John completes the Trestle Table

I must admit that I do not like the corbels on Chris’s trestle table.  I don’t like the way the ends look rounded.  Being a smart guy, I just incorporated the width that the corbel adds to the stretcher to get the total width of my version.  My finished stretcher was 7” wide instead of 6” that Chris stated in the plan.  That said I was ready to paint the base and put a finish on the top.

Then I got a chance to speak to Chris and proudly told him my artistic change.  His response caused a pit in my stomach.  He said there was a reason for the 6” width.  It was to avoid hitting your shins on the stretcher when you extended your legs or hitting you knees when you pushed your chair in.  Gee Whiz!  I acted calm and as soon as I hung up the phone I grabbed a chair and shoved myself under the top.  I was ok with the shins test but hit my damn knees on the stretcher.  Yep I only needed an inch more of clearance.

There is a reason for some things in a plan.  I seem to never follow a plan exactly but within a plan there are usually a couple of hidden reasons that may not come clear until a mistake is made.  To remedy my situation I cut a slow curve on the base that reduced the width by an inch at the center of the stretcher and curved out to 7” where it met the leg braces.  You can see in the picture what it looks like.  I put two coats of black paint on the based then two coats of a dark green.  I covered the top in Boiled Linseed Oil and wet sanded it with 600 grit sandpaper.  I then used six coats of an oil based varnish.  Six coats because of the continued difficulty in getting a perfect streak free finish in a top this long.  It is still not right but I threw out the old table and the wife and kids returned from vacation.  Oh well, it can be put on the “to do when I have spare time” list.

-John

I was able to get a resource for the ramped mortis I used when installing hinges on my plane cabinet.  As you recall I ramped one side of the mortis to accomodate the non-swaged hinges.  This of course was not an original idea of mine and it generated some great thougths on the blog.

Below is a page from Charles Hayward's “Carpentry for Beginners”.  If you look at figure 2 you can see that he is showing a ramp for one side of the non-swaged hinge.  The file is a word document.  I was unable to post the picture directly onto this blog, sorry about that.  If you have any trouble opening it please let me know and I can email it to you.

Regards
John


Hayward.doc (926 KB)

When you design a piece of furniture to build, there are three well-worn paths (some might call them ruts) to follow.

The first path is to design a piece in a wholly original style. This actually happens about once or twice a century, and its rarity is why we don’t have furniture styles such as “Early Bill,” “Middle Chuck” or the “Late Butch Period.” Few people alive can claim they have successfully launched a style, but don’t let that stop you from trying.

The second approach is to build replicas, either spot-on or with mild alterations, such as an additional drawer, or substituting a square ovolo moulding for a bead. This is a good way to learn the vocabulary of different styles, though it is time-consuming to learn everything by the doing. Some woodworkers (even professionals) might build only six pieces in a year.

The third approach is to design a new piece with vintage parts, like rebuilding an old car. With this approach, you expose yourself to hundreds of images of the form. You could look at tables, cabriole legs or Arts & Crafts desks, for example. Then you select your piece’s dominant element from the library – say a leg, a door or a bonnet – and design your piece around that. (However, you can’t easily mix parts from different genres. It might seem like a good idea to put a Honda push rod in a Chevy, until you hit that metric barrier.)

When asked the secret to good design, Steve Hamilton, a builder at Mack S. Headley & Sons (headleyandsons.com), boiled it down to two words: “Picture books,” he said. “Get a bunch. Look them over.”

Design on the Run
Designing a suitable early American wall cupboard for Woodworking Magazine began with a day in our collection of books and images. You don’t need to spend a lot of money to build a book collection, most of the resources you need are at the public library and on the Internet.

My first stop was Wallace Nutting’s “A Furniture Treasury.” This book is available in many different forms, and it’s common to find copies for about $25. The book is as-advertised. It’s hundreds of pages of images of early American stuff that has been organized into categories such as “chests” and “Windsor chairs.”

