A few weeks back I promised a panel glue-up primer… and today is the first time I’ve needed to glue up a panel since. The basic stock prep for the panel pieces is the same as the rest of the prep, until it comes to sticking the two (or more) pieces together. So that’s where I’ll pick up. And as always, it’s best if you can surface your lumber then do any glue-ups within a few hours. The less time the wood has to move, the better – even if you’ve properly acclimated it.
If I’m using yellow glue or liquid-hide glue (which is almost all the time), I rip both edges of pieces for a glue-up; I want those outside edges flat and level so the clamps have a good, parallel surface on which to close. If I’m using hot hide glue and doing a rub joint (which is almost never), there are no clamps involved, so the outside edges don’t matter.
Regardless of my approach, the first steps are the same. Lay out the panel and mark it with a cabinetmaker’s triangle.
After layout, mark a cabinetmaker’s triangle across the panel.
You want to joint the edges so that you cancel out any non-perfect-90° angle from your electric jointer or jointer-plane work. If you’re jointing by hand, match-plane the two while clamped together in your vise. This will cancel out any error in your angle. If using a electric jointer, mark one edge “I” (inside) and the other “O” (outside). I runs against the fence, O runs not against the fence. This cancels out any error in the jointer’s fence.
The letters tell me which way to orient the boards at the jointer.
I carefully joint each mating edge, fairly slowly, and at the same, steady speed. Then I immediately proceed to glue up.
Let’s dispense with the rub joint first. For a panel glue-up, the only glue I’d use for a rub joint is hot hide glue (though some sources will say other glues work, too). With the two mating edges freshly jointed, simply coat both edges – quickly – then rub those two edges together lengthwise until the glue starts to gel, doing your best to keep them aligned across the thickness. Then set them on end against a wall and give the glue time to completely dry. No clamp necessary. (The few times I’ve glued up panels this way, I’ve left them a little thick so that I can level the glue line after, and not end up with a too-thin panel. Typically, I use the tack-ability of hot hide glue only for glue blocks and veneer.)
I use liquid hide glue (preferably the the Old Brown stuff) for most things in woodworking, but for typical panel glue-ups, I reach for the yellow stuff. It sets up more quickly, so the clamps can come off after 30 minutes (which means I can get more glue-ups done more quickly – and every minute is precious when prepping stock for classes).
I have things set up and ready to go at my bench before I joint the workpiece’s edges.
I’ll have a glue-up station ready to go on my bench before I bring stock in from the machine room, usually with a piece of paper underneath an odd number of clamps, because I always want one in the center (and if my prep is good, I can dispense with putting every other clamp on top of the panel). Along with the glue bottle, I have a bucket of water (hot water if I’m using hide glue) and a rag.
First, I run a bead of glue down the center of one board.
Just under the spout is too much glue – I had to hold still while Chris snapped the picture – so look behind the nozzle for the approximate correct amount.e
Then I spread it evenly with my finger (which is fast) or with an old toothbrush (which is slower but less messy).
Guess where I stopped for that last picture…
I want enough glue that I can rub the wet edge on the dry edge and get enough glue on the mating board that its edge is also fully wetted. But no more than that.
Start in the middle.
Then I wipe the excess glue off my finger before tightening the center clamp. I keep a finger or two of my non-clamp hand on the seam so that I can feel if I need to exert downward pressure on either board for a perfect mate. (Usually, doing the glue-ups immediately after prep obviates this problem.) I don’t tighten all the way – just enough to hold the joint closed as I repeat at both ends. Then I snug them in the same order until the joint is fully closed and I see a line of glue beads down the seam. That tells me the joint is closed tightly enough, and that I used enough (actually, just a tiny bit too much!) glue.
Now the ends.
That spot with no bead is where I was feeling for level – otherwise, I’ve a continuous line of glue beads down the seam.
Next I reach for the bucket and rag, and with an almost-completely wrung-out rag, wipe off the excess glue with small circular motions along the seam. Rinse, re-wet and re-wring the rag often (you don’t want to simply spread thinned glue over the surface). And don’t forget to do the other side. You’ll have a little squeeze-out under the clamps, but it’s easy enough to knock off with a scraper, chisel or plane after the glue is completely dry. Note that none of us in this shop has ever had a problem with glue-size interfering with finishing. Any residual glue is planed away.
