In my never-ending quest to organize and reorganize the barn, I often find myself in a Christmas moment; “Wow, I forgot that I had this!” or more likely, “Oh, so that’s where I put this.” Four floors of tools, books, and supplies to sort will do that to you.
I recently had an instance that was and was not one of these times. I found myself relocating a chair frame I commissioned Philippe Lafargue to make for me probably more than three decades ago. It served for so many years as my reading and writing chair at S.I. and for some time at the barn.
Being a classically trained chairmaker at Ecole Boulle this project was like falling off a log for Philippe since virtually all of his fabrication work was curvy fancy French chairs. This severe boxy form was no challenge for him.
He was there long before the beginning of the Roubo Project, he translated the Table of Contents for me around 1987 when he was a post-graduate Fellow with me in the Furniture Conservation Studio. That ToC burned brightly for me, and when Michele Pagan and I started the project for real more than a decade later we knew that Philippe had to be part of it. Philippe was a classically trained 18th Century Ecole Boulle craftsman, where he completed the full four-year curriculum, simultaneously conversant in 18th craft technique and lexicon, a native Francophone and fully conversant in vernacular and academic English.
For the years of the project until his untimely death a few months ago (somewhat unnerving to us since his fatal illness was the same one that took Mel Wachowiak from me a decade earlier) his contribution was a vital connection to reality.
I am now diligently searching for someone to take up his portfolio. If you know anyone who fits the job description above, let me know. Really, let me know.
This was the last time Philippe and I were together in person, at the premier of the Deluxe version of Roubo on Marquetry during the 2013 Woodworking in America shindig. He eventually wound up back in France, fleeing his domestic life here in the States.
I’ll see your Roubo Plate 331 folding book stand and raise you about 1000%. Gotta see it to believe it.
Here it is.
Recently L’il T participated in one of the greatest American traditions and rites of passage; he started t-ball. Thanks to diligent practice with his loving dad (boy, did we luck out in the son-in-law department!) L’il T hits the ball practically every time.
We saw is first ever t-ball game last weekend and it was immensely entertaining. Describing it as “herding hogs on ice” would be accurate.
They’re starting them younger now, these tykes were 3 and 4. My brother and I remember playing t-ball at 7 and 8. I was an enthusiastic and pretty good player until late adolescence when my vision started going south. When your eyes can’t pick up the ball coming from the pitcher your baseballing days are over.
Last week I finally wrapped up processing all the windfall I’d harvested several weeks ago. The bounty was impressive, the cribs are three rows deep. The pile on the ground near the splitter are all the wonky pieces I will use next winter in the barn wood stove. The haul *should” get us through next winter when combined with the leftover wood still in the cabin firewood crib, but the harvesting and processing will continue through the summer and fall. When you heat with firewood, you can never have too much.
“What is truth?” asked Pilate.
Jesus of Nazareth died, proving he was truly a man.
Jesus the Christ walked out of the tomb like a boss, proving he was truly God.
There you go, Pilate.
Truth.
This coming weekend is the PATINA tool swap near Frederick Marlyand. You can get the details here. If you are anywhere in the Mid-Atlantic it is well worth the effort to get there. Yes, there are scores of tables with thousands of premium vintage tools, but for me the real treasures are out in the tailgating tool swap.
I’ll be there Saturday morning on the hunt for tools appropriate to little boys. Can you believe Lil’T is four years old? And his brothers and cousin are stair stepping right behind him. I’ve got plenty of tools a-waitin’ for them, but not nearly enough.
Anyway, it you see me there and recognize me come up and say “Hi.” If you see me but do not recognize me, well, don’t.
A few days, ago my longtime friend retired broadcaster Brian Wilson and I had another of our long-form chats, commenting about the state of the world. He posts these and other musings on his Substack account, Brian Wilson Writes. Feel free to indulge (or punish) yourself as our conversations are definitely no-holds-barred, not for the easily offended.