The second source was auction catalogs from Christie’s (christies.com) and Sotheby’s (sothebys.com) auction houses. The catalogs these houses publish for their Americana auctions are outstanding. Good images. Good overall dimensions. And good history lessons as well. These catalogs can be pricey at $50 or more, but you can usually browse the catalogs on the Internet for free, though sometimes you have to register with the auction house (registration is free).

The third source was an old favorite of mine from my grandparents’ library: “Fine Points of Furniture: Early American” (Crown) by Albert Sack. This common book can be had for about $10 – the new revised edition is much more expensive and rare. Sack’s book compares different kinds of pieces and ranks them as “good,” “better” or “best.” This book helps hone your tastes in mouldings, proportion and turnings.

After a day of reading, I chose a fetching tombstone door from Nutting’s book and found many tall and skinny shapes for wall cupboards that looked like pieces I had seen at Winterthur, the DuPont’s Delaware estate and museum.

My design firmed up when my doctor got too busy for me one Wednesday. After showing up for my appointment, I was told there would be an hour delay. So I sat in my car and sketched about 10 wall cabinets. I didn’t worry about dimensions or joinery, just the overall look and feel of the piece. Each sketch took about five minutes and tried out variations on the door (one or two?), the drawer (one, two or none?) and the width of the stiles and rails (chunky or light?).

After those sketches, I chose the best two designs, sketched them again and showed them around to woodworkers and friends. It sounds like a lot of work, but I have found that good design is like making stir fry: You first chop vegetables and mix sauces for a long time. The active cooking time is real short – if you’ve done your prep work.

— Christopher Schwarz

Here are pics of the completed Plane cabinet.  I haven’t forgot the issue that was raised in the comments section related to “ramping” the mortis  I will get back to that when I have something intelligent to say.  Here are some “learning points” I got from finishing this project. 

I had a problem installing the molding around the lid.  The problem started when I discovered that the lid was a hair too narrow in width, meaning the molding would not go over the box.   As with most of my mistakes I have no idea how this happened.   No problem, I figured I would plane a shallow rabbet into the area of the molding  that went over the box.  This worked.  Great , on my way to my next mistake.

When making the molding for the lid of the plane cabinet, I thought it would look cool to angle the outside edge of the molding. Not a big deal, just run a plane on half of the molding along it's length. The result, the molding is thick where it is nailed to the lid and tapered where it covers the box.  Being very proud of my use of my planes I cut the mitres for the corners and put my new shooting board to work.

That's when my next mistake appeared.  When trying to plane the mitre I could not get a perfect 45 degree joint.  I would run the plane on the mitre and it made a nice cut.  I put the two pieces together which did not result in a tight joint.  I continued to repeat this process getting the same result.  As much as I tried to get a straight mitre, and as much as I checked and rechecked the trueness of the shooting board I could not get the damn thing right!  Then I realized that I had created a compound mitre by tapering the molding before making the mitres.   The molding sat on the shooting board at a non 45 degree angle causing the problem.  I am sure there are a number of  people saying “no kidding” or some variation…  I should have waited until the molding was attached to the box then used the plane to taper. Once again a time consuming mistake but lesson learned.  And once again, it wasn't the tools.

I got cast iron handles from Lee Valley that came with wood screws. I was concerned that the weight of the cabinet full of planes could be too much for the screws.  I consulted Chris who said "since they are not my planes...Go for it!" I chose instead to use brass machine bolts with nuts and washers.

Oh, one last thing. The raised panel moved inside the lid frame. To solve this issue, I shot a brad into the center bottom area of the inside side of the lid, stopping this movement. I put a coat of oil onto the walnut then took 600 grit sandpaper and sanded a second coat of oil into the walnut. This leaves a touch-ably smooth surface.  When the oil is completely dry I will add two coats of varnish.

