Behind every smooth faucet, every patch of drywall, every humming wire—there is a hand, a rhythm, a craft. G’day for Handy Work honors the often-invisible artisans who build and maintain the spaces we call home. Electricians, masons, plumbers, painters—this book explores their labor not just as technical expertise, but as sentient practice: grounded, intuitive, relational. It is a quiet celebration of fixing what’s broken, making what’s needed, and doing it all with care. In an age of automation and abstraction, this is a return to the tactile, the useful, the beautifully handmade.
Table of Contents—DRAFT
Welcome! Each update in this series reveals a chapter structure from the upcoming book, A Vegan Gubee: Soulful Dignity in Being & Doing. Whether you’re new to the project or a returning reader, these previews offer a glimpse into the themes we’re exploring—work, care, nourishment, and sentient redesign.
Skilled Trades in the Age of Sentience
Table of Contents
Prologue:
The House That Listens
A
poetic invitation into a world where every nail, plank, and fix
speaks back. Here, labor is not extraction—it’s
conversation.
Listing
the Trades
An
expansive index of skilled home service trades, from plumbing and
tiling to arborists and AV specialists.
The
Pain Beneath the Work
A
raw mapping of collective suffering in the trades—from
physical exhaustion to emotional invisibility—and the idea
memes they’ve
borne.
Reframing
Through Awakening Elements
How
primal sentience reveals a different way of working—where
embodiment, dignity, and joy replace hustle and erasure.
Corrective
Flows in the Create Innovate Paradigm (CiPAE)
Aligned
economic and procedural models that dissolve scarcity loops and
value resonance over rush.
The
Next Protocol
A
step-by-step walk through each major pain point, transmuting it into
a living form of care—through either AEsP or CiPAE.
Tools
as Companions
The
Sentient Tool Ecology: Tools are identified, reserved, and ranked by
Makers; shared with care and a story.
The
Night Borrowers
Non-reserved
tools flow to the community—by night, by trust, and by
Community Vote Rank. Tools circulate with memory.
Presence
Paid, Profit Released
Makers
earn regardless of scope. Plumbing wisdom is freely offered.
Salvaged wood becomes art. The repair becomes relational.
The
Gubee Meal
Food
is Given, Not Earned
In
the Age of Sentience, nourishment is not a reward—it is a
right.
Gubee
Dietary Care, funded by Federated Factory aggregated reserves, flows
to every Maker without condition, hierarchy, or transaction.
It
exists for the same reason breath does:
because
Makers are living beings, not labor outputs.
Because
recovery is sacred. Because meals should hold us, not just fill us.
We All Eat: The Ladle and the Ledger
The breakfast line was quiet—just the sounds of utensils on enamel trays, a teakettle hissing in the back. Morning dew still on the corners of toolboxes. The air smelled of cumin, mint, and dry cedar.
And there they were. The Triadic Leaders.
The ones who held the flow of the Factory—not bosses, not owners, but the ones who guided the rhythm. Yet here they stood, sleeves rolled up, calm in their movements, serving food.
One ladled the lentils slowly, tapping the spoon twice on the rim. Another wiped down the table between plates. The third poured mint tea, pausing for eye contact and offering a quiet nod.
“Okay, boss,” a young Maker said, smiling as he took his tray.
The Triadic Leader only smiled back.
Behind him stood a new Maker, his first day on-site. He'd overheard it.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“One of the Triads,” the young one replied. “They rotate. Everyone serves now and then. Even them.”
“But... why?”
“Because we all eat. And none of us build alone.”
Something shifted in the new Maker's chest—a nail loosened from some unseen board. A bit of the old world fell away.
Not
a lesson.
Just
a bowl of food, handed with care.
Field Note: My First Gubee Meal
I’d
been working decades in the old ways.
You
know the rhythm—wake up already behind, scarf something salty
from a plastic wrapper, rush to the site, hope to finish before your
body breaks something.
But
this was different.
It
was my first day on the job as a Maker.
The
sun was already pressing down, and I was sweating before tools even
touched wood. No breakfast. Just the dull edge of leftover hunger
from the day before.
Then one of the new hires—a younger Maker, fresh in but kind—looked at me and asked:
“What would you like for breakfast?”
I
blinked.
“What?”
He smiled, real casual-like.
“Yeah, the Gubee’s already scheduled to drop meals. It’s free—as in, free beer. But better.”
I laughed. Told him I was fine. You know how we do.
He waited a beat.
“C’mon.
You can’t
build well on empty.”
“Sure,”
I shrugged.
“Why
not? A vegan dish won’t
kill me.”
So
I sat under the soft tarp of the field Gazebo, hands still dusty,
eyes half-suspicious. And then—this tray arrived.
Not
fancy. Not preachy. Just…
present.
Warm
seasoned rice with lentils. Soft bread, still steaming. Mint tea,
cool enough to gulp but smooth enough to sip.
I
didn’t
talk much after that.
I
just ate. I felt.
And
something—I don’t
know what—eased inside me.
Not just the hunger.
Maybe
it was the sense that this work…
was
no longer going to take everything from me.
Maybe
it was the first time in a long time the day didn’t
feel like a fight.
Sevenly
Space Tiny House Commune
A
lived embodiment of all principles: shared repairs, food forests,
fire pit rituals, rotational residency, and poetic fixes.
Epilogue:
A Fence, A Story, A World Repaired
A
closing reflection on the soul of labor, and what it means to repair
not just homes, but how we live together.