Scrub both sides. The glue is a lot easier to get off now than after it’s dry. And no, this won’t weaken the joint or interfere with finishing.
The last task is to check the clock and write the time on the edge of the panel. After 30 minutes, you can take the clamps off and move on to the next glue-up. With multiples, I usually stack them up to dry (another reason to remove the glue on the surface), and let them sit overnight before ripping to final size and squaring the ends.
If I need the clamps for other panels, I can take them off this panel at 12:20. If I don’t need the clamps, I typically leave the panel in clamps longer (not because I have to, but because I forget about it).
I know there are all kinds of charts, studies and special clamping doodads to help you achieve ideal clamp pressure. I’m sure those are useful. For someone. Me? This simple approach has served me well for more than a decade.
PLYWOOD consists of three or more layers of veneer glued or cemented together with the grain of each piece laid at right angles to those adjoining. As this reduces (in the stouter thicknesses practically eliminates) any risk of splitting or of shrinkage, the strength of the board is greatly increased.
Three-ply is available in thicknesses from 1/64-1/4 in., multi-ply from 5/16-1 in. In the case of three-ply the centre core is usually thicker than the two outer veneers, when it is known as “stout-heart” as distinct from “equal-layer” (Fig. 1). When five, seven, or more veneers are used for multi-ply the same thickness of layer is used throughout. Boards are manufactured in standard-sized panels from 12 in. square up to several feet, and the range varies widely in different countries of origin.
As the metric measure applies to plywood thicknesses, it will be of service to give the approximate equivalents in inches.
A metre measures about 39-1/2 in. As there are a thousand millimetres in a metre, a simple calculation shows that about 25 mm. go to the inch. If this figure is remembered we have a quick guide to the approximate thicknesses.
In manufacture birch is more frequently used, but alder, ash, and gaboon are also in demand. Pine is largely employed in the Scandinavian countries, whilst Douglas fir is widely used in America.
Faced plywood means that one surface is veneered with a furniture hardwood such as figured oak. Edges should be lipped when to be exposed.
LAMINATED BOARD, now largely used for veneered furniture, is built up with the inner core made up of numerous narrow strips glued to each other, both surfaces being faced with a board, the grain of which lies at right angles to the core. Gaboon is a favourite wood and the thicknesses range from 1/2-2 in. Outside sizes vary considerably, but dimensions listed have reached as much as 16 ft. by 6 ft. 6 in. A normal size is about 8 ft. by 4 ft. When used for doors, sideboard, and table tops, etc., the edges are lipped and the surfaces veneered. The strips forming the core should not be wider than 7 mm. in laminated board.
BLOCK BOARD. In this case the strips forming the core are wider, 3/4 in. being an average. It is made in the same thicknesses as laminated board, but is less favoured for high-class furniture. From the illustration it will be seen that, both in the case of laminated board and block board, the grain of the core strips is reversed in the gluing. The core strips should not be more than 1 in. wide in block board.
BATTEN BOARD. This is a lower grade of built-up board in which the core strips are still wider. It is not so reliable for veneering. The core strips should not be wider than 3 in.
TABLE OF APPROXIMATE EQUIVALENTS, MILLIMETRES AND INCHES Useful for finding thickness of plywood, etc., in inches.
After dealing with the hassle and unreliability of print-on-demand tees for a few years, we’ve shifted gears big time. We figured it’d only be right to sell tees that reflect our values just as much as our chore coats, vests, hats and bandanas. That meant good materials and responsible domestic manufacturing.
Our new short-sleeve tees are a thick, tough 6.1-ounce jersey, tube-knit in the USA from domestically grown cotton. That’s about 50 percent heavier than your typical cheapo tee, and the tubular knit means no side seams to chafe and/or fall apart.
The tees are proudly Union-sewn in California. Our friend Mike does the printing at his farm in Oregon, and the quality of his work is exceptional – it’s a true discharge print, which means it’s flat to the fabric, rather than the plastic-y junk that sits proud (and eventually flakes off). These cost us a lot more than a conventional cheep tee, but we couldn’t be more proud of their quality and origin. We even added our own label to the neck.
