In a former, not-too-distant past I was, shall we say, a religious leader. I stopped doing that as a vocation for a variety of reasons, but one thing still sticks: I never quite got over how many people’s behavior would change toward me when they found out what I was. I’m a shy person, and when someone would suddenly start treating me like I was waiting and watching, hoping they would make a boo-boo so that I could pounce on them, rebuke them and correct them, I get even more shy. So my relief valve always came in the form of thin, wispy shavings. That was the religious part.

So, in the midst of a virtual rolling sea of pundits with opinions as firm as said rolling sea, there lies around my ankles batches of shavings, and life is good. Knowing that the woodworking community is remarkably free of chest-pounding and sabre-rattling (with the notable exception of those of us that are Galoots enjoying the ironic humor in identifying ourselves as part of a subversive woodworking movement.) Knowing that when it comes down to it, when I meet a fellow woodworker online or in person, the odds are that they are going to have certain characteristics in common with me: an appreciation for a quick wit, an insatiable curiosity about our common activity, probably an interest in history, the desire to exchange concepts, techniques, and lore with others of like mind, and usually the desire to remain focused on this beautiful medium we are blessed to work in, leaving politics and religion out of it.

So, I predict that 2009 is going to be the best woodworking year we have ever experienced together!

I turned about 8 pens, and then she came out to the shop and said, “Teach me.” Okay, sounds very cool. Pen turning is great fun, but I really enjoy case work which I could get back to if she were turning. So, I gave her a crash course, and before long her pens looked as good as mine. Or, at least as good as mine. Okay, I can handle this, I must be a pretty good teacher. Soon, my lathe was our lathe, and once in awhile I get to use it. While she is at work, that is.

This afternoon she brought my 11 year old son out and taught him how to turn pens while I was working on another project. He learns very quickly, and he got to finish his first pen and pencil set, made out of padauk with “rhodesium” hardware. Since he’s left handed, I teased him about making the set upside-down.

As I’m merrily banging away on this casework, my son starts asking my bride why we are doing so many. One of the reasons I love my wife so much is because she’s easily able to expound on the inner workings of capitalism and supply-side economics, which my son got a working lesson in as the chips flew.

After he was finished with his set, he brought them over to show me. “If I sell some of these for you, can I get a commission?” I like the way he thinks, at such a young and tender age. “Sure, of course you would.” “Well, Dad, how much?” “Well, Son, it would have to be a percentage of the net. Do you know what the net is?” “Is that the total profit?” I don’t know where he got his grasp of things. Not from me — I still don’t have all this figured out. “Exactly. How does 30% of the profit sound?” “How does 50% sound, since I am helping make the pens?” “Okay.” He dickered, I lost. Go figure.

I turned about 8 pens, and then she came out to the shop and said, “Teach me.” Okay, sounds very cool. Pen turning is great fun, but I really enjoy case work which I could get back to if she were turning. So, I gave her a crash course, and before long her pens looked as good as mine. Or, at least as good as mine. Okay, I can handle this, I must be a pretty good teacher. Soon, my lathe was our lathe, and once in awhile I get to use it. While she is at work, that is.

This afternoon she brought my 11 year old son out and taught him how to turn pens while I was working on another project. He learns very quickly, and he got to finish his first pen and pencil set, made out of padauk with “rhodesium” hardware. Since he’s left handed, I teased him about making the set upside-down.

As I’m merrily banging away on this casework, my son starts asking my bride why we are doing so many. One of the reasons I love my wife so much is because she’s easily able to expound on the inner workings of capitalism and supply-side economics, which my son got a working lesson in as the chips flew.

After he was finished with his set, he brought them over to show me. “If I sell some of these for you, can I get a commission?” I like the way he thinks, at such a young and tender age. “Sure, of course you would.” “Well, Dad, how much?” “Well, Son, it would have to be a percentage of the net. Do you know what the net is?” “Is that the total profit?” I don’t know where he got his grasp of things. Not from me — I still don’t have all this figured out. “Exactly. How does 30% of the profit sound?” “How does 50% sound, since I am helping make the pens?” “Okay.” He dickered, I lost. Go figure.

I’m supposed to be all busted up, worried, angry, frustrated, and all five stages of grief all at once. About two weeks ago the stable owner of the stable company I was working for called a bunch of us together and told us that we could come in the next day and get our stuff, or we could take it with us as we left, along with our barely adequate severance packages. No surprise, and in a large company (from my parochial perspective), knowing that I was one of at least half of the company that was finally succumbing to the sub-prime loan debacle was just news that I was expecting. Still, I have all kinds of sympathy for the owner as he performed one of his hardest duties with decorum and integrity. I even told him that.

