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.
A few weekends ago I attended the PATINA monthly gathering, as always getting my tool-flea-market fix (I bought only a few small items) before going inside for the presentation on infill planes by Lee Richmond of The Best Things tools, towards whom I have sent very many dollars over the years.
The talk and Q&A were excellent and very informative and I learned a lot, particularly the history of infill plane kits that were available to craftsmen, and the prevalence of planemakers making tools to be marketed under other branding than their own. More about both points in a minute.
It got me wondering about my own inventory of infill planes which, when compiled, was more numerous than I initially thought. I don’t know why as these are tools I use regularly. I guess I just never thought of them in that way.
Here is my own collection, presented in no particular order.
The prize of my collection is my Robert Towell miter/shooting plane, probably from the second quarter of the 19th century. Towell was one of the makers who produced tools bearing his own imprint and sold from his own shop, along with unmarked planes sold by other purveyors. Mine is one of the latter, devoid of any maker’s marks but with all the hallmarks of his work. His planes were apparently of this form and are highly desirable by collectors, provided they bear his mark.
This image from the interwebz shows the maker’s mark that is missing on my plane. That lacunae is what made this plane affordable, otherwise the $5k price tag would have been beyond the realm of consideration for me. And, Mrs. Barn would have probably killed me…
Since mine is unmarked, it was “affordable” to me (still pricey by my standards but only 10% of the price had it borne his stamp) and I bought it from a flea market session at Martin Donnelly’s about 20 years ago. The throat is so tight (about 1/3 mm) I find the only useful purpose it has for me is trimming the end grain of boards on a shooting jig.
Contemporary tool maker Raney Nelson of Daed Tools made a series of Towell-inspired planes maybe 20 years ago and I got it through trading some other materials and tools for it, otherwise I could have never afforded it.
Like Towell and Raney’s friend Konrad Sauer the construction is hammered dovetails, with I think African Blackwood as the infill. I really should ask him more about this tool the next time our paths cross, as they do occasionally.
It’s just a bit too small to use as a block plane, but perfect for small shooting tasks. This plane might have evolved into the “collectible” realm as I am not sure how much plane making Raney does any more since he and Chris Schwarz started Crucible Tools.
This still-under-restoration smoother is one of those Richmond said was probably a kit of sorts, with the metal shell being sold as a chassis for a woodworker to make the wooden infill components. I got this late 19th century tool in a box lot of other derelict tools at a flea market, devoid of iron or wedge, looking like at had a stint inside a concrete mixer. I cobbled it together as a functioning plane after restoring the totally trashed wooden infills, ebonizing them and leaning the steel shell.
I was never really happy with the wedge or the iron I dug out of my spare parts drawer, so I asked my friend Josh Clark to look through his inventory to see what he had. I soon received a really nice double iron in the mail that fits the sole mouth very tightly and have been puttering on making a wedge off and on ever since. If I have success with a wooden wedge I just might make another out of ivory. Just because I can.
For many years Ron Hock used to sell kits to make planes, and this started as one of those. The maker in this instance was my friend Joe who gave it to me 15(?) years ago for reasons I can no longer recall. It was a very nice plane but underweight for what I wanted.
During the first Roubo manuscript I modified it with heavy brass cheeks and a bit of stylizing to use it as a veneer/parquetry shooting plane.
Some years ago at a Lie-Nielson event I bought this infill plane from Mateo Panzica of Lazarus Planes in Louisville KY. His fabrication approach is almost 180 degrees opposite from Towell and Nelson but you cannot argue with the results.
This weighty smoother is simply superb and gets regular use at my bench, perhaps more than any plane (other than my sleigh-style block plane that is going into the grave with me, unless of course it goes to L’il T or his brother). If I needed more new planes I would probably divide my money between Lazarus and Steve Voigt, although the Lasso of Truth would reveal I do not really need any more. (Other than a toother from Steve Voigt, if he ever gets them to market).
An infill I made all by my lonesome is this plane designed specifically for, and not useful otherwise to tell you the truth, shooting the edges of sawn parquetry elements. I saw Paterick Edwards demonstrate a vintage version of this plane at Williamsburg several years ago and decided I had to have one myownself.
I started out with a derelict one-inch rabbet plane body and beveled one side, then silver soldered the brass shell. I am really pleased with its performance.
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