Just one color and logo, for now. It’s a dark, dark navy with a very subtle charcoal logo. It seems to be damn near impossible to photograph, like all things in the black-on-black vein, but it sure looks perfect in person.
The fit is just ever-so-slightly slimmer than, say, a Hanes Beefy-T. Order your usual size, or a size up if you’re on the fence. Don’t worry, it’s not a slim hipster fit like American Apparel. Like most tees, these shrink a fair bit on the first wash. There’s a size chart on the product page that shows their measurements after a warm wash/warm dry – have a look if you’re still not sure.
— Tom Bonamici
Editor’s note: I have been wearing the living snot out of this T-shirt since we received our first samples. This shirt gets better and better with every wash. And it breathes nicely, even when I’m working hard at the bench. Kudos to Tom for finding the right shirt and the right people to make it. — Chris
On Saturday, I sprayed two coats of lacquer on a small Dutch tool chest and its lower chest, then reinstalled the hardware. With that, I am done with the building and picture-taking thereof…I think.
I have a table of contents with chapters that cover the order of operations, and image folders tagged to each of those chapters. The images within each folder serve as a visual outline of what I need to cover in the text, and many of my pictures are simply visual notes – reminders of what I want to write – that won’t make it into the book.
By the end, I’ll have taught readers how to build two sizes of Dutch tools chest (with a choice of three lids), plus a lower chest on which to rest the small one (or the large one, if you’re tall), to make it easy to access the tools (as well as hold more). I’m offering several approaches to each operation when practical, so that no matter what the tool kit or skill set, readers should be able to find a method that appeals.
I’ve outfitted the interiors of both chests to hold chisels, marking knives and other pointy tools on the back wall. One has a saw till on the chest floor, the other has it behind the hanging rack. Both chests have cubbies for a jointer, jack and smooth plane (and suggestions for ways to tuck a block plane on the wall).
But as I wrote months ago, I’ve seen many clever modifications, drawers, racks, lift-out tills and more in similar chests over the years. And because I can’t possibly construct every possibility myself, I plan to feature some of those in a gallery (with credit, of course!) in the book. Many of you who’ve already built Dutch tool chests responded to my initial request for pictures, and I’ll be in touch with you soon (and thanks again!).
But I’d love to have more photos for the book. I’m looking for clever solutions to storing tools – digital images that are at least 300 dpi at 5×7. (Chris has a helpful post on photography here.) In short, I need in-focus pictures that show the relevant features without clutter or visual distractions. I realize not everyone can shoot these kinds of photos, so if quick phone snaps* are the best you can do, I’ll feature some of those in blog posts when the book comes out, which I hope is before the winter holidays. The deadline for photos is June 30, to fitz@lostartpress.com.
I’ll have this book written, designed and to my editor (that would be Chris) by July 30. So I’m signing off now to start writing far too many words, then excising as many adverbs and gerunds as possible.
— Fitz
* Note: If you have a late-model phone, it might be able to take pictures of a quality suitable for print.
As in a lot of other Shaker furniture, the distinctive features of a Shaker workbench are not always immediately obvious. As a utilitarian piece of equipment, the Shaker bench has to meet many of the same requirements as a worldly workbench. There is only so much room for variation and development before such a basic tool becomes over-specialized. Though the Shakers, like their contemporaries, distinguished between joiners or carpenters, who made architectural elements, and cabinetmakers, who made furniture and small goods, the workbenches of these craftsmen were probably quite similar. Chairmaking and boxmaking were separate industries with different workholding requirements. Shaker chairs were a production item, mainly comprised of interchangeable turned parts. Thus the lathe was the primary tool and workholding device. Chairs were clamped in a vise like the one shown below while their seats were woven. Shaker boxes were also mass-produced, and they were assembled on benches that were much smaller and less refined than the workbenches used for furnituremaking or joinery.
