We’re in the homestretch with “Calvin Cobb: Radio Woodworker! A Novel with Measured Drawings.” Whew!
Today, I’m finishing the final full text edit and talking with the designer, Linda Watts, about the layout of the interior images and measured drawings (Linda, if you’re reading this, call me).
But perhaps most exciting is that I now know what Calvin and Verdie look like…because we’re nearing the finish line on the cover art. The cover I shared a few months ago? We couldn’t get the rights to manipulate the 1930s image – so we started over with a clean slate.
In hindsight, I’m glad; that gave us the freedom to present Calvin exactly as he appeared in Roy’s head (or at least the artist’s interpretation of how Calvin appeared in Roy’s head), and add other elements from the book to truly represent the story. (After all, despite the hoary saying, people often judge a book by its cover – so why not make it as perfect as possible?!)
We’ve been working with Jode Thompson, an illustrator based in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies, whose other clients include Tylenol, Coca-Cola and Temptations Cat Treats (three things I buy regularly – how could I resist?).
While searching for an artist, I was looking for someone who could produce a 1930s noir detective novel look (think dark pin-up) with just enough of a graphic element to make it look 21st century. Jode’s work fit the bill in spades. And she nailed the treatment from the get-go, despite my crazy design brief:
So there’s this 1930s government employee who’s the supervisor of a group of women, all of whom are WWI veterans who are in some way disfigured by the war – and they’re all stronger than Calvin. They study manure. And there’s this femme fatal of sorts, Kathryn Dale Harper, with whom Calvin is kinda obsessed. She’s a radio star, and helps Calvin start his own radio show about woodworking. Oh – and Washington, D.C., is a character of sorts, as is Colonial Williamsburg. And Calvin has a shop in the clock tower of the office building where he works. It’s all sort of noir mixed with slapstick, and there’s a motorcycle. And it’s very funny. Calvin looks like Jon Cusack, Kathryn Dale Harper looks like Barbara Stanwyck and Verdie looks like Susan Sarandon (but with a prosthetic leg).
OK – it was more coherent than that.
Anyway, I thought you might like to see the short progression toward the final cover art. At the top of this post is the initial sketch.
After deciding on the first sketch, we wanted something that said “woodworking” and asked Jode to add the Washington Monument so the location was visually clear. So I asked her to add a dovetail saw in Calvin’s hand. Naturally, Jode chose a Veritas saw (she’s Canadian, after all). Nice saw … but not for the 1930s. And anyway, a dovetail saw proved too small. (Also, while I like the boots and helmet on Verdie, it was decided by the two parties involved who notice these sorts of things that high heels would be sexier.)
So Jode sent back a revision with a panel saw modeled after an early Disston model, heels and a title (we’re still mulling over the lettering style, and where to put Roy’s name).
Damn near perfect. At this point, Jode is working on the clothing for both Verdie and Calvin (to make it look a little more 1930s) and I’ll be talking with her soon about the lettering. In the meantime, she added a splash of color.
So in a few more days, we should have the cover illustration completed, the interior layout done, back cover copy written and the whole thing ready for final review. Then it’s off to the printer (casebound, smyth-sewn binding, acid-free paper, printed in the U.S.A., etc. etc.).
It should be WILL be in the Lost Art Press store before Thanksgiving (United States Thanksgiving, not Canadian Thanksgiving – sorry Jode).
I am embarking on a project to (slowly) repopulate my deck with a better grade of furniture. First up is a pair of small folding tables. The design is adapted from one published a few years ago in Popular Woodworking. The table shown here is 20″ square by 38″…er, no…24.5″ high.
Designing furniture that can survive being left outdoors in the sun and rain without eventually degrading into a pile of sticks (or worse) is a whole ’nother enchilada compared to ordinary furniture making. There is significant overlap with campaign furniture, with the added bonus that wood that gets rained on moves. A lot. In fact, outdoor furniture has much in common with boatbuilding, and so one looks to suppliers like Jamestown Distributors for fasteners and finishes, SailRite for upholstery fabrics, etc.
The woods used must be durable (resistant to decay), of course. That limits one’s choices to the usual suspects: teak, mahogany and its relatives, white oak, etc. Some “cedars” are also suitable, though their relatively low strength means that the various components usually need to be beefier than in this table. Other North American woods that would be suitable are black locust and honey mesquite, both of which can be hard to find but are probably worth looking for. I haven’t worked with mesquite, but it’s on my to-do list, as it is supposed to have exceptional dimensional stability with changing humidity.
These tables are in sapele, an African relative of mahogany that’s rated as “moderately durable.” To give them a leg up (pun intended) in terms of surviving the elements, I’ve fitted them out with “shoes” made of UHMW polyethylene. The shoes are held in by a 1/8″-diameter oak pin, which can easily be drilled out to allow for replacement, in case they wear out or the whole experiment turns out to have been a bad idea.
There are four legs and four top supports, and no two are exactly the same. They come in each of the four combinations of inner/outer and left/right mirror-image pairs. It got to be so confusing that I made up some custom labels before I drilled all of the holes and counterbores.
For want of a good locknut…
Chris isn’t the only one with hardware woes. Because the joints of this table need to allow folding for storage, the fasteners have to stay put without being fully snugged up to the wood (which in any case is only going to be a temporary condition as the wood shrinks and swells). So some kind of locking fastener is called for. The standard solution is a nylon-insert locknut (leftmost in the photo below). These work well, but I didn’t want to use them, for two reasons. The main reason is that they’re thick, quite a bit thicker than an ordinary hex nut, which would mean having to reduce the thickness of wood left at the bottom of the counterbores more than I was comfortable with. The secondary reason is that nylon is not UV stable, meaning that they would degrade over time (although, to be honest, so will the wood).
