Kelly Mehler (left) helping student Jim Ferrell during a class at his woodworking school. It’s no wonder that most of the pictures I can find of Kelly in our archive are of him helping others.
It is with grief that I report Kelly Mehler died early Sunday morning, Oct. 5, 2025. As you might know, he’d been fighting cancer for some time, but I heard from him recently when he told me he was feeling great and doing well, and working on a tool chest in his shop. So this was shocking news.
Many people knew Kelly through his eponymous school in Berea, Ky., and through his bestselling “The Table Saw Book,” magazine articles and woodworking classes and conferences.
Kelly was a great friend to Chris and me, and I think to just about everyone else who ever met him. Kelly was one of my earliest teachers, and later championed me when I started teaching. He was one of the first people to ask Chris to teach, years before (and Chris will have more to say later).
Kelly is one of the most generous and funny men I’ve ever had the honor of knowing; I’m so glad I was able to call him my friend, and so very sad that he is gone.
At the request of his family, we’re posting Kelly’s memorial service information below. All are welcome.
No matter how well you typically cut dovetails, sometimes the gods are simply not smiling upon you. I have days when I pick up my dovetail saw, make a few cuts and quickly realize that I should instead rough out lumber, clean out the offcut bin or do something else that doesn’t require precision. And I should drink less (or maybe more) coffee the next morning, then try again. But that isn’t always possible Sometimes, gaps happen.
They are not usually the end of the world, and I often simply ignore small ones. After all, time heals all wounds. Or fills them with dirt, anyway. And rarely have I seen such gappy joints, even from first-timers, that the project won’t stay together (glue is amazing stuff…and glue plus nails more amazing still!). Filling gaps is almost always an aesthetic, not structural, choice. But if I have to fix some gaps (or teach others how to fill gaps) below are a few ways I’ve been known to go about it.
Shims I’ll start with my least favorite, which is gluing in wedges/shims. If your pins and tails aren’t at least a little bit proud (that is, they stick out beyond the mating surface), gluing a shim into the gap is pretty much the best way I know to hide it. And it is always, in my opinion, the best way to hide a gaping maw.
I grab whatever offcuts I can from my stock and cut a handful of shims in various thicknesses, hoping that I’ll end up with at least one of a given size to perfectly fill my gap(s). And I do my best to make sure that my offcut matches the color of the project where the gap is gaping. It does no good to insert a sapwood shim into a heartwood gap – instead of hiding the gap, it will draw attention to the fix. Ditto on the grain. I try hard to select an offcut that exhibits the same grain, so that the fix won’t show.
I would like to pretend I purposely cut gaps, but that would be untrue. I was having a bad day at the bench…but in the middle of a class, there is no choice but to carry on!
Then paint both sides of the shim/wedge (your shape needs may vary) with glue, and gently tap it into the gap. I recommend a small hammer and gentle use thereof; these small piece can easily break. Make sure to let the glue fully dry before flushing to the surface with a flush-cut saw. If you don’t wait, the glue will get into your saw teeth, then it won’t cut! (The hide glue I use is easy to remove when I’m overeager – a little hot water and a scrub with a toothbrush will clean the teeth, then I wipe the blade with an oily rag. For PVA, hot vinegar and more vigorous scrubbing does the trick – but the smell will give you away.)
Note that my fingers are not on the bitey side of the blade. This is important. Flush-cut saws love blood.
Controlled Spelching My usual fix for small gaps is to plane the end grain in the direction of the gap, hoping it will break off enough to fill said gap. Sometimes, it even works! But, you have to have enough material proud of the surface so that you can catch it with the blade to break it. If your joints are already flush, it’s back to the shims above.
Here, you can see the edge of the tail is breaking off a bit (spelching) into the gap, but there wasn’t enough material to plane and break to fill this. For this one, it’s to the shims!
Contravening most planing instruction, here, you do want to plane off the edge, intentionally breaking the grain into the gap.
