A couple weeks ago we ventured back into Mordor to do some yard work and house work in preparation for the return of Youngerbarndottir’s family to the region, as they might need to encamp at that house for an indeterminate time.
Unbeknownst to us there had been a microburst storm a few nights earlier and we were greeted with the sight of a large chunk of maple tree laying in the yard and on the deck. While I had brought my chainsaws, this was an unexpected, uh, pleasure.
To give you a sense of the scale, the trunk snapped off about twenty feet up the tree, and the base of the snapped off section is just under 24 inches in diameter.
I have made no bones about my fandom for the Craftsman 20V product line, owning several drills, saws, string trimmers, and chainsaws. Are they the “best” performing cordless tools? No. Are they the least expensive cordless tools? No. But I do judge them to be the best value of the type. (PS- as much as I would welcome Lowes/Ace/Craftsman to support and underwrite my tool acquisition disorder, these are all tools I bought myself.)
The 20V chainsaws are invaluable for routine yard work and even more demanding work. Just before leaving Shangri-la the little chainsaw made short work of a 12-inch locust post. With that in hand I worked many hours in cleaning up the tons of maple, one bite at a time. 75% of the cleanup was accomplished with the little 20V chainsaw, including sawing up to a foot of trunk. Admittedly it took a couple of fresh batteries, but I had them on hand, so it was no big deal. For the more routine cutting the trunk into roughly four-foot boles I used my gas-powered Stihl.
Although the silver maple is somewhat of a junk tree, I decided to salvage the best of the trunk stock for some future use. I was particularly interested in two crotches which will be turned into some sort of bowls on the lathe. But first, that will require fabricating an outboard turning plate on the ancient lathe my pal MikeM gave me eons ago. That will be its own series of posts later in the summer, I hope.
For the moment the boles are laying in the yard awaiting relocation to the old goat house where they will remain protected from weather and dry out slowly until I can cut them into whatever I need them to be.
If I am known for anything in the realm of shop work it is that I am an enthusiastic advocate for two arcane tools; the polissoir at the finishing bench, and the toothing plane at the woodwork bench. I find myself grabbing one of my dozen toothing planes almost every time I am preparing a board for whatever comes next, as toothing planes are magnificent for the task of making a board flat/planar (but not smooth).
I have long asserted that we are living in a Golden Age of hand tool makers, and one of them is my friend Steve Voigt. Sometime last year I asked Steve to make me a custom toothing plane. As a result of our correspondence about the plane, I sent him three of my favorites to use as guides for his work.
A few days ago I received two packages from him, one with my three and the other with his new one. I’m like a kid on Christmas morning, anxiously awaiting the time soon when I can really take it for a test drive.
Recently my friend JD came for a visit, bearing a crosscut slab from a cherry tree that fell across his driveway. He wanted to turn it into a small tea table to hold his cup of morning coffee out on the porch.
I thought I might be able to smooth and flatten it only using planes, but the amount to remove (~3/4″ of very hard end grain) was simply too much. So, I spent a couple hours sawing to get the two faces coplanar.
After that I did most of the work with my trusty #5 set up as a foreplane, followed by a companion #5 set up as a smoother.
Some vigorous work with my user-made scraper, picked up somewhere along my path, and I was done.
So a few hours of good fellowship and labor it was ready to go home with him for attaching the legs and finishing. At first he was dismayed at the “washed out” nondescript appearance, but I assured him the rich cherry color would soon return. Since it will be out on the porch for his morning coffee he will finish it with some thinned polyurethane for the greatest penetration and protection. I’m awaiting the finished pictures myself.
On occasion I think up things to do with derelict tool parts that I pick up along the way. Such is the tale here.
Since I enjoy hand-resawing — sometimes necessity really is the mother of invention, and I do not possess a bandsaw for the task — I’ve invested a bit of time in assembling the requisite accouterments for the task. Included in this mélange would be several kerfing planes with fixed fences to reflect the more typical thicknesses I am trying to cut. These are made out of Baltic Birch plywood and work just fine.
When I began assembling my 18th Century tool kit for demonstrating I wanted to include resawing in the mix since folks are genuinely amazed to see that work being done. My kerfing planes would suffice for functionality but not for aesthetics or interpretation, so I dug around in my boxes of spare parts to see what could be done. I found an abandoned body of a plough plane and the light bulb went off. I was especially attracted to the moving fence on the sole. I can never remember what this part is called. Is it the fillister, or is that something else? Whatever it is I thought it would be a nice feature for a kerfing plane to include in my kit.
Roubo Plate 14 Figure 14
I do not think this notion is historically outlandish as there is a plane/saw included in Roubo that really seems to bear a peculiar resemblance to the kerfing plane in current use. Although Roubo refers to this as a tenon shoulder saw, I could definitely see it working as a kerfing saw with virtually no modification.
My first step in transforming this derelict into a delight was to remove the skate guide from the plane body. This was not an easy task as several of the screws had cemented themselves into place with corrosion. I got a couple out by customizing a screwdriver but had to drill out three of the heads and then file the shafts flat to their surroundings.
I was using a piece of a bow saw blade for this tool and had to cut a groove up into the plane body into which the top of the blade was inserted to the plane body where the skate was, to bring the saw teeth into proper relationship with the movable fence.
Once that was accomplished, I punched and drilled new holes for the screws attaching the blade to the body. Viola’, a lovely new tool from the carcass of an old one.
The native fence set-up gives me just a shade over 1/2″ so I might re-tinker with that at some point in the future to expand the capacity to an inch or so.
Perhaps it’s an age thing, perhaps it’s a “working alone” thing, but I have had a lot of time reminiscing lately while up in the barn.
50+ years ago when as a teen and newly arrived into a real-live cabinet shop I was introduced to the deep-seated passions of European craftsmen. Prior to that I was a “scratch and dent” man at a couple of furniture stores, which, though a legitimate service, is not the same as working alongside men with years of apprentice training and decades of life on the job.
This shop was operated by a New Yawker of Greek heritage and produced amazing interiors with frame-and-panel rooms, carved detailing, and exquisite finishing. (I was an underling in the finishing room; they did not consider my week(?) at a Mohawk workshop to be really valid for what they did and trained me in their way of doing things enough that I could next catch on to the Schindler’s shop where I spent the following few years) Since the talent pool in south Florida was not up to his standards the owner hired guys from Long Island to come and work there, they were amazing craftsmen/artists.
Hans was a German-trained cabinetmaker in charge of that side of things. Joe was an Italian who was my boss in the finishing room. Both men were incredibly generous in teaching me what they knew at a level I was able to learn, and sometimes that created conflict between them when Hans said one thing and Joe said another. I mean, real conflict to the point where the big boss had to step in and send them back to their corners.
Perhaps the most intense quarrel I recall was about how to fold sandpaper. Really. Hans was insistent on the “quartering” method of preparing and using sandpaper. In this technique the sandpaper was twice folded in half along the perpendicular center lines, then cut to the cross-fold along one line then folded into a stacked quarter. According to him, this was the only way a REAL craftsman used sandpaper.
Joe bristled at both this method and the insinuation that he was not a REAL craftsman (they were both just shy of magicians in their work). According to Joe the only true method for preparing and using sandpaper was to cut the sheet in half along the short axis, then fold the paper twice to yield three identical sections when folded over. To be honest a version of this method is the one I have used more often in the subsequent five decades.
But the experience of watching two late-middle-aged men almost coming to blows over how to cut, fold, and use sandpaper was indelibly burned into my memory and provided a lot of insight into the human condition. If we want to, we can gin up conflict over the most inconsequential things while letting the existential stuff slide by with barely a notice.
Design? Pshaw. Construction details? Shrug. Finishing schedule? Whatever.
As I move forward assembling my tool kit for the upcoming 18th Century Trades Fair at my friend Tim’s place down in center county, I am beginning to pack out my vintage tool chest, acquired many years ago for almost nothing at one of Martin Donnelly’s summer warehouse-clearing shindigs up in central New York. The place to start was the drawer unit sliding till. Here goes.
Drawer #1 (sorry for the photography) contains several oilstones (waterstones and diamond stones need not apply for this kit) and a shop knife.
NB – the organization of the drawers remains in-process until, well, probably until I take my last breath.
Drawer #2 is all about layout tools, including small scales, dividers, mortise gauge and panel gauge parts, etc.
Drawer #3 is a mix, a small wooden spokeshave, another folding scale (clearly should be in drawer #2) a couple hook knives, a small hammer and a scraper burnisher.
Drawer #4 is the home for my chisels, including the pile of mortising chisels I made from derelict plow plane irons, some ancient bench chisels, and a couple homemade dovetail chisels.
Drawer #5 includes the set of brass Roubo-ish squares I made while preparing for that workshop years ago, along with a scraper in an envelope.
Drawer #6 is all about hole-making, including gimlets, spoon bits, tapers, some ancient twist bits, etc.
Drawer #7 has some small planes and a travisher.
There’s still an occasional and cranny, probably for a small screwdriver or two.
The first couple of times I taught Introduction to Historic Woodfinishing about forty years ago, I would send a “tools and supplies” list for the participants to acquire on their own, and indicated we would be working on their own projects and work exercises in the class. It did not take me long to realize that at least one person in the class would arrive with the wrong tools and supplies (usually making substitutions that were inadequate) or arrive without a project, in which case we were running around last minute to come up with some pieces of wood for them to work on.
A turned walnut spindle for each student to learn finishing on curved surfaces.
A pile o’ hardwood and luan plywood panels for each of the exercises.
Ever since then I have found the only way to fulfill the syllabus was to provide everything for every student, an undertaking that is not an inconsiderable resource sink. But, this way everyone gets the full experience I have planned for them. (I found the same hurdles to my Japanning classes and employed the same solutions.)