Back when I was in the cyclotron business, we used some aircraft-grade locknuts that were all stainless steel, and worked by having a thinned-down collar that looked like it had been slightly squished in a vise. I wasn’t able to find that kind of locknut, but I did find some at McMaster-Carr that were superficially similar. I ordered a pack of the center-lock style (second from the left). You can see a small indent on the flat; there’s a matching one on the other side, and together they deform the thread just enough to create a locking action. Or at least that’s how they’re supposed to work. I found the nuts to be wildly inconsistent from one to the next, and most barely locked at all.
So I ordered a pack of the top-lock style (third from the left). These have three small deformations on the top of the nut, which you can just barely make out in the photo. These turned out to be a lot more consistent than the center-lock variety, although there are a still a few bad apples in the pack. These are the ones I’m using in these tables, but to hedge my bets, I also ordered a pack of low-profile nylon-insert locknuts (rightmost), in case the top-lock nuts turned out as bad as the center-lock ones.
Finishing touches
I haven’t yet applied any finish to the table. One option would be to leave it unfinished and let it go gray (like Megan the teak chair in the photo). I have a piece of sapele that’s been sitting outdoors for about eight years, and while there’s a fair bit of surface checking, it still looks pretty good, and remains structurally sound. I will most likely go with Osmo “One Coat Only.” I’m currently field-testing another piece of sapele with that on it, and it’s holding up well after a couple of months, but I’m going to see how it survives the winter before making a final decision. I decided early on against a traditional exterior varnish finish (e.g., Sikkens Cetol); I just can’t stand the look of varnish on unfilled open-grain woods, and I wasn’t about to try to use a pore filler on an outdoor piece.
In order to facilitate the inevitability of refinishing, the only parts of the table that are glued are the components of the two halves of the top. Everything else is bolted or screwed together. The top panels and the two leg braces are attached with #6-32 screws and brass inserts. The screws (also from McMaster-Carr) have a patch of locking goop that you can see in the photo. The makeshift insert installation tool on the right, along with a drill press to keep everything square, works better than any commercial tool that I’ve tried.
Lessons learned
If I were to build these tables again, I’d increase the thickness of the top from 1/2″ to 9/16″ and reduce the thickness of the legs and supports from 3/4″ to 11/16″. I also realized after it was way too late that bronze saw nuts like these might be just the thing for the leg/support joints.
I think the most important lesson I learned, though, is that writing a blog post using an iPad (from a hotel room) is never a good idea…
The handful of you who witnessed the incident during the Midwest Woodworking wood sale already know that my block plane spontaneously disassembled while I was using it to check out some 8/4 incense cedar, with the various components flying out of my hand and scattering themselves across the concrete floor.
Surprisingly enough, I couldn’t find any signs of damage afterwards. There was a nick in the front adjusting knob, but that may have been there already. Anyway, once I got home I decided that it deserved the full spa treatment after an experience like that.
I disassembled it as far as I could, lightly went over the sole and sides with some 400-grit silicon carbide paper to remove any incipient rust, then cleaned everything with soap and water. After everything was good and dry, I sprayed the bare iron surfaces with Boeshield T-9.* Once that was dry, I wiped it all down with a cotton cloth to remove the excess.
Ready for reassembly
Then it was just a matter of putting all the pieces back together in the correct order, honing the blade, and verifying that I hadn’t screwed something up and it still worked. Speaking of honing, I’ve been experimenting with some freehand honing techniques recently, and while the jury is still out, one thing I’ve decided to permanently add to the regimen is a final stropping. I bought a couple of Genuine Horse Butt strops from Joel Moskowitz, and—as he advises—use the rough side of the leather with some micro-fine stropping compound.
The proof is in the shaving: sugar pine end grain
I suspect that the slight round-over produced by the stropping acts sort of like a micro-bevel, and helps toughen the edge. The net result is that the edge seems to last a bit longer between sharpenings.
–Steve Schafer
*I’ve also used TopCote (now apparently called GlideCote). Boeshield has gotten better reviews with regard to preventing rust; TopCote is less messy to use.
The streetcar stop at the entrance to Glen Echo Park in Glen Echo, Md., in 1939.
Friday evening, Christopher Schwarz, Linda Watts and I gathered around, drinks in hand, to discuss the “treatment” of Roy Underhill’s “Calvin Cobb, Radio Woodworker! A Novel with Measured Drawings.”
We looked at a passel of books that were published in the mid 1930s as inspiration for the font, header, footers page numbers, margins… everything that goes into making a book look appropriate for the content, and a joy to read and look at.
Then we ate what I think is our collective weight in fried chicken and mashed potatoes. (And thanks to Chris’ largesse, I enjoyed a snifter of Pappy Van Winkle’s 12 year – my bourbon of choice on the rare occasions I can find it.)
Linda is the designer on this project (and for many Lost Art Press books), and she has a lifetime of experience with woodworking titles. For almost a decade, Chris and I worked with her at Popular Woodworking Magazine. Before that, she designed Nick Engler’s “Workshop Companion” series of books, and was the founding designer for Hands On!, Shopsmith’s magazine. Plus, she reