I like non-drying vegetable-based oils. Not just for frying up chicken, but for keeping rust at bay in my basement workshop at home.

What's not to like? For nearly 14 years these oils have kept rust at bay on my hand tools in a damp below-grade space (with the help of "woobie," and "spawn of woobie"). Well, I hate the little plastic spray bottles that these oils come packaged in. The spray mechanisms get gummed up. And the oils that come in lotion bottles end up depositing their load if you tip them over.

So years ago I went old school: tin oilcans. These little fellers were used for oiling sewing machines and the like and cost me all of $4 (I paid a premium because I bought one that wasn't all gummed up). They work great with camillia and jojoba oils, the hippie-style hair tonic and skin moisturizing oils of choice these days. The oilcan shown in the photos is about 2" in diameter at the base.

Have you ever used an oilcan? They are brilliant. Turn them upside-down and ... nothing happens. Turn them upside down and gently press their little tin bottom and oil comes out the spout. After a few squirts you'll become a master at dispensing just enough oil for a saw, a block plane blade or a handplane sole.

And best of all, antique stores and eBay are littered with oilcans. Heck there are probably a few in your attic.

Throw away the gummy plastic spray bottles. Turn to the tin side.

— Christopher Schwarz

Nothing drives a trained journalist crazier than an unanswered question.

As you probably know, the book "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" doesn't name the original author. He (and it almost certainly was a "he") didn't put his name on the book for a variety of reasons:

1. Perhaps the work was too "lowbrow" for someone of high station.
2. The original publisher, Charles Knight, didn't want the author known for some reason, or Knight simply didn't think it would help sales of the book.
3. The work was written by someone with zero credibility.

Now, before you cast your lot in with one of these three theories, here are a couple other data points. For starters, many of these "Guide to Trade" series of books from Charles Knight were written anonymously. "The Printer," one of the other truly notable books in the series, has a fictional point of view much like "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker," but it has no author listed. As do many other books in the series.

So "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" wasn't an anomaly in the "Guide to Trade" series.

Could the author have been someone who didn't know jack-crap about woodworking? I think the evidence is mixed here. Though the language and the book's "trade practices" match up with many other accounts, there is some evidence that some things are awry.

Point 1: Which comes first: The groove or the mortise?
When Thomas the young apprentice is building the "Chest of Drawers," he builds an elaborate frame-and-panel chest back. It's a lot of work. Maybe too much work. As I noted in the book, I haven't seen any chests from this era built like this. And, as Don McConnell from Clark & Williams,  pointed out: The order of operations in building the back is odd.

Thomas plows a groove to hold the panels. Then he cuts the mortises. Trade practice was (and still is) to cut the mortises first and then plow the groove second. This procedure has a lot more forgiveness built in than the way Thomas built the back.

In other words, the process didn't ring entirely true.

Second point: The book's discussion of dovetailing the "Chest of Drawers" is odd in a few points. Though the book insists that pins are cut first, the book then explains an operation where cutting pins first is just silly: Dovetailing three rails into the top edge of the carcase sides. It's foolish to cut the pins first here.

And while we are on the topic of dovetails, the language used by the author was a bit odd to me at one point. Though "The Joiner and Cabinet Maker" calls the joint a "dovetail," the joint is separated into "pins" and "the holes that the pins fit into." Other accounts from the period separate the joint into "pins" and "tails," just like we do today. It's just odd.

I don't know what all this adds up to. Honestly, most of the language and techniques line up with what we know of trade practice in early 19th-century England. But the exceptions do stick in my craw.

I have some ideas about how to track down the author and am working on it now. None of them are easy or fast. So does who wrote the book really matter?

— Christopher Schwarz

One of the interesting things about the "Joiner and Cabinet Maker" are the construction details you can find in almost every sentence. I've read the book at least six times now, and every time I dip into the text I unearth something I hadn't seen before.

It's not because the book is Pynchon-esque in its density. It was, after all, written for the crafty 19th-century adolescent. Instead, it's because I'm a little different every time I read it.

For example, I'm quite enamored with the feet on the Chest of Drawers in the book. The author is open-ended about the method for creating the ogee curves on the feet, saying only that you should take your time to get them looking nice.

Then the feet are mitered at the corners and we'll pick up the story from there:

"To strengthen the mitre, which is glued and sprigged together, a strip of wood an inch square is glued all down in the inside corner, and sprigged also to the sides. It is better to leave this corner piece a little longer than the sides, to pro­ject perhaps a quarter of an inch below them, so that if the floor on which the chest is to stand be a little uneven, a small piece may be cut off one leg or other, as may be required. They are fastened by glue and sprigs; or, which is better, by screws through the thinnest part of the sides into the chest bottom, and by a couple of sprigs driven in slanting through the upper part of the corner piece. The legs should be placed with the two faces flush with the faces of the chest at the corner. They may be farther strength­ened by two blocks of wood to each; an inch square, and as long as there is room for, glued into the corner, and sprigged both to the leg and the chest. These blocks are shewn in fig. 9. It is not usual to put in so many sprigs in making and fastening on the legs; but then they soon come off, and have to be glued and sprigged at last, with the chance of having been broken first. So Thomas thinks it best to make a good strong job of them at once."

For me, this is interesting stuff. The people who taught me about antique furniture and the like always insisted that these glue blocks were held in only with a hide-glue rub joint. If there were nails or screws in the glue blocks, then they were added later by the owner or a ham-handed "restorer."

Yet here we have evidence that some of the nailed glue blocks might be original. So thanks Thomas. This is another lesson I've learned from a 14-year old. And it's a bit more useful than the last lesson I got from a young teen-ager (which was that my blue jeans legs should drag the floor if I wanted to be "cool").

— Christopher Schwarz

Today I taught my 8-year-old to sharpen. It took five minutes.

Instead of teaching her about abrasives and honing angles and all the other theory my head is filled with, I took a hands-off approach to this important hand skill.

I showed her how to secure the blade in a honing guide. I showed her the three waterstones (and the sheer delight of squirting water from the plant sprayer into your mouth. Then Katy decided to use the plant sprayer to pretend she was a boy… a story for another blog and perhaps Katy’s prom night.)

Then I gave her these instructions for sharpening: “Rub it back and forth until it is as shiny as you can get it. Then clean it and go to the next stone.”

I walked away and let her give it a whirl. In less than 10 minutes she showed me her edge. I could see myself in it. (In more ways than one, I suppose). Then I showed her how to back off the iron on the polishing stone.

We oiled the blade together and reassembled the block plane. Then she took the plane to work on pine and pulled up the same wispy shavings she always does. She didn’t have some sort of Zen-like koan-solving moment. The plane just worked like it should work. And sharpening it was no big deal.

Sometimes I think our heads are apt to stop our hands. We read too much, think too much and worry. Sometimes I think the best way to learn a task is to do it without reading anything about it. (Boy this sounds like a dumb argument from a magazine editor.) Just do the task – fail if you need to – but perform the task from beginning to end.

Then read like crazy to understand why the tools worked the way they did.

Last year we did a little experiment with a new employee, Drew Depenning. I told Senior Editor Glen Huey to have Drew cut dovetails during his first week at work. Drew had never cut a single joint by hand. He didn’t know to be afraid. So he cut his dovetails and they came out fine.

With that out of the way, Drew could get on with learning all the ins and outs of the craft.

This works great in woodworking. Probably not so well at a nuclear reactor.

— Christopher Schwarz

Sometimes you read old accounts of workshop practice where there’s a pot of raw linseed oil by the bench. Andre Roubo’s bench had a little swing-out pot of oil underneath the bench. Likely it was used to oil the soles of the planes or the plates of the saws to make them slide more easily.

Today I found another good use for an oil pot on the bench.

I just finished raising three panels by hand that will be dust panels between the drawers of a chest. Each panel is a single board of 17”-wide Eastern white pine. Raising the first two panels was a piece of cake. But the third one had a nasty knot on the corner.

The knot was denser than any maple I’ve worked and so raising that corner was slow going, and the results looked pretty raggy, too.

To make it easier to push my plane I lubricated the sole a few times with camellia oil. It helped, but it was like spitting on a forest fire, it wasn’t nearly enough.

So without really thinking I squirted the knot a few times with the oil. That made quite a difference, and I finished up the panel with a few more squirts and a few more strokes. Not only was the knot easier to cut, but the result looked much better, too.

I better buy another bottle of the oil.

— Christopher Schwarz