The thing is, I’m not all busted up.

I’ve been wanting to launch out as a woodworker and luthier for a while, and my wife and I always received just one more medical bill in the mail, or… you know. Well, a year of listening to Dan Miller (www.48days.com) has come home with me; I’m an entrepreneur. I’m free to flame out, and just as free to make my first million. Nobody can “downsize” me (why can’t we call it a “lay-off” anymore, or even just “termination?”) By the same token, I cannot ride anyone else’s coat-tails into the sunset of mediocrity. It’s all out there, for all the world to see.

How does it feel? I’ll tell you. It feels GREAT!

1. Woodworkers are extraordinarily nice people. Even the ones at the top who have the latitude (societal expectations?) to be snobs or condescending are neither. There is no Hollywood in woodworking, it seems. If you bump into Roy Underhill or Chris Schwartz or Frank Klausz (insert your favorite name here) in passing, the least you’ll come away with is a smile. If you engage them in conversation, to a one they will listen to what you have to say and respond because they heard you. In terms of the not-so-famous, several times during the weekend I noticed people who had never before met loaning tools or helping others with techniques. There was simply no distinction between professional woodworkers and hobbyists; one couldn’t really even tell. The only status we really had was that of “woodworker.” Society in general could learn a thing or two from woodworkers.

2. Those we venerate as masters are practicing woodworkers, too. Here’s what I mean by that: When one has a medical practice, one purports to have studied enough about medicine to dedicate the majority of their time to helping others who have not studied with their medical issues. No doctor, upon receiving their MD ever opens an office thinking, “Well, that’s all there is to know about knees” for example. The doctor, when confronted with a patients complaints, will first suggest a set of standard practices that we have observed will achieve the desired outcome, and if those steps don’t work, begins to study, work further into the issue, and perhaps even come up with new treatments. Sunday morning we had a session on taming tear-out with “The Schwartz.” He suggested things to do that help him work through the woodworker’s bane, and several comments came from the “audience.” Chris listened to each carefully, and a couple of times said, “I’ll have to try that.” We are all learning, thank God.

3. Along those same lines, I buried a number of old myths that seem to have originated about the time somebody started writing textbooks for shop class. Things I was taught: if you have a board larger than 6” or so, cut it in half and re-glue it so it won’t warp. No board should ever be any wider than 6” (and every wide surface should have each board inverted so that with one board the outside of the tree should face up, the neighboring board should face down, etc.) The problem with that is that the author of the textbook forgot to tell Hepplewhite or Chippendale or Phyfe, who used wide boards whenever they could. Ahem. Kind of embarassing, glad Mr. Phyfe was looking the other way…

4. As well as being extraordinarily nice folks, woodworkers are some of the funniest daggone people I’ve ever encountered as a group. The first person I ran into after registering was Matt Vanderlist (www.Mattsbasementworkshop.com). We knew each other online, but had never met. We immediately starting making one another laugh during our discussions. Every presentation I attended had us laughing at some point (the ones that Roy Underhill was involved in laughter actually dominated the information, somehow without obscuring it,) even the hands-on clinics were infected with this woodworking joy and mirth.

5. I’ll need another dose of this next year. I’m sure that it will take me at least a year to learn to use all the things I absorbed this year. I truly hope the good folks over at Popular Woodworking elect to have one conference at one central location so that we might get together as a big community again (that’s big talk coming from a card-carrying introvert!) I also truly hope that if you couldn’t make it this year, you will in ‘09. This conference was an unprecedented success!

My WIA day started with a hands-on clinic offered by Deneb Puchalski of Lie-Nielsen on, wait for it… wait for it… hand planing. Yes. Ooooo… Ahhhhh…

My bench-mate for the morning whipped out a crispy LN No.-7 and then a LN No.-4. One of the other guys brought a couple of shiny wooden planes he made himself (now, THERE’S a galoot!) and someone else had three of every plane Veritas ever made. I reached into my satchel and pulled out my old Stanley No.-4C (with a Hock blade) made in the early 1900’s, my No.-5 made in the ‘50’s, and my No.-8 made in the days of Moses. (Picture the Mommy on Oprah saying she wanted to take her kids to the park but was too fat to fit into the fence gate, lower lip quivering, the audience all “Awwing” their sympathy, and then cue schmaltzy organ music,) I had… plane envy. All this shiny ductile iron with racing stripes and hood scoops and chrome pipes…

I tried my bench-mate’s No.-4. It made thin, wispy, hang-time shavings. Deneb talked about plane setup. Nothing here I hadn’t heard before and read several times before, but all solid. Good tip in this one, though: Deneb keeps a 3×4x1/2” block of wood on his bench, set on edge against a stop, and takes a shaving off with the left side of his blade and then does the same with the right. If the shavings are equal, he then knows that his blade is set square to the plane sole. Good idea.