This is the pin I was planing in the picture above; you see how fibers on the side of the pin broke off to fill the small gap. When I plane the pin flush and clean up the surface, this will disappear under the finish.
Bishoping I do not know the etymology of the term, but “bishoping” is just a fancy word for “mushrooming.” Get the end grain wet with water and let it soak in for a few minutes, then use a ball peen hemmer to tap the fibers and mushroom them to fill a small gap. But again, you have to have enough of a proud joint that your taps don’t cause a dent below the surface of the side.
Here, I crossed my baseline most shamefully…not only with the saw, but when I was chopping out the baseline with a chisel. A little water and a few taps takes care of the baseline gap. Then I plane or flush-cut the joint flush. The overcuts? Well, for that, I’ll need time and dirt. (Or I can glue in a toothpick, but only if I’m going to paint the project.)
What about glue and sawdust? Or wood filler? Like the toothpick mentioned in the caption above, those works only if the project will be painted. Glue will never take a finish, and no matter what the marketing says, neither will wood filler. At least not any that I’ve found.
– Fitz
p.s. Most of the gaps I’ve shown above in closeup likely wouldn’t show enough in the finished work to be worth fussing over. But some people like to fuss. This is for them.
My class from 2024 – great fun was had by all…I hope!
The 2025 London International Woodworking Festival (IWF) is fast approaching! Classes (for which you can still register) run Oct. 20-23, then the marketplace is open to all on Friday, Oct. 24 from noon-6 p.m. and Saturday, Oct. 25 from 9:30 a.m.-6:30 p.m.
While Chris and I won’t be there this year due to teaching elsewhere, we’ve already blocked off our calendars for 2026. I quite like teaching while looking out over the Thames. And I always enjoy a visit to see Hodge the Cat. And toffee.
Hodge, who is mentioned (and not kindly – Boswell did not like cats – in Boswell’s “Life of Samuel Johnson.”
Lost Art Press books and many of our Crucible tools will be there though! Classic Hand Tools, which carries pretty much our full line, will be in the marketplace, as will folks from Lie-Nielsen, Veritas, Philly Planes, Windsor Workshops, Oscar Rush, Nigel Melfi, Richard Arnold and more! “From immersive courses and expert-led workshops to inspiring talks and a bustling marketplace, the Festival is a celebration of woodworking skill, tradition, and community.” You can check out the full lineup and get more info on the London IWF website.
And we’ll see you there in 2026 – sorry to miss this year.
We have the books. We have the tools. We have the boxes. We are ready for Free Shipping On All Orders in October!
Whatever you order, be it a box of pencils, a bottle of glue or a handful of pocketbooks, will ship free through the end of this month.
We can do this because we have all our inventory in our own warehouse in Covington, and we have Mark and Gabe (and the rest of us as needed) to help ship that inventory without losing our pants. (We used to be charged $4 for every order, plus storage, plus boxes, plus pick fees, plus, plus, plus… Now our storage and salaries are fixed overhead costs.)
So through the end of this month (October 2025) we are offering free shipping on every product. There’s no code to type in. No coupon. When you check out, free shipping will be automatically applied.
As I write this, we’re awaiting proofs on our latest pocket book, “Make Fresh Milk Paint,” by Nick Kroll. Nick was in one of Christopher Schwarz’s Germany classes this summer, and he showed up with a hand-bound book about making milk paint in your kitchen. Chris sent an email to Kara Gebhart Uhl (she handles contracts for us) and me that night with a PDF of the book, letting us know he thought it was a winner.
We all agreed, and have since been busy making milk paint in our Covington shop. It’s so much fun (and simple) to make, and the paint results in a rich and gorgeous finish, plus it doesn’t cost much. It’s rare that you get cheap, easy and good, all at the same time!
Brings back memories of my bartending days.
The book will be printed in the U.S. (like all of our books). This one features a “Hot Toffee” cover (that’s mustard yellow to you and me) and garnet end papers – vibrant, like the paint. Barring problems at the printer or bindery, we expect it will be available before Thanksgiving.
Below is a sneak peek, Nick’s introduction.