I am happy to report that my broom-maker is on the mend and just before the snow/ice storm delivered some new inventory. I’ve got a couple events this year so he has a standing order to crank out polissoirs as his health allows.
But for now, everything is in stock. Ironically sales for everything has plummeted, about 40% in 2025 vs. the 2024 totals. Just as well as I am making almost zero on each 1-inch ploissoir sale. Good thing this is just a hobby at this point. Not complaining, who else can say they have a hobby that doesn’t cost them anything?
When I built the greenhouse last year I was determined to overbuild it. As the evidence indicates, I was wrong in my assumptions and execution of what I thought overbuilding was, The center laminated arch just snapped this week under the weight of the snow, sleet and frozen rain. A pretty substantial rebuild must occur before next winter, building bigger (and more) laminated arches. In addition to replacing the destroyed center arch I will build two more inside the greenhouse and one in the outer workspace on the far end of the structure. I’ll make them each 1-1/2″ x 3″ rather than 1-1/4″ x 2″. That calculates to a four-fold increased strength. I don’t know yet whether the plastic skin can be salvaged. Part of me was pleased to see the laminations remained intact, just the weight and the wind literally snapped the center arch.
Also, if I was so inclined and equipped, I could absolutely ice skate down the driveway. (I left my ice hockey days behind me many, many decades ago)
One thing I was very pleased about was the performance of my spiked-sole lumberjack boots. They made traipsing around the icy landscape a breeze. I was absolutely right to buy these a couple years ago. I was only expecting to use them when harvesting firewood on sloped ground, but they sure did the trick here.
UPDATE
The plowing crew finally came at 10.15 last night to dig us out. They brought three big machines. The first was a V-wedge icebreaker to bust everything up, the second was an 8-foot plow blade, the third was a 6-foot blade to make everything purdy. Was great to look out this morning and actually see the driveway, we can now get out after four days of being icebound. Free at last, free at last!
Right around zero at dawn this morning.
Probably like many of you, as I watch the paroxysm of manufactured “rage” throughout urban America I am almost continually running an OODA Loop especially when I leave Shangri-la and go out into the larger world. (OODA is the military acronym for Observe, Orient, Decide, and Act, a decision-making model for use in uncertain situations.) In the environment that is the USA 2026, OODA is in my mental background like a virus scan. Since many/most/all(?) of the “spontaneous” riots are conducted by trained out-of-state professionals provided by entities like Crowds on Demand, Inc. (a real LA-based rent-a-mob temp agency!), the need for OODA is an imperative. I for one am curious about the money trail for the rent-a-mobs.
But ruminations on OODA are just the gateway for this post. Almost all of us of a certain age have had our awareness formed, at least in part, by two classic dystopian novels we read in high school — 1984 (1949, George Orwell) and Brave New World (1932, Aldous Huxley). However, my favorite novel of this (or any other) genre and roughly contemporary to them, and one that I am unreservedly recommending to you, is the far less known 1945 C.S. Lewis That Hideous Strength. When reading THS I find many of the parallels to 2026 to be inescapable. It is almost a fictional recitation of the seduction Hannah Arendt described as “the banality of evil” but set in the campus and village of a small British university. It brings to mind the old quip, “The smaller the boat the meaner the rats.”
The understanding from this trilogy of dystopian fiction is IMHO foundational to being a modern grown-up. Not the full foundation, but still foundational. Read or reread them for a refresher course in the human condition and of the evil that men can do. And if you are unfamiliar with That Hideous Strength, pick it up and be edified. Every time I reread it I find myself saying, “Holy cow, that’s just like now!” Yes, it is a semi-fantasy, but the parallels are too powerful to ignore. It is not a fast read, not because it is turgid or difficult, but because you might just find yourself pausing by necessity to consider the implications of the tale for our modern, debauched world.
For extra credit when exploring the dysfunctional human condition take a stroll through The Minor Prophets of The Old Testament, Hosea through Malachi. Since the books do indeed chronicle accurately the nature of the human condition, like me you are likely to pause and reflect that the truths therein are as current as tomorrow’s headlines.
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