The Shaker workbench, like others in the world, has many standard components: a tail vise and dogholes, a front vise, and room for tool storage beneath the top. Likewise, most of the same materials, hand tools and machinery available to the Shakers for workbench making were the same as those used by their worldly counterparts. As a result, similar woods may be found in both Shaker and non-Shaker benches, joined with the same mortise-and-tenon or dovetail joints.
It is unclear exactly when the Shakers began building workbenches. Perhaps a few were brought along when woodworkers joined the fold. (Gideon Turner, an early convert, became a member of New Lebanon in 1788 with “1 Set Carpenters tools & 1 Set Joiners Tools” valued at eight pounds.) Or, more likely, makeshift arrangements may have been employed until permanent workshops could be built and proper benches installed. In any case, journal entries and a couple of dated benches indicate that Shakers were building benches by the first or second quarter of the 19th century. This coincides with the period during which most Shaker furniture was built and the stylistic features that distinguish it today were firmly entrenched. Although Shaker life and work became increasingly codified at the same time, no precise description of the ‘proper’ workbench or its appropriate usage has yet been discovered. (The idea that such a description might exist is not as farfetched as it sounds, considering that the Millennial Laws mandated: “Floors in dwelling houses, if stained at all, should be of a reddish yellow, and shop floors should be of a yellowish red.”)
Since my first introduction to those two Shaker benches, I have looked at a dozen benches in other Shaker museums – Fruitlands in Harvard, Massachusetts, and the Shaker Musemn in Old Chatham, New York – as well as a few in private collections. While these represent only a fraction of the total number of Shaker workbenches that must have been made (every Shaker family had a woodworking shop, and the large families, such as the New Lebanon Church Family, had both a joiner’s and a cabinetmaker’s shop), certain patterns begin to emerge.
I chose to focus my attention on the Shaker workbench at Hancock Shaker Village, shown on p. 32 [and on the cover, above], for several reasons. It is well made and in good condition and does not appear to have been materially altered. In its dimensions and construction, it is as fine an example of a Shaker bench as any I have seen. And it is the only such bench I am aware of that remains in everyday use in a working, Shaker-style cabinet shop, albeit in an interpretive museum. I will describe details of other Shaker benches I have seen as they differ from the Hancock bench or further an understanding of it.
As my first impression suggested, Shaker benches tend to be massive. The Hancock benchtop is 11 ft. 9 in. long and 38 in. wide. The main body of the top is 3-3/4 in. thick. The smallest Shaker bench I found (at Fruitlands) is only 8 ft. 1 in. long. The largest (at Old Chatham) is 16 ft. 7 in. Most of the others are between 12 ft. and 15 ft. long. Indeed, it would seem that a small Shaker bench would be anything under 10 ft. long-several feet longer than what would be considered a large workbench today. (This may not have been unusual at the time, given the 18th-century Dominy workbenches [p. 13] and the French workbenches described by Roubo [p. 21].)
The top of the Hancock bench is comprised of three separate sections (as shown in the drawing on the facing page), built stoutly and purposefully. The front section is 16 in. wide and laminated from four pieces of 3-3/4-in.-wide maple or birch and a 1-in. strip of pine, glued and bolted together with four handforged bolts. (The 3-3/4-in.-square laminates would have been convenient to work with.) This area houses the dogholes and vises, and functions as the primary worksurface; maple or birch was used on this part of the bench, as it was on all the others I’ve seen. (Due to the age and patina of the bench, it is often difficult to determine the exact species of wood used; the woods I describe should be considered ‘educated guesses.’)
The midsection of the top is a single chunk of 9-1/4-in.-wide chestnut or oak. Although hard and dense, the open-grained wood provides a rougher benchtop texture than that of the front portion, and was presumably acceptable for a secondary worksurface. The 12-3/4-in.-wide back section of the top is made of knotty, hard pine. Both the middle and back sections are 1-3/4 in. thick, supported by spacers that rest on the base frame. Both ends are covered by simple, bolt-on end caps with captured nuts fed from the underside of the top. No tongue-and-groove or splined joints were used to attach the end caps. They were merely intended to conceal the end grain on the benchtop and, in the case of the end cap on the right end of the bench, to serve as the nut for the tail-vise benchscrew.