-John

John is explaining a problem installing non swaged hinges…

I recently completed a plane cabinet.  Yes I actually completed something!  This was a cabinet following Chris’s plans, that holds all my planes. I made it out of walnut which has become my favorite wood.  Anyway, I needed to put quality hinges on the lid and since my past experience with no-mortis hinges caused me to turn the air blue, I went with a traditional hinge. I hoped to avoid one of my last problems, that of sheering off the head of the cheap screws that came with hinge leaving the shaft in places that were very important.  When this happened last time the shaft of the screw could not be removed which resulted in having to move the hinge and of to keep symmetry, I had to move the hinge on the other side. So that is the end of those type hinges.

This time I bought high quality extruded brass hinges. The only hitch is that the hinge is not swaged.  This means when the hinge leafs are closed there is a gap at the barrel end of the hinge (the area where the two leaves are connected by a pin). A swaged hinge is bent so that when both leaves are closed the touch from the front edge to the barrel. No gap. The issue with non swaged hinges, which by the way were used extensively in period shops, is that one of the mortises has to be formed like a ramp. The ramp will accept this gap at the barrel. The depth of the ramp in the mortis is the distance of the gap. I hope I am not sounding brilliant or confusing.  The picture will show you both the hinge issue and the ramped mortis. 

I placed the hinge on the work and used it to mark my lines for the mortis. I then set my new marking gauge (a Titemark Chris gave me for hunchbacking the Hotlzapffel bench to Maine and back), to the size of the gap. I mark this distance on the edge where the barrel of the hinge will be. This will be the deep end of the ramp. I got out my new Lie-Nielsen 1/2 chisel and carefully started to remove the waste. Having the depth of the mortis marked allows me to have a line to work to. The goal is to lay the hinge into the mortis and have it sit level with only one leaf above the mortis. In the picture you will see the ramped mortis and also see the hinge. This picture is of my second attempt. I blew out the very thin bit of wood on the long side of the hinge. Like the Dwarfs of Moria in LOTR, I dug too greedily and too deep which required a shim to be glued into the mortis to lift it to the correct height.  Oh well one side looks great!

I haven’t stopped working on the Trestle table.  I am almost there and will post a final pic when I get it done.

 

-John

No matter how much (or little) money you have, if you are clever enough you can score an exquisite chisel for about $1.

I was reminded this week when I picked up some items on eBay and had to take a few extra unwanted items in the lot, including three plastic-handled chisels. Two of them were Craftsman chisels that were dead ringers for my grandfather’s 1970s-era tools.

The third was a Stanley 1-1/4”-wide 720 chisel with a translucent yellow handle and steel striking button on its end. Normally chisels like this wouldn’t warrant a second look in a flea market box. But if you take a close look at these 720s, you could end up with an excellent worker.

The trick is to know what’s important and what’s not. Here’s my short list of the key features:

1. The handle has to be comfortable for paring or chopping. The 720 passes this test with flying colors. Its vague Coke-bottle-shaped grip falls right into your fingers in both positions. In fact, when gripping it for chopping, the chisel is comfortable only when your index finger is out of the way of the striking button. The only disadvantage of the 720's handle is that it gets a little slippery when your hands get sweaty.

2. The chisel has to be balanced when you grip the tip of the blade like a pencil (this is the grip for holding the tool for positioning it for light chopping). The 720 is a tad top-heavy for this operation. It’s not unusable, but it's not perfect.

3. The steel should be easy to sharpen and keep a decent edge. Chisels that are too hard take too long to hone. The 720s are good steel. I bought a couple of these early on in the craft and have also sharpened those belonging to students. They’re good steel.

4. The long edges should be narrow. Very narrow. This is where most mid-priced chisels fail. The narrow side-bevels allow you to sneak into the acute corners of the tail portion of dovetail joints. The 720s are generally very good about this. The one I just bough has side bevels smaller than 1/16”. Nice.