We had a discussion about plane techniques, how to straighten a cupped board, and then straighten one with twist (plane down the high spots to meet the low spots) and then smooth. Here’s another important tip: when starting with rough cut stock, don’t start with your No.-5’s blade set rank but set at a normal height. If you only get a few little sawdust scrapings at first, it isn’t because your blade is set wrong, it’s because you’re planing only the high spots, which is what you’re supposed to do.

I used my humble No.-5 to flatten my board of evil green poplar (it’s really last year’s Halloween-candy bubble gum that Dad wouldn’t even steal!) My 5 is such a cool workhorse. Nothing flashy about it, but kind of like my pickup, when I hook the horse trailer up to it, it pulls. The board started out with a crown, and in three minutes there was a pile of shavings at my feet and a rough but flat board in front of me. On to the jointer.

Now, I have the same reaction all the time. Folks look at that No.-8, look at me, look back at the plane, look at me… until I finally say, “Look. A plane in motion wants to stay in motion. A bigger plane likes to stay in motion more than a smaller plane.” And then they say something like, “Yeah, well, it’s getting that plane in motion that’s the issue.” It seems to be working for me, because in another three minutes I had a layer of even thinner shavings laying at my feet and a much smoother board in front of me. So then I picked up my smoother. A few STROKES and I had thin, wispy, hang-time shavings and a very smooth board, just as Ron Hock himself walks by and looks at my work (I’m sure he was impressed with my choice of stock.) I picked up one of my translucent shavings and showed it to him, told him that I had a Hock blade, and thanked him for such a fantastic product. I’ve discovered this weekend that tool makers are people too, because Ron’s face noticeably relaxed when he realized I was appreciative of the product of his labors. Folks, let our New Old Tools manufacturers know you appreciate them when you do. Too soon, I was done and off to my last session.

This one was with The Schwartz on preventing tear-out. Now I’ve never had tear-out, and I realize you never have either, but I’ve heard of it happening from time to time, so it was worth hearing what Chris had to say. I took four pages of notes… I can’t even begin to enumerate it all here, so I’ll have to digest it over a little time. The highlight came when Chris related to teaching his very young daughter to read a board (I don’t know if she can read a book, yet!) He used the analogy of one of Mommy’s cats. The cats have fur, and if you pet the fur one way the cat purrs. If you pet the fur the opposite way, the cat bites. He then went over to the dry-erase board where he had drawn his guinea plank, and then added a cat’s tail and a face like Disney’s Cheshire Cat. Now, that’s funny, I don’t care who you are.

We had a lively and interesting discussion on means of preventing tear-out, including and in no particular order, skew angle, blade angle, chip-breaker placement, iron sharpness, gnarly-ness of the individual plank (“Those wood fibers have lived all their lives with their neighbors, and they don’t want to move.”) grain orientation, etc. I promise, I’ll blog on the details after I’ve had some rest.

So, I’ve put my ghetto-shop-apron up for a couple of days. As I write this, my wife and I are hurtling down route 40 between Nashville and Memphis (I think, I haven’t really been paying attention – we could be between Tucson and Phoenix.) And as of tomorrow, I’m going to start marking the calendar for next year.

This morning I had the chance to hear a presentation by Adam Cherubini on Western chisels, particularly those of Moxon’s period and slightly later, up to perhaps our revolution. Adam has found evidence that the Galoot of the period, of English/Colonial persuasion, would startlingly position a chisel over two fingers of the left hand (they were all right handed then, weren’t they?) and under the other two fingers, steady the chisel with the right hand, and provide forward thrust with the inner part of the shoulder just below the clavicle. He also made an interesting case for having a chisel handle that tapers from narrow at the metal to wide at the top—providing you with a better grip.

Next up was my first hand’s on clinic: chopping mortises with Frank Klausz. Frank was, as usual a very clear and effective educator in communicating his way of chopping mortises. I’ve made probably hundreds of mortises and tenons, many of them by hand. My usual MO is to bore them out and pare them with chisels until they are cleaned up. Part of my reason for doing so is that I do not own a set of mortising chisels, and until this morning I never wanted to subject my Sorby’s to chopping. I was sort of on the hook, however, and realized I was starting from behind as we all tried to implement Frank’s teaching. Knowing that I was pretty severly handicapped by my equipment choices, I wailed like crazy until my hands hurt and my back hurt and I had to complementary mortises chiseled on my “table leg” (poplar blank.) Then, using my crispy Independence Tools saw (predecessor to the LN saws,) I did a pretty fair job of cutting out the tenon. I fitted them with just a slight cheek paring, and then realized I didn’t leave any reveal on the leg. Sigh. I didn’t let Frank see the final.