– Fitz
Make Milk Paint
The howling silence of sterile, lifeless paint swatches. The dented tin lid that imprisons your creative soul in a mass-produced can of petrochemical swill. The gnawing anxiety of spending your Saturday morning standing in the fluorescent-washed aisle of a big-box retailer, trying to convince yourself that Hessian Taupe is the sensible buy.
It doesn’t have to be like this.
It’s OK to hate paint. We all do. Our collective contempt for industrial paint is so deeply ingrained that we close the container by hammering the lid shut like we’re trying to kill an E.T. with a tire iron. To be fair, that animosity goes both ways. The second you two are alone in a room together, that zesty blend of plasticizer and industrial solvent hits back with noxious volatile organic compounds (VOCs) that can inflict solid damage per second on a cellular level.
Even if you find a low-VOC paint in a color you like, you’re still likely dropping at least $20-$30 a pint at your local PaintTM retailer. That’s more than Jiffy Plasma would pay you for a pint of your own sweet blood. And unless everything you build ends up with two coats of Walton’s Own Eggshell Sage from a 5-gallon pail, you’re going to have to keep buying paint at that stiff price point. Even if you drop $100+ bucks, you’d still be locked in to only three to four colors, like a pack of kids’ menu crayons. Of course, once you pay that much, you can’t throw out the leftovers, right? What started as a fun project turns into overpriced chemical soup that’s gelling up on a basement shelf like week-old ham.
I’m here to free you. All we need is a bit of barnyard alchemy. Let us talk milk paint, elemental in nature and humble in its glory.
Making a batch of top-grade milk paint from scratch takes 10 minutes and costs less than five bucks. It has zero VOCs. It’s durable. It’s easy to apply. It looks fantastic. The color options are limitless. And you’ll have made it with your own hands.
You’re here because you like making things yourself. You can buy paint off the shelf just like you can buy furniture at Ikea – yet here we are. Paint should be the finishing touch on a labor of love, not a cheap shell that hides your hard work. You’ve spent hours cutting rabbets for a bookshelf and tapering the legs for a staked bench. Don’t stumble on the home stretch. Your handmade furniture shouldn’t be buried under a nano-homogenized ooze that smothers out every last bit of depth and character.
Come with me. Let’s set off on a journey to free your creative instincts. We’ll get lost blending pigments and chasing fleeting hues. We’ll defy the unyielding beast of corporate commerce and shun all the bitter progeny of the refinery. We’ll make something we love, for the ones we love.
Let’s make milk paint.
I’m not talking about mixing up a batch of the ready-mix powdered paint. I’m talking about taking fresh milk and making great paint. I know you can do this. It’s not hard, and you don’t need any special equipment. It’s a quick learning curve and there’s no risk. I started right where you are today – and by the end of the weekend, you’ll be on the fast track to catching up.
If you can make a pot of mac and cheese, then you can make milk paint from scratch. Making milk paint is easier than making bread, bathing a dog, putting on a duvet cover, staying awake in church or carving a pumpkin. Honestly, it’s easier than practically any woodworking task. I’m not even talking hand-cut dados or perfect dovetails – if you’ve glued up a butt joint, you have more technical skill than you’ll need to make milk paint.
This isn’t a treatise on period-accurate finishes for Shaker purists. This isn’t trad-life cosplay or Luddite revivalism. This is a guide to making damn good paint. I’m writing this for everyone who is tired of every microplastic and macrotoxin being dumped into our homes. This is for anyone who wants to be able to take a single breath without being squeezed into a transaction. This is for anyone who just wants to live in a world that’s a little more colorful.
There’s a German word, ohrwurm, to describe a song you can’t get out of your head. To be fair, “homemade milk paint” is perhaps a bit closer to a brainworm, carving out a little beachhead of gentle obsession in your mind while your loved ones begin to wonder about your mental state. But soon you’ll thank me and this little worm.
Let’s begin.
Nick, applying the first coat of homemade milk paint on the chair he’d just completed.