Oh, and there’s one more important characteristic: The chisel has to be fairly rust-free (especially on the unbeveled face side). This particular example is a miserable failure as it probably spent a few years in the bottom of a chum bucket. I cleaned the scaling off with a Klingspor Sandflex block and took a look. Craters everywhere.

Oh well, what do you want for $1?

— Christopher Schwarz

John is working on completing the Trestle Table

I used my tax stimulus money to buy a flat screen TV.  The problem is that I have to walk past the TV to get to the shop.  So I was enjoying TV in all it flatness when I saw the end of the table sticking out of the shop.  It seemed to beckon me as it lay there cupped and in need of work.  But, I am a man, so I grabbed the remote and ignored it.  Now I am back at it and dealing with the cup across the width of the table.

The trestle table top (say that three times fast!)  is made from two book matched cherry boards.  They finished out at 103 inches long and 13 inches wide.  I added a middle board to the two book matched pieces to get a final width of 31 inches.  This was going to be a kitchen table but with the length, it goes into the living room.  I could have cut the top…only kidding, I would never cut boards like that.  Would you? 

The thickness of the top is just under ¾ inch so it flattens when forced without that nasty cracking noise that indicates you just learned another lesson.  The cup, which you can see in the picture, is a ¼ inch.  For the picture I clamped on side of the table flat so you can see the total cup that I needed to flatten. 

Now the bread board ends create a cross grain situation and wood movement becomes an issue.  I like wood movement! There I said it.  I like feeling the non flush edges that arrive with the seasons.  My friend has a table from the great Christian Becksvoort and he insisted on bread board ends.  He can feel with his fingers that the top has moved.  I like these oddities and have added divots and ridges under the arms of chairs for a person to finger when sitting.  These subtle aspects humanize a piece. 

First thing to do was to determine the size and layout of the tennons.  Since we have a cross grain situation I am only going to glue the middle tennon,.  I decided on three tennons because it gives me a middle.  I think five tennons would work if the width would accommodate it.  I also used a stub tennon on the entire width of the top.  This stub is 3/8 inch in length.  The thickness of all tennons is a ¼ inch.  A rule of thumb in deciding the widths of the tennons is the have all of them equal ½ the total width of the table.  For me, I made them 5 inches for a total tennon width of 15 inches.  It is also important to have enough wood at the ends of the bread boards so I started the tennons ¾ inch in from the edge.  I marked the mortis locations from the tennons.  I increased the mortis for the end tennons by 1/8 inch on each side to allow for movement.

One thing about mortis and tennons that is finally sinking in is that they are related.  What you do to one has an effect on the other.  For example, my first idea was a tennon that looked like the tongue from the Rolling Stones symbol.  From the tennons’ perspective I was right, but what about the mortis?  Chris pointed out that the walls of the mortis are just as important as the tennon.  If the walls are too thin, the tennon will crack them and that old sinking feeling arrives.   At least this time I learned a lesson without cutting wood!

Regards
John

As a kid, probably the first furniture style that I ever became aware of was the Prairie style, the strongly rectilinear forms that most people associate with Frank Lloyd Wright.

My dad had lots of books about architecture lying around the house that he used to help him design the two houses for our farm outside Hackett, Ark. I used these books to help me design model houses that I built using Legos and wooden blocks.

Lucky for me, Prairie-style houses and furniture are easily built with rectilinear Legos. And Wright's system of proportioning favored 2:1 ratios – that's the ratio my wooden block set used.

The last piece of the puzzle was the cape that my mom made for me when I was 5 so I could be Superman at Halloween. After seeing photos of Wright wearing a cape, I also took to wearing my cape when I'd build houses and furniture in my room.

I know what you are thinking: It's amazing that I ever married.

In any case, I've always been drawn to Wright's aesthetic. I've visited houses of his in many cities, I've been through his furniture and papers at the Prairie Archive at the Milwaukee Art Museum, and one of the highlights of my young life was sitting in one of his original barrel chairs.