Over lunch, I had the opportunity to sit with Craig Stevens of the Woodworkers Resource and to meet and talk with Robin Lee of Lee Valley Tools. Robin and I were able to compare notes on racing sailboats on Lake Ontario.

I’ve noticed that woodworkers tend to have well-defined senses of humor. My first stop this afternoon was supposed to be a comparison of Frank Klausz, Mike Dunbar, and Roy Underhill’s personal methods for cutting mortise and tenons. I say “was supposed to.” We got one of Frank’s immaculately logical and carefully didactic instructions on how to properly cut this joint at the top of a table leg which is joined by two skirts. Mike showed us how to bore and pare a mortise using a variety of bits—auger, spoon, and center. Roy showed us the besengue, talked about the history of certain tools, and usual antics. The thing is, the other two joined in the mirth with their keen wits, and once again my sides hurt. I think I’m so fatigued because we’ve spent our entire trip laughing.

From there, I attended another hands-on clinic offered by Adam Cherubini and Roy Underhill. Once again, despite his indefatigable knowledge, St. Roy deferred to Cherubini. Our task was to implement the chisel holding techniques of the colonial joiner. One of the biggest learning points: make sure your bench is situated at the right height for you. My bench was not.

This evening we were treated to a Barbecue supper which was very good. Topping it off were words from Steve Shaughnessy (Publisher of Popular Woodworking,) Chris Schwartz, Thomas Lie-Nielsen, Robin Lee, and the keynote speaker, Roy Underhill. Roy had us all rolling in the aisles with laughter from stories of historical truth to fantastic fiction (YOU look up the Appalachian Hoop Snake.) He topped it all off with a letter from a disgruntled Grandmother he is supposed to have received chiding him for not wearing his safety glasses and taking proper safety precautions while handplaning. You know how this letter went… it started out very politely, thanking her for her kind letter, and wound up with suggesting that she and her fictional grandson Timmy watch that guy who comes on TV after him “where the only thing not electric in his shop is his personality!” Roy finished with a Charismatic Preacher imitation calling each of us to police the young and raise the moral standards of woodworking; ”’Own a skil saw? Spend a month in jail!” on every 7-11 and Quick Pantry in the country!” He finished with a shout, “LET’S TAKE A BITE OUT OF NORM!”

Amen, Brother, Preach it. Well, he OUGHT to preach it… he’s St. Roy!

Here’s the run-down of my day (mercifully all my classes were within two buildings very near each other.) My first session was on chair design with Brian Boggs. If you aren’t familiar with Brian, you need to be. Find him here. Now, I’ve never really had any interest in chairs, knowing that they were something I was inevitably, eventually going to have to deal with. I also figured that they were extremely complicated. In so far as that last, I was right. Brian’s enthusiasm spilled over as he offered us tips for good chair design based on his own experience of making more that 2500. I think I might be able to do this, after all (if I had too!)

My second session was one I had been looking forward to since the WIA was announced. It was Frank Klausz and Roy Underhill (St. Roy) offering opposing viewpoints on cutting pins first vs tails first when dovetailing. Neither of these men require any introduction, but both behind the workbench… way over-the-top! As you might guess, they are old friends, both highly skilled and highly regarded, both with very sharp wits, and with the hearts of teachers. I know you’ve seen St. Roy on the Woodwright’s Shop, and Frank has many instructional videos out, including cutting a set of dovetails in 3 minutes, available on Popular Woodworking’s website. This was intended to be a discussion of one approach compared to the other, but it didn’t turn out that way. Talk started out comparing each approach in making standard dovetails, then moved to half-blind (Frank calls them “half-lapped”) dovetails, and then into blind (or mitered) dovetails. At this point Roy mentioned that mitered dovetails could only be made by cutting pins first, and Frank immediately said, “How?” making Roy repeat “pins first.” Roy was Frank’s cameraman from then on! Roy demo’ed the very rare Passer Drill, a very unique tool used to make the mortises for the shaped brass escutcheons on try squares. Roy spent quite a bit of time running around behind the scenes pulling things out of boxes, arranging things for Frank, and doing things that I couldn’t follow, so late in the program when he pulled a little metal cylinder from a box and then telescoped it to about 3” high, I wasn’t surprised. He then pulled a second one out. I was puzzling what they were for until he pulled one of those really little bottles of liqueur out and poured a measure into each telescoping cup. Frank and he then toasted us. At another time in the session, they were both reflecting on the time that Frank visited the Woodwright’s Shop. Frank complimented him by noting that this show does not do takes—it is shot real time. Roy’s response was yes, he has 24 minutes and 27 seconds to get it right the first time. His tools are alcohol powered!! We laughed until our sides hurt.

