St. Joseph, Mo. ? Birds never had it so good, if, in fact, they had it this good.

Thing is, the birdhouses that Jim Buhman builds, made with native woods and scrupulous detail, are too nice for their intended use.

Birds, oblivious to the paradox, won’t roost there because most of the birdhouses remain indoors, guarded from the elements.

If they only knew what they were missing. The birdhouses combine art and craftsmanship with some historical authenticity. And there is usually a charitable outcome.

Besides, Buhman said, it keeps his hands busy.

Looking for lumber

For his birdhouses, he buys some materials and bums some. If a tree falls in a forest, somehow he hears it. And he mills and planes and sands the downed walnut and oak into something for people’s homes.

A relative of a relative brings down a barn, circa 1898, and some of the lumber ends up on wood racks in Buhman’s basement workshop. It will give some creation a roughhewn look and native genuineness.

“It’s good wood, and it’s amazing how well it’s preserved itself,” he said, looking over the stash.

When the Jesse James Home in St. Joseph got a new roof last year, Buhman went there to scoop up some wooden shakes. And an idea occurred to him. “I thought it would be fun to build a replica of the Jesse James Home,” he said.

He went to the museum and took pictures all around.

“Even though I was a math teacher, I didn’t say this has to be this way and this has to be a certain distance,” he said. “I just looked at it and said, here’s the way I think it should look.”

Like on all buildings, construction goes from the ground up. When it came to the roof, he had the material in mind. He carefully cut the shake shingles and hand sanded the pieces to a uniform thickness, then glued them up top one at a time, 567 of them.

He called the finished piece “Robber’s Roost.” It’s on display now at the museum, where Buhman, after completing the project, became a volunteer a couple of days a week.

Black Hills to Long Beach

Little in his background pointed the way to this retirement pastime.

The youngest of 13 children, Buhman grew up in Clarksdale, Mo. He served in the Naval Reserve after graduation from high school, but mostly practiced aimlessness, working six months here and six months there.

He had a friend from South Dakota who spurred in Buhman an interest in the Black Hills. He set out for there one October, and a friend met along the way urged him to return to school at South Dakota State. That December, he enrolled. Three and a half years later, degree in hand, he again pondered his future.

“In the late 1950s and early ’60s, you could just go teach about anywhere you wanted to go,” he said. “The recruiters would come to South Dakota, and one was from Long Beach, Calif. … I thought Long Beach sounded like a good spot.”

A year later, a woman from Seattle joined the faculty at his school.

“We tell everybody that we met in junior high,” he said. After a year, he married Carol, and the two continued teaching there for 34 years.

Brothers’ playtime

When they retired, the couple looked to leave California. Carol had never experienced the four seasons, so they came to Missouri in February 1994, settling in St. Joseph.

One of Jim’s brothers, the Rev. Leo Buhman, also was moving back to St. Joseph to retire. The priest had made crafts for years and had an array of woodworking tools.

“I told him not to sell the equipment,” Buhman said. He planned a workshop for his new house where the brothers could “play.”

He took up crafts work.

“I just always said, ‘When I retire, I want to do something with my hands,”‘ he said. “In the winter, there’s not a lot to do. You can’t go out to the golf course.”

Holy birdhouse

His wren houses were already a big hit with friends and relatives when his sister-in-law asked a favor. She wanted a birdhouse for an auction at the Seven Dolors Catholic Church at Hurlingen, Mo.

Both his mother and father had been baptized there, then married there and buried there. The church meant something to him, and he decided to build an intricate replica.

It never made it to auction. “They wouldn’t part with it,” Buhman said. “They have it displayed in the back of the church. They bring it out when they have a function.”

That started his interest in unique birdhouses. He builds them out of his imagination — one came from a memory of an old mine in Colorado — and at the behest of loved ones.

A photograph of an Atlanta home produced a birdhouse with stately columns and meticulous “brickwork” carved into the cedar face. It went to a friend’s daughter. Another request came from someone who wanted a birdhouse in the image of a country church with a bell tower. A companion red schoolhouse, also with a bell, also was asked for.

Finding fulfillment

There are more than 50 of the Buhman birdhouses scattered about, but he never really counted or bothered to calculate the time he puts into each one.

“I keep saying next time I’m going to keep track of my hours, but I never have,” he said. “It takes a lot of time, but I have lots of time, and I enjoy doing it.”

Some of them end up as auction items, and Buhman enjoys his efforts going to good causes.

“People always give me money for it,” he said. “If you want to give me something, that’s fine. But then I take it and donate it to someplace.”

Mostly, he finds fulfillment in the work and the finished product.

“It gives me satisfaction, I guess,” he says. “I enjoy doing things that people appreciate.”