobs across doors, water, floors, the yard, and furniture — each shown plainly, start to finish, with the tools it takes and the place it usually goes wrong. And a whole chapter on the jobs not worth doing. Start with a ten-minute one.
Three houses, three states, three jobs that used to mean a callout.
I re-hung a door that had dragged for two years in about forty minutes, with a screwdriver and one longer screw, exactly like he shows. What I like is he tells you when he got it wrong the first time — you trust a man who does that. Saved a callout the first weekend.
I'm not handy and I fixed a running toilet myself for seven dollars, after years of paying someone. The "not-worth-it" list is the honest part — he talked me out of a job that would've cost more to do than to leave. Nobody else says that.
Bought it for the repairs, stayed for the pumpkins. He's the real thing — forty years, no sponsors, no miracle spray. My gate hasn't sagged since. Best twenty-four dollars I've spent on the house.
Most jobs around a house are not hard. They are just never shown to you, so you pay eighty dollars for twenty minutes of work. Eleven acres in the Ozark hills of southern Missouri, forty years of fixing what is on them. I am a joiner by trade, and paying somebody to hang a gate has never once made sense to me.
The door that will not close flush. The tap that drips whatever you do to it. The bed that failed last year and worked this year. I do the job first, then tell you what actually happened — which sometimes means admitting it took three tries. No sponsors. No miracle products. Nothing bought specially for the camera.
I also grow giant pumpkins for the county fair. Nine wins, first in 2004, best one 847 pounds. It is the only thing I am openly proud of. And I will tell you when a job is not worth doing, because there are more of those than anybody lets on.
Two hundred household repairs, shown plainly start to finish, with what it really takes and where it goes wrong — plus the honest list of jobs that aren't worth doing. Forty years of a joiner's work, written down.
Especially then. Every job is shown plainly, start to finish, with the exact tools and the places it usually goes wrong. Most of what makes a job "hard" is just never having watched someone do it once. Start with the ten-minute fixes and go from there.
No. Nine out of ten jobs in the book need the same ten common tools, and there's a list of what to buy and what to skip. I'm a joiner, but this isn't about fancy kit — it's about knowing the trick, not owning the machine.
Plenty of it — the taps, the toilet, the sticking doors, the squeaks, the small patches — all fair game and reversible. The bigger outdoor and structural jobs are there for when you own, and I mark which is which.
The videos show one job. The book puts them in order, tells you what it actually takes, and — the part videos skip — tells you when a job isn't worth doing at all. And it's yours to work from at the wall, not on a screen you keep having to unlock.
An illustrated PDF you download the moment you buy, plus the printable tool list and first-fix card. Read it on a phone or print it and keep it in the drawer with the screwdrivers. Yours forever, with free updates.
Email within 7 days and I'll refund every cent, and you keep the files. No forms, no questions.
$24 once. Instant download. 7-day money-back guarantee. Forty years of honest household repairs, start to finish — including the jobs that aren't worth doing.
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