So I'm quite excited to get started on a new project for an upcoming issue of Woodworking Magazine – an end table designed in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright. I didn't want to slavishly copy one of his designs, and so I'm hoping to build a piece that is inspired by a table at the Dana House (one of my favorite tours), and uses geometric forms found at the May House in Grand Rapids, Mich.

I've drawn a bunch of sketches, but I decided that this piece really calls out for a full-size prototype in wood. Luckily, we have some thick ash lying around the shop that's left over from a co-worker's bench-building project, so there was only a little bit of machine work required to get the parts in shape.

My favorite tool for building prototypes is my Kreg pocket-hole jig. This sucker allows me to assemble and disassemble projects quickly. I screw them together, shake my head at the stupid design choices I've made, unscrew the parts, trim them down and then start the process over.

This weekend I got the basic form real close after about three hours of work. My top started out entirely too thick. It was 2" thick and now it's more like 1-5/8". Now I just need to fuss around with the inside guts to get the geometrical designs inside looking good. My No. 1 concern is where I place the large suspended square. Because end tables are typically viewed from a standing position, I need to get it close to the floor.

I'm also a bit worried that things will look too busy inside the table if I put two of these squares in the base. Perhaps I need to go home tonight, put on my old cape (yup, I still got it) and page through some more picture books on Wright.

— Christopher Schwarz

One of the most important early books on woodworking has been indecipherable to everyone who cannot read 18th-century French. Andre Roubo’s landmark five-volume “L’Art Du Menuisier” is difficult to find – reprints are available mostly in Europe and at Tools for Working Wood – and even harder to actually use.

To my knowledge, no one has attempted a systematic translation of these books, which cover furniture-making, carpentry, marquetry, carriage-building and garden structures.

Ever since I first got a glimpse of Roubo’s books, with their exquisite oversized engravings of woodworking tools, benches and practices, I was hooked and really wanted to engage in a full translation. But rather than learn 18th-century French, I’ve enlisted the help of Bjenk Ellefsen, a woodworker, post doctorate fellow in cross-national comparative socio-economical studies and native French speaker.

Bjenk has been reading and translating volume one on carpentry and construction for us, and we are going to publish it here in installments on the Lost Art Press blog as they are completed. These installments will be free for all, but Bjenk and I have a request: If you spot errors, typos, inconsistencies, or things that just don’t make sense, please drop us a line or leave a comment below that entry. We’ll look into it. We want this translation to work for working woodworkers. (And if you want to help translate, let us know that as well. There is plenty to do.)

This section is best read with plate 11 handy. By clicking on the link below, you can download a larger version that is easier to read.

Plate11_full.jpg (848.54 KB)

This is an exciting personal project for Bjenk and me. And while I don’t know when we’ll be done or what we’ll learn, I know it’s going to be a great trip. As you’ll see as you read the first entry – about Roubo’s famous workbench from Plate 11 – the information is golden. During the next installment you’ll learn about preparing stock, and you’ll learn a little more about Bjenk.

— Christopher Schwarz

A note on dimensions: The French system of measurement in the 18th century is a little different than the modern imperial system. A French inch (pouce) is the equivalent to 1.066” in modern imperial. Each French inch is further divided into 12 “lines.” Each line is equivalent to .088” today. The French foot is 12.44”.

We chose to leave the French measurements intact in the text, but we’ve provided modern equivalents in brackets when Roubo discusses “lines” – which is a bit foreign to modern eyes. The other measurements in feet and inches have been left intact from the original manuscript. If you need to convert a certain measurement to a modern equivalent, you can use the paragraph above to make the conversion.

Menuisier, I. Part. Chap. V
Third Section
On tools for cutting and preparing wood

The workbench is the first and most necessary of all tools for “woodworking” (see translator’s note No. 1 below). It is made up of a top, four legs, four rails and a bottom. The top is made from a sturdy plank or table of 5” to 6” thick by 20” to 25” wide; its length varies from 6’ to 12’, but the most common length is 9’. This table is made out of elm or beech wood but most commonly from the latter, which is very stout and of a tighter grain than the other.

