On the surface, the work that happens in Josh Stowers' shop looks like preparation for the trades: welding arcs, grinders sparking against steel, precise measurements, careful fittings. But beneath all of that—beneath the equipment and the projects and the noise—there is something far more foundational taking shape. Josh is teaching young people how to carry themselves in a world that will require grit, resilience, and the willingness to invest in their own competence.

The trades matter. They can open doors to well-paid, meaningful futures. But in Martinsville, what Josh is building is bigger than career preparation. He's teaching life.

Josh didn't plan to be a teacher. He planned to be an army officer, but medical reasons made that impossible. So he went to work instead—roofing houses, changing oil, working his way up to management. A customer got him into construction, installing doors in hospitals and schools. In the door business, they said: no one's touching those studs in the wall, but everybody touches that door handle. It has to be installed correctly. Everyone will see if it's done wrong. That philosophy—your work is visible, so do it right—shapes how he teaches today.

He worked up into project management, learning estimating and material ordering. Later, while helping a friend coach football, he observed what it was like to guide young people. Something opened up in him. A mentor asked: Have you ever thought about teaching? He hadn't. But the idea stuck.

When Martinsville posted an opening, Mallory Jenness, the AG teacher, reached out. Josh applied. He had no teaching degree, but the district saw what mattered: someone who could reach kids, someone who knew the work from lived experience. Once hired, he completed his CTE licensure while teaching full-time.

And in Martinsville, he found home. His kids are in the community. He loves the small-town feel. Everybody knows everybody. The school is woven into daily life, and that sense of belonging forms the backdrop of everything he does.

Josh learned work ethic from his dad. If dad's working, nobody's resting. That lesson carried over to job sites—if the boss is standing, no one's sitting. Now he brings that same expectation to his shop. He teaches students to look him in the eyes when they're talking. He teaches them that on a job site, if you don't show up prepared, your family doesn't eat. Details matter.

In his program, students start with fundamentals: safety, measurement, tool use, project planning. But learning the trades isn't about following a checklist. It's about learning how to think. "I want them to problem-solve," he said. "I want them to figure stuff out." He'll walk a student through something once, maybe twice. After that, the expectation shifts. You've got this. Now own it.

One core lesson is simple: Take pride in your work. Not pride as in ego, but pride as in accountability. Your effort matters. Your signature matters.

Some students arrive without much belief in themselves. Maybe academics are hard. Maybe they've been told they aren't "the school type." Those moments are where Josh leans in hardest. "Some of the kids that struggle in the classroom," he said, "this is their safe place." They walk into his room and something shifts. When they leave with a project finished and done well, they carry that confidence back into other parts of their lives.

Real-world problems become teaching opportunities. When a toilet in the gym started running, Josh took his students over. They put food dye in the tank to trace the leak. They figured out what needed fixing. Later, the students would point it out: We fixed that in third hour.

His biggest project this year is remodeling the baseball dugouts. All four morning classes are involved—shuttling back and forth on the bus, Josh driving. The dugouts haven't been touched in over 20 years. Students went through the full construction process: design, estimating materials, submitting purchase orders. When materials arrived, they checked them in—just like any commercial job site. Then they went to work. The project encompasses all the skills: grinding pipe frames, welding, carpentry, planning.

Josh also coaches baseball, so he knows how much those dugouts matter. But more than that, he knows what it means for students to give back to their community, to point to something permanent and say: I did that.

In his seventh grade class, students explore careers. Not just the trades, but everything—military branches, hair and nail technicians, even homemaking. One student wrote down "housewife," so Josh created a presentation: This isn't just sitting at home. These are all the skills you have to manage.

What Josh admires most about Martinsville's kids is their work ethic. Many already have jobs—on farms, in small shops, in family businesses. When he asks for effort, they give it. When he asks for responsibility, they rise.

Teaching, Josh says, is "the most challenging job I've ever had, but also the most rewarding." It's forced him to be more patient, to shift from measuring success by "how much did we get done today?" to recognizing when a student who's been struggling feels seen, feels capable.

Not all of them have seen men show up in their lives, he explains. Even the kids who can be challenging—you don't give up on them. It's a man showing up every day who cares whether they're successful. And even when results aren't immediate, you're still planting seeds and hope that they'll grow fruit in time.

At the end of the school year, Josh asks himself two questions: Did anybody lose a finger? And are we better human beings? If he can check those two boxes, it's a successful year.

The trade futures are real. Josh helps students explore welding, fabrication, construction, mechanics—paths that can lead to apprenticeships and strong incomes right after high school. But the deeper lessons will outlast any specific career choice: discipline, initiative, problem-solving, self-respect.

Sometimes a student will visit years later to show him photos of a job site or a project they're proud of. Josh doesn't need those moments, but he treasures them.

"I just want them to be good people," he said. "Be honest. Work hard. Do the right thing."

That's the quiet center of his program—and the real heart of his work. The grinders and welders are the medium. The life lessons are the message. And every day in Martinsville, Josh Stowers delivers that message with the kind of authenticity students can feel in their bones.