For the past several days I’ve been assembling all the necessaries for my upcoming class, including bins of work pieces, supplies, tools, and cases of jars. Among them is a couple hardwood panels (one mahogany, one cherry) to compliment the plywood panels that suffice for most class work. To that end I spent the day yesterday resawing six cherry panels (22″ x 11″ x 5/4″) and mahogany panels and am working through hand planing them. My approach is to usually flatten cross grain and finish along the grain.
I don’t know if it has been the recent months of absence from Shangri-la or the fact that I am completing my seventh decade, but this morning my shoulders and hips are barking. Loudly.
Nevertheless I enjoy immensely the shop floor aesthetics at the end of a very productive day.
Somewhere in the timeline of compewder games is one called Tetris, I think (I have zero interest in compewder games and am bewildered by anyone older than kindergarten spending any time in the endeavor. Seriously. Bewildered. But then I have little interest in games in general, much to Mrs. Barn’s dismay. Had she known of my antipathy to games and dancing ex ante we might not be celebrating out 43rd anniversary this Friday) that was in effect, to the best of my recollection, a spatial relationship contest to pack moving shapes into compact arrangements. Between my periodic undertaking of rearrangeritis in the barn (h.t. /James “Stumpy Nubs” Hamilton) I am finding myself playing Tetris while collecting and packing my inventory of 18th/19th Century configured tools for the upcoming Historic Trades shindig over Labor Day weekend at my friend TimD’s place in mid-county.
Somehow I’ve got to get all these tools put into this tool chest, itself probably late 19th Century although the form is a familiar one going back a couple of centuries previous. I’ve already got all the drawers of the till box filled, and have two dozen hand planes underneath it. In the coming days I will make another open/removable till to hold a pile o’ tools; I’ve already re-sawn the mahogany for that tray/box.
If I can come up with a treatment to remove this photo of an ultra-vintage motorcycle hard glued to the lid, I’ll send it to my long-time friend Jersey Jon of American Pickers fame. Until then it will remain in place as this out-of-time curiosity.
It does feel pretty great to get back into the shop.
This video resonated with me as it has been an area of contemplation for quite some time. A couple years ago Mrs. Barn attended an Eldercare event and they recommended that spouses discuss in detail their preferences for life in an assisted living arrangement or similar. When we were having this discussion about that far off day, she was astounded that my top ranked “deal breaker” was not what she expected — my pocket tool. My “deal breaker” was I would never willingly go into a care facility where I could not have my pocket knife/utility tool.
While the choices made in this video are thought provoking, they are probably not mine. For starters, the question arises, “Exactly what kind of work would I be doing in the old folks’ home?” A second attendant question would be, “Exactly what are the facilities and space available to me?”
Regardless of the second answer, the odds of me doing large scale woodworking or furniture making in an old folks’ home are pretty slim and my tool choices reflect that. It is more likely that I would be doing puttering and repairing, making very small things or fixing stuff for other folks. Plus, I’m thinking it would be a pretty rare circumstance where I would have access to a real workshop so my space would be my bedroom/sitting room and the furniture therein. (Obviously this assumes a transition from my own domicile to another facility). Hence, my choices would be very different than those in the video.
Of course, the list begins with my Victorinox Spirit multi-tool. Second would be a multi-screwdriver of the Stanley, Craftsman or Milwaukee variety, followed immediately by a pair of pliers or more likely small channel lock and adjustable wrench. Though these are not “woodworking tools” per se, they do provide a foundation for almost everything downstream. The scene with Walt and Toad regarding WD40 and channel locks in the movie Grand Torino summarizes the situation perfectly.
After that, again since my scenario is built on a premise of having only my bedroom or sitting room to work in, I would need a work holding set-up. For me that means either a Zyliss vise or a wood screw clamp. Add a block plane with two irons — one flat, the other cambered — a small Japanese saw, a small eggbeater drill or Yankee drill or similar, and a 3/8″ chisel and I would surprise myself at how much I could accomplish.
Though not the “5 Tools” as addressed by the video, I think these 10 Tools (combined with a nice plywood for a work surface, and some ultra fine wet-or-dry sandpaper in lieu of a sharpening stone) are the ones I would want in hand as I head to the geezer farm. In the meantime, I’ve still got the barn and its 7000 s.f of work and storage space, along with another barn just for lumber.
A component of my routine in the shop these days is surveying, sorting, and dispensing of the tools laying here, there, and everywhere. Now that I am in my 70th year and have two handy sons-in-law and soon to be two grandsons I am either dispensing or dispersing many of the tools immediately or presumptively. Genuine tool sets for L’il T and the soon-to-come Baby T (for Baby Tyrannosaurus, the moniker for L’il T’s baby brother in utero, I suspect the final name will be different) are well underway.
One of the treasures(?) I came across was yet another infill plane, a truly challenging project for the future. As near as I can tell none of the adjunct components belong together with the original chassis so I can assume great latitude in the restoration of the tool. It’s raggedy but solid, so the end result should be solid but less raggedy once I get around to bringing it back to life.
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