The very size of the enormous top offers some interesting clues to Shaker woodworking. “It’s never big enough,” according to Joel Seaman, the cabinetmaker who has been making restoration Shaker furniture on the Hancock bench for over ten years. Seaman could lay out all the parts of a cabinet on the top and still have room to use the vises.
The order and cleanliness of the Shakers is legendary, however, and it’s unlikely that the benches were built large to accommodate such expansive work habits. (Even the woodshed and tool room of a Shaker brother in Union Village, Ohio, was impeccably organized: ” … every stick of wood was exact in its place …. His little work shop exhibited the same care.”) In part, bench size may be explained by the institutional nature of the Shaker dwellings and the size of the joinery and furnishings required for them. In every community these buildings are imposing structures, with high ceilings and wide hallways. As shown in the photo below, some of the most remarkable case pieces stand over 8 ft. tall; built-in cupboards, housing dozens of drawers and cabinets, may run floor-to-ceiling and the length of a long hallway. All this work, plus the miles of pegboard circumnavigating the rooms, would have been more easily hand-planed and joined on a long bench. While there was some specialization among Shaker woodworkers, records indicate that a typical woodworker’s week would have been spent in a wide variety of pursuits. As the communities stabilized and eventually began to shrink, there would have been less new furniture (apart from chairs for sale) to build. At the same time, fewer craftsmen would have had to perform an even more varied range of tasks.
There is also reason to believe that more than one person worked at the bench at a time. Entries from the journals of Freegift Wells, an Elder and woodworker of considerable stature from Watervliet, New Yorrk, depict what was probably a typical relationship between a cabinetmaker and his apprentice. In these notes…Wells tells us that he installed a vise at the opposite end of his own workbench for his apprentice, Thomas Almond. There are also frequent references in other Shaker letters and journals to projects undertaken by two or more craftsmen working together.
Without exception, all the Shaker benches I’ve seen have an enclosed base, which contributes substantial mass and storage space, while it restricts any clamping to the ends or the narrow overhang along the front edge of the top. One thing I have never seen on a Shaker bench, but which is common on other benches out in the world, is an open tool tray. This tray, whether built into the top or between the stretchers of the base, collects debris and allows tools to knock about, damaging their edges. To an early Shaker, an open tray would have seemed like an open sewer-seductively convenient, perhaps, but unsanitary and hazardous.
Mother Ann could have been lecturing her woodworking followers when she said: ” … take good care of what you have. Provide places for your things, so that you may know where to find them at any time, day or by night …. “,Just as the walls of the Shakers’ dormitories are lined with built-in cupboards, so their workbenches are equipped with substantial cabinets that fully occupy the area between the legs and beneath the top. They are also unique in that the drawers and cabinets are usually built into the base framework, a tedious and exacting process. It would have been much easier to support the top with a basic four-leg structure and to install an independent tool-cabinet carcase between them. … In the case of the Shaker workbenches I have seen, the members of the carcase itself-posts, drawer dividers and the frame-and-panel ends-generally function as the legs and stretchers of the workbench. This may have been preferred for aesthetic reasons, or simply to lend continuous support to such a large worksurface.
On the Hancock bench, like most of the others, the base is divided into a succession of drawers that progress in size from the smallest on the top to the largest on the bottom. A portion of the base consists of open shelves, which are reserved for storage of items that won’t fit in the drawers (large tools or specially prepared stock, perhaps). These areas are always enclosed by doors. The insides of the door panels on the Hancock bench display remnants of different-color paint, indicating that they were borrowed from some other project and reincarnated in the workbench.
The order and cleanliness provided by the enclosed base cabinet had many practical dividends for the workbench. The problems of racking and sliding, which are inherent in an open-frame base, are automatically resolved by the rigidity of the casework and the sheer weight of the structure. Loaded with tools, as it presumably was, the cabinet anchored the whole bench to the floor and to move it would have taken a small army. Workbench storage would have made it easier to keep track of tools in a large community. “No one should take tools, belonging in charge of others, without obtaining liberty for the same … ,” the Millennial Laws decreed. “The wicked borrow and never return.”