It must be pierced with many holes into which a holdfast can be placed. These holes must have 14 to 16 lines of diameter [1-1/4” to 1-13/32”] and must be pierced through the top of the bench perpendicularly. Their number is not fixed, but in general we must avoid making too many unnecessarily. Eight to nine is appropriate; that is, four placed 8” to 10” in from the front edge of the workbench, one of which will be 14” to 16” inches from the hook, and the others of equal distance starting from the right front leg of the bench until the first hole, like those that are a, a, a, a in Figure 1. The others b, b, b, b are pierced on the other side of the workbench and laid out so that they will be placed in the middle of the spaces between the holes at front, to about 1’ from each end of the workbench.

At 3” from the front edge of the top, we cut a mortise through the top that is 3” square, which must be very perpendicular and precisely straight inside so that the stop, which we insert into it with some resistance and that we raise or lower with a mallet, does not split the sides (of the mortise), which would happen if the inside was concave.

The stop must be 1’ long at least and made with very stiff and dry oak so that it can resist the mallet blows we have to administer to move it. At the top of this stop we place an iron hook, which has teeth similar to those of a saw, to hold the wood in place that we work on. We must observe that the hook is tight in the top of the stop and that the teeth are raised slightly so that when working with very thin pieces, we do not strike the hook and its teeth with the iron of the tools, which would happen if the back of the hook was more elevated than the front. The shank of the hook which enters the stop must be square in form and pointed at the tip. The shank and the top must not be welded but made of one piece that we bend with fire. The teeth of the hook must extend out the front of the stop by six to eight lines [1/2” to 11/16”]; extending the teeth more would be useless and problematic because the teeth could break. See figures 5 and 6, which represent a stop with its hook and a hook by itself.

The legs of the workbench are made from hard oak, very stiff, 6” wide by 3” or 4” in thickness; they are assembled through the top with through-tenons and through-dovetails. The custom is to make the tenon flush with the back of the leg, see figure 2. However, I believe that it would be best to leave a shoulder on the back of this same leg so that the top can rest on the shoulder on the back of the legs like on the front. This is so when workbenches get older, they don’t risk sinking in on their legs like it happens sometimes. The assembly of the legs (to the top) must be extremely tight especially along their width. And to make them even sturdier, we widen the mortises on top to make room for wood shims that we insert by force into the tenons, so that they spread in such a way “that they are as a tail” (maintained in a spread) in the mortises and consequently can’t slip back out.

The legs at the front of the workbench must be pierced by three holes each into which “leg holdfasts” are to be inserted. Around the workbench and 4” to 5” from the bottom of the legs, are assembled four rails of 4” wide or less by 2” thick. The bottom of the bench is filled with planks that are held with supports, figure 4, attached on the rails. Place the length of these planks perpendicular to the width of the workbench in order to give them more strength, like we can see in figure 1.

We must also place a drawer at the end of the workbench so the workmen can store their small tools like gouges, compasses, etc. There are even shops where workbenches are closed with planks all around, which is very convenient because it keeps shavings and dust out and the tools that we place inside are less likely to be lost.

The height of the workbench is ordinarily 30” but because workmen are not all of the same height, suffice it to say that the workbench must not be higher than the top of the thighs of the person working at the bench. If it were higher, it would deprive him of his strength and it would expose him to bad posture in a short time. We must also observe to place the heartwood side of the slab on top because it is harder than the other side. And if it is to move, it will only bulge on top instead of sagging.