Here are a few interesting comparisons. Roy works predominantly (or was supposed to be representing) the English style of dovetailing: precise layouts using folding rules, strict proportions (large width of pin 1/2 width of stock, small width of tail, 2x width of stock), pins with very narrow and almost feminine proportions, and laying out with marking knives. Frank works in a “continental” style: no marking, no jigs, who cares about the angle of the dovetails as long as they are pleasing. Just use a sharp pencil. Frank did say he loves the holdfast he borrowed from Roy.

After a great lunch visiting with Matt Vanderlist (what, you don’t know who he is by now? Matt’s Basement Workshop Podcast?) which we laughed and joked all the way through, I attended Frank Klausz’ Advanced Dovetail Techniques seminar. There we watched Frank cut full blind (err… mitered) dovetails, talking and teaching the entire time he was working. “You have time to set up particular dovetail jig to make project if you are hobbiest. If you vish to be paid for verk, you make drawer in 20 minutes, you have 6 drawers to dovetail, you pick up dovetail saw and chisel. No time to play vis jigs.” And on sharpening: “Best jigs you have is hands.” Dagnabit… he’s absolutely right. Here are some more write-me-downs: Frank is holding up the new Lie-Nielsen fishtail chisel, used for cleaning out dovetails. He’s holding it delicately, talking about buying good tools, and says, “These are my jewelry.” And then with raised eyebrows he quickly follows it with, “Because I deserve it!” “A tool is only expensive if it is cheaply made and doesn’t work, and will ruin your work.” Here’s the biggest one for me, the one I take to heart and ponder for a while. “Proper design, proper materials, proper joinery, and proper finishing makes classic furniture. We are making furniture not for our children, but for our children’s children.” I’m still pondering that.

My final session for the day was a panel “moderated” by Chris Schwartz and consisting of Joel Moskowitz of Gramercy Tools, and Mike Wenzloff of Wenzloff & Sons Saws. I got the distinct impression that Mike and Joel had… different approaches to their work. It was interesting to hear the varied opinions. Mike did offer a brief tutorial called “knocking the set out” of a saw that was over-set. I was also impressed with the fact that Chris started out the session by noting that Pete Taran and Patrick Leach reversed the downward-spiraling trend of the western saw when they formed the partnership of Independence Tools. Their saws were the finest made in America, and the tooling was sold to Tom Lie-Nielsen. Those saws are LN’s dovetail and carcase saws. What’s profound and personal about this is that I’m acquainted with both Pete and Patrick from the Old Tools Listserve, previously mentioned, and for the third time today I have heard that my IT saws with matching serial numbers are classics. What foresight I had, eh? I guess I’d better practice some more.

Liz and I did attend the Friday Evening Welcome Reception (a carry-over from last night because they couldn’t fit everybody into the room at the Boone Tavern,) and got to rub elbows with Adam Cherubini, St. Roy, The Schwartz, Mike Dunbar, Matt Vanderlist…

And tomorrow I do it again! Wooohoooo!!

Well over a decade later, and I’m listening to the whine of a Ford diesel as my wife and I soak in the beauty of a rich central Kentucky autumn; there is still enough color in the trees to take your breath away. I’m a little bleary-eyed for the memories flooding back, I had forgotten how much I loved this area of the world and how much fun I had had here. And we were both anticipating how much fun this event is going to be.

We found our hotel, got checked in, and decided to brave the campus of Berea College. I’ve been to Berea before, and had an idea of where the Boone Tavern was, and Warren May’s shop/showroom is (www.warrenamay.com) so I’m feeling like it’s homecoming (almost) for me. We find the alumni building, and register easily. There’s a slight mix-up in Liz’s registration for the big Welcome Event, but the efficient WIA staff quickly and cheerfully fix that. (These are GREAT folks, my friends. WIA needs to give them all raises.) We take our name badges and info, turn around, and there’s a woodworking bookstore being set up behind me, strategically placed to remind me of the tight budget I’m on. I think that reminder might be a VERY good thing.