Holdfasts are tools made of iron and are used to hold the work on the bench firmly and stably. They are ordinarily 18” to 20” and even 24” long in the shank; their thickness must be between 12 to 15 (1-1/16” to 1-5/16”) lines, and the curve of their paws is 9” to 10” long by around 10” high. They must be of very soft iron, forged in one piece so they don’t break. All their strength is in their head. That is why we will observe that from the head g to the paw k, they get thinner so that their extremity only has two lines (3/16”) of thickness at the most, which will make them more flexible and increase their pressure.

We must curve them so that when they are tightened they will only grip by the tip of the paw, because if they would carry more pressure in the middle they would ruin the work and hold less firmly (figure 4).

Moreover, it is easy to see that after long use, the shank of the holdfast will widen the holes of the workbench; and if it didn’t grip well by the tip, before long, it would soon carry all the pressure on the back of the paw and cause the problem I have mentioned above.

Engage the holdfast by hitting it on the head g with a mallet and release the holdfast by hitting the head in the other way, that is on its side and upward or on the side of the shank i. Holdfasts must never be polished because then they will not hold well. They should only be roughed up with a file or stone (see translator’s note No. 2). Only the paw must be clean and polished so it does not mar the work.

The “leg holdfasts” are not different, other than they are smaller. They hold the wood on its edge along the length of the workbench with the help of the wooden hook m, figure 1. This hook is fastened with screws or strong nails on the front edge of the workbench's top and is sometimes arrayed with iron points. But because the points often ruin the work, it is best to remove them or to make them like in figure 5 (see the illustration of the hook).

“Ebonists” (Ébénistes) (see translator’s note No. 3) have a vise at the front of their workbenches, which is made of one piece of wood n n, figure 3 and 4, which is 4” to 5” wide by at least 2” thick. This piece is pierced in the middle of its width by a round hole through which passes the screw o p, to which the workbench leg q serves as its nut. This screw is usually wood and through its head passes an iron bolt r, with which tightens and loosens the screw. We adorn the head of the screw with an iron ring to prevent it from splitting.

The use of these vises is very convenient because not only do the vises hold the work very solidly, but they do not mar the work in any way. No matter how delicate the pieces are, we do not fear to ruin them. This is something we can’t do with a leg holdfast, which is holding the work only in one place and will sometimes break it if it is delicate.

I do not know why the “menuisiers en bâtiments” (see translator’s note No. 4) have not adopted this method, which not only is very convenient but is also not a hindrance or embarrassing in any way because the vise can be removed from the bench when it is not needed. When it is used, a wedge of the same thickness as the work must be placed at the bottom so that the screw can apply force everywhere equally. The piece for the vise n should be made slightly concave along its length so that when it is tightened, it grips at its tip. At the rear of the workbench s s, which is opposite the hook, we place a plank of about 18” long by 6” to 8” wide that is attached to wood supports that separate it from the workbench. This plank is named ratelier [rack] and is used to store tools with handles such as chisels, fermoirs, [a big chisel solid enough to receive mallet blows. It could have been for sculpting or mortising or anything that required rough work] etc. That is why we make the plank as wide as possible so that tools that are stored in it are not placed in a way that they can hurt somebody.

Next to this rack and along the length of the workbench we attach a bracket that is lower than the top by about 2” and is pierced at the end by a mortise of 3” long through which passes the blade of a try square [which looks like a triangle] t, which we place there when it is not needed.

Under the top of the workbench, we fasten a hollow piece of wood like a box with a screw into which we put grease to be used on tools to make them slide smoothly (Figure 7).

Translator’s notes:
1 Roubo explains at the start of volume one that "Menuiserie" includes all works made of wood. In truth, all trades had its “Menuisiers” but the term came to refer precisely to woodwork and its workers.  A “Menuisier” in Roubo’s terms can be a joiner, a carpenter, an “ebonist,” a cabinetmaker, etc. When we have the foreword translated, all these terms will be made clearer as Roubo does make sure to explain them all in detail and he even go through its history. Note 4 goes into this in greater detail however.

2 Roubo’s exact words are “mais seulement reparés avec le carreau.” There are no mentions of such a tool other than the tailors iron to remove wrinkles in the ancient dictionaries of the French Academy versions of 1740, 1762 and after. After researching many old and ancient French dictionaries, the closest approximation I arrived at was that “carreau” is either a file or a stone. In Émile Littré’s "Dictionnaire de la langue Française," under “carreau”; entry 15 refers to a big file used by locksmiths and entry 20 refers to a big stone of granite. The word “carreau” appeared as quarrel in the 11th century and it is easy to see its familiarity with quarry. As for the word “reparé” it is not meant as “réparé” (repaired) but in the sense of “pare,” prepared. So I am guessing Roubo is saying the holdfast is roughed out, or prepared, with something that is either a rough file or a rough stone.

3 The Ébénistes were organized as a guild of specialized menuisiers (woodworkers) in veneering and inlays in Roubo’s time.

4 The terms “menuisiers en bâtiments” are not easily translated. Menuisier en bâtiment can only be understood in the context of how trades and crafts were defined in relation to each other in 18th -century France. Take note of the difference: menuisier refers to the worker while menuiserie refers to the craft. Crafts were grouped under guilds and had their secrets to protect. They went through extensive changes when the French Revolution abolished the guilds and later with Napoleon’s reforms. These changes are also part of the explanation why 18th century French tools are mostly no longer around but I digress. Let it be said for now that the Menuisier en Bâtiment was a highly skilled woodworker that was adept at a bit of everything.  Bâtiments, in the old French dictionaries of the 18th century referred to all constructions more particularly destined to house humans, animals or things as well as ships (Littré, 1872-1877). Note: a popular expression was also used in Paris at the time: “être du bâtiment”; to be of the trade, of the craft. Roubo associates Menuiserie en bâtiments to assemblies of all kinds and their vast applications, all the way up to detailed work like ornamentations. The techniques and methods are described as the foundation for all other kinds of woodworking. So, Roubo refers to the Menuiserie en bâtiments as the founding craft from which branches off all the others. This could be why he focuses most of the techniques and tools under the category of “Menuiserie en bâtiments”. Volume 1 is, after all, the biggest of all five. It is interesting to note that Roubo describes the furniture makers as the lower skilled woodworkers for reasons we will explore at a later time.

One of the most common errors when planing is to create a gentle banana shape on one face – where the ends of the board end up thinner than the middle.

The cause of this problem resides both in you and in your tool. First off, divide the sole of your plane into two regions: The infeed side of the sole before the blade (the toe). And the outfeed side of the sole behind the blade (the heel). And remember this: The blade of your plane isn’t co-planar with the outfeed side of your handplane.

This feature makes it different than your power jointer. As a result, a handplane has more of a tendency to make bananas. (By the way, you can make bananas – and wedges – with a power jointer as well).

But I think the tool’s role in banana-making is a minor problem. The bigger problem is you and where you are putting pressure on the tool as you plane. Here’s how it’s supposed to work:

At the beginning of the cut, plant the toe of your tool firmly against the work. With the hand on the front knob, put all of your downward pressure right there. Your other hand (on the tote) should only push the tool forward.

As soon as the entire sole is on the work, you should shift your pressure: Use equal and forceful downward pressure with both of your hands.

As soon as the toe runs off the end of the board, release the pressure there but continue to exert downward and forward pressure at the tote.

This work, but it can be a trick to remember for beginning planers. It’s hard to get all your muscles lined up. So I tell them this simple mental trick: Just try your darndest to plane a big old hollow valley in each board by scooping out the middle.

Planing a hollow in this manner is almost impossible to do with a handplane that has a flat sole. So what you wind up with is a board that is fairly consistent in its thickness.

I cannot take credit for this mental trick, but I can’t remember who told it to me years ago. But works like crazy. And with that aspect of planing under control, you can then turn your attention to removing cupping and twisting in your boards.

— Christopher Schwarz