After snagging a free copy of Woodworking Magazine I glance around and spot, lurking against a wall deeply involved in his copy of said magazine is Matt Vanderlist… Lumberjock and podcaster extraordinaire. We both use a strange internet program called “Twitter” which lets you post one-sentence blogs throughout the day, so we strike up a conversation that sounds like old friends meeting in person for the first time. That’s because we are. Soon there’s a circle growing that includes us and a number of other woodworkers and woodworking podcasters and “Twitter crowd” that are connecting. My wife is thinking this sounds like “White Christmas” when all the old Army buddies are getting together on the train platform. And then two things happen in such rapid succession it’s hard to tell where one began and the other left off.

Chris Schwartz sees Matt and greets him. Geez… I know someone who knows someone important! And right after that, we notice that Chris is with Roy Underhill… I’m removing my hat because St. Roy is in the area! And then I realize two things: I know someone who knows someone who knows someone that EVERYONE knows from TV, and that everyone here is going to be just as cool—we are all WOODWORKERS! This is going to be a tres cool, bonerific, crispy, shameless-shill weekend. I’m proud to be a Galoot!

I didn’t have a band saw that could handle this size stock at the time, so I had to borrow one. The loaner said, “Sure, it will cut 5” mesquite no problem.” It turned out to be a 12” Sears with a semi-sharp blade—it took 45 minutes per cut, two cuts per leg, 4 legs. They came out pretty rough, so I’ve gotten after them with my least favorite tool, the belt sander. Here are a couple more shots of the leg, two sides finished.

Does this remind you of “A Christmas Story?”

That’s all for tonight. I need to rest my back from using the dadgum belt sander.

Once again the literary blog of Chris Schwartz has stimulated my own (somewhat cranked) chain of consciousness toward the philosophical side of woodworking. “The Schwartz” recently offered a very positive review of Roy Underhill’s newest book (the link is here), which wasn’t fair because I can’t go out and buy it yet, and pre-ordering it only makes me feel like I’m 8 years old and it’s three weeks before Christmas. Dang. I’m pre-ordering it anyway, and I had a good Christmas when I was 8.

One of the commentators on the blog mentioned that some view St. Roy in particular, and from that I assume the Galooterati in general, as being Luddite. I pondered that for a little bit, checked Wikipedia to make sure the commentator was talking about the Luddite movement of England in the throes of the Industrial Revolution, and then concluded that such a thrown stone packed all the wallop of being called a “Neanderthal Woodworker” or a “Galoot.” Hit me again, please!

Now, to be a Luddite in the purest sense of the word, I would need to be militantly against the use of power tools. Personally, I’m not that way; I really don’t have the time to spend felling a maple tree (the hardest part is FINDING a maple tree in central Texas), hewing it, pit sawing it, stickering the flitches, ripping them with a hand saw, scrub planning them to near thickness, well, you get the idea. If I had to rely on those methods, it would be a very long time before anything would ever come out of my shop, with the possible exception of me in a pine box.

On the other hand, I fully concur with Chris that it is essential that we never, ever lose the techniques that correspond with the old tools that we celebrate. We venerate St. Roy because he takes such joy in passing along that knowledge (in his own inimitable style.) In an earlier blog, I expounded on how I feel that passing on the knowledge of those who have gone before us honors them and connects us to them. If that’s Luddite, bring it!

In the last couple of weeks I haven’t really put much time in on this project, but I was able to get the tail stock cut and pared to fit snugly between the ways. I wanted a very snug fit, because I don’t want the tail stock to develop any bias in terms of turning longitudinally to the lathe. I was able to achieve a very snug fit; I need a mallet to slide it along the ways. The tail stock is held in place by a tusk tenon and wedge system. So far, the wedge is the only non-dimensional piece of lumber in the whole outfit that is a permanent part of the tool.

I also installed bearings in both the left and right sides of the tail stock, and hacksawed and shaped some more 1/2” steel dowel to form the center. The pin is held captive by stop collars. Not too slick, but they work.

My goal for today was to get the treadle framework built and installed so that I could see if the geometry of the crank was going to work. A week or two ago I shortened the throw of the crank by about half, and have spent the ensuing time wondering why the cranks of other treadle lathes I’ve seen have been so short.

I figured it out.

Note the Renaissance can of Watco in the background…

In the spirit of a grand experiment, which is what this tool is, I’ve discovered the long crank combined with the ways only being 30” tall makes me feel like I’m riding a bicycle that’s too small for me. I feel like I’m going to belt myself in the chin with my kneecap. (Could happen, I suppose.) I’ve also found that I have hinged the treadle a little too far inboard; the hinge bolts need to be more outboard on the sides. This is as simple as drilling new holes for the hinge bolts and telling everybody the old holes aren’t a mistake, it’s an adjustable lathe.

The important thing is that the tool works. I treadled it and got the flywheel rolling pretty good, even though the treadle creates too great an arc movement, I think.

I noticed after a bit that the flywheel really didn’t seem very enthusiastic about flying, and upon investigating I found that the left stop collar which I had JB welded to the left flange had failed—apparently the JB unwelded. I’ll need to remove the left end of the head stock and re-JB weld this, unless I can find someone to actually weld it for me, since I don’t weld.

Next on my agenda is to make the modifications as noted, and try to create a drive pulley from laminating 3” disks. I need to rig up a tool rest, but that shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I also need to shape the head stock center so that it will form a star to grip the subject being turned, in order that I haven’t just created a treadle-powered boring machine. I’m getting closer all the time…

Recently there has been a video floating around of Frank Klaus cutting dovetails (using bow saws) in three minutes. If you haven’t seen it yet, here’s the link, but please note: all safety precautions need to be taken. Please fasten your seatbelt, look around you and find the nearest exit, double check your parachute, and make sure your helmet and protective eyewear are in place.

A very long time ago, before there was something called the “New Testament,” God used to show up to the Old Testament folk in strange and unexpected manners. He might show up in a burning bush, or on a mountaintop, or as a soft, gentle breeze, or in a valley of dry, dusty bones. In whatever manner God chose His current self-revelation, the ancient Hebrews knew they were in for something big, as in Charlton Heston and Cecile B. DeMille; something that they had no control over, something that would change their lives for the better and would last forever, and something that kind of set them apart from the other tribes of the Ancient Near East. But they also knew it was something they could only watch, because the Being they were watching was actually DOING things (rather than just talking, like a lot of the other gods,) and because they knew what was happening was just so far beyond themselves. Sometimes you have to watch stuff and spend the rest of your life processing it in order to understand it. Sometimes you never understand it.

I had a similar epiphany watching Mr. Klaus cut his dovetails. Just every now and then you realize you are in the presence of someone who early on discerned what he or she had been born to do, and acted upon it. I want to be that way when I grow up.

The pins that catch the blade simply epoxy into the handles, which are pre-drilled to the proper diameter. Once I completed the new stretcher (I kept the old one in deference to my Scottish heritage) and epoxied the handles, it was a simple matter of cutting and tapering the windlass stick. A couple of coats of Watco all the way around, a blob of packaging string my wife had on hand (I know, bottom-feeder,) and Bob’s your uncle. The saw cuts more sweetly than any coping saw I’ve used, and has a lot more inertia besides.

So, now that I’m down to only two major projects (See Moby Plank and Treadle Lathe under this blog) I’m afraid that my MPD isn’t being satiated. I wonder what’s next?

I actually got some shop time this weekend. Not enough, it’s never enough! I had the opportunity to continue the lathe saga, and to “engineer” some of the metal parts. Now, I never purported to be a metal worker, but after a couple of tries the axle/crank came out better than I had hoped, in terms of nice crisp bends. I may find that the length of the crank arm (to use cycling nomenclature) is too long, resulting in a wildly flailing Pittman arm or a treadle that requires an arc of two feet (ar ar..) In keeping with the original design considerations and my admitted penchant for being a bottom feeder, I visited my local hardware store and came home with a handful of bearings and stop collars. Total bill, $28.00. After cutting the 45 degree flywheel supports, I counterbored with a Forstner bit and JB-welded (carefully) the bearing into the counterbore, so that each bearing sits more or less flush with the inner surface of the support. I also added a couple of floor flanges to the flywheel itself, and put it together to see what it would look like.

It’s starting to look like a lathe enough that I’m getting excited!

Now to fabricate the parts that will affix the flywheel to it’s axle. This isn’t easy, because in case I didn’t tell you, I’m not a metal worker. I don’t know how to weld (yet.) The closest I can come to welding is to open a package of J-B Weld and mix it. So I did. I took two of the hardware store stop collars I had picked up and dressed their backs with a file.

I then cleaned and flattened the nipple end of the floor flange, being sure to remove all galvanizing. I then ran a bead of J-B weld around the nipple end of the flange, and popped the stop collar on it. I’ll report later if it works… or doesn’t.

This is as far as I got today before my 11 year old came out with his and my bows and said, “C’mon, Dad! How about some archery with me?” I couldn’t pass that up, so I’ll be back at it tomorrow night!

And here comes the “But…”

After beginning to assemble the frame over the weekend, I began to notice that a couple of the upright pieces didn’t really want to sit flat on the assembly table. Further investigation revealed that in the time it took me to prepare the rear way, it had taken a notion to, shall we say, go it’s own way. That twist was NOT there when I started, and the lesson is that there is meaning to the fact that your supposedly kiln-dried material is forming puddles of water rather than piles of sawdust on your workbench as you saw. Hmmm. It was back to the Big Box store, down the dimensional lumber aisle, and to the more expensive 2×4 stack. And then, back to the bench.

I’ve re-cut that way, and have found my joints aren’t as tight as they were the first go-round. Figures. The good news is that the feet of the uprights all sit flush on the assembly table. My next step will be to finish bolting the ways to the legs and then to add the diagonals that capture the flywheel.

I started with taking a couple of 2×4’s and cutting half dovetails in them. They were left over from the platform I built so that I could build my assembly table. Now that I have the table, the jointed 2×4’s can become lathe ways, a more noble purpose, perhaps. This is a couple of the half-dovetails sawn with my crispy IT saws, not purtied up:

I then put a considerable amount of energy into the flywheel. It all started at Lowes… I didn’t have the stock on hand. Brought it home, threw it across the jointer, and glued it up. A couple of hours later I found a center, drove a finish nail through it, and started routing using a shop-made router circle cutting jig. It went pretty well until the finish nail pulled through. Disaster. I then had an oblong wheel, and I don’t even care for the elliptical machines at the gym! A 4d common nail, a new hole in the router jig, and viola! It has been healed, slightly smaller in diameter but round nonetheless.

It will be a few days before I can enter the sanctuary again, so I’ll post more when I get more. Thanks for following this!

Well, I went ahead and ordered the pin-handle-sawblade kit from Gramercy. I put the order in on Wednesday, the stuff was in my mailbox on Friday, and it came through via priority mail because I’m too cheap to have it overnighted. Now, I don’t care who you are, that’s fast. I didn’t need the overnight service.

The pins are a nicely turned brass, and I epoxied them into the handles today. Until I have my lathe built, I’m going to call that one good. I would say that for where I’m at right now, that was money well spent.

I ran into a problem, however; the blade was about 1-1/2” shorter than what I had planned on. I had been roughly following plans that called for a longer blade, so I wound up keeping my original walnut cross-beam and making a second one out of cherry that will match the length, if not the aesthetics. Truth be told, cherry is my favorite wood anyway, so it’s all good, and I’ll have the ability to use a longer blade in the future. In the mean time, I’ll be up and running whenever I get to town and find some braided fishing line. I’ll post pictures when I get that far.

Time to go eat some humble pie now.

In keeping with the bottom-feeder tradition, I’m trying to build the whole thing out of big box store dimensional lumber. I haven’t researched the bearings yet, but in the renderings I have the flayrod made out of 1\2” rod stock with a bearing welded on. I can see where it would be perfectly serviceable if I had a 1×3 with a bearing on the crank end and a bearing over a lag screw on the treadle end. I hope to begin construction this weekend—Momma wants me to get a project or two finished before I start, however. Sounds like “honey-do’s” to me…

This is sort of a front perspective of what I’ve come up with:

The same thing, slightly more to the side:

And a detail of the tail stock, using a tusk tenon and wedge:

I’ve concluded that no matter what I do to these jpg’s, Lj’s is going to crop the right side of them. I tried to trick it, but I can’t fool it. I apologize for the partial pictures.

Tell me what you think so far!

Every since I saw Roy Underhill (herewith referred to as “St. Roy,”) using his treadle lathe, I have been, well, smitten. I don’t have an electric lathe, I don’t have any lathe, and I need a lathe. I don’t have $600 either, and I need that, but that brings me full circle to the treadle lathe. Furthermore, the Moby Plank project is going to finish up another month or so out, longer if I can’t come up with a big band saw to use, and the bow saw will get knocked out this weekend when the parts arrive.

So, when my wife banished me to the shop tonight and said “Go cut some wood,” (I was strenuously protesting, too, but she shoved me right out the door) I found some dimensional lumber just laying around in the loft. Gee. I took a 2×4 over to the miter saw and laid it up on the bed, and whish wound up with a board exactly 42” long. Gee. Need a second. “whish”. Those look remarkably like something—wait, it’s coming to me—yes! The ways to a treadle lathe! And we’re off…

I don’t have any clue how I’m going to handle the metal parts of this puppy, not being much up on the likes of bearing varieties, flayrods and pittman arms. I guess I will be soon…

I’ll get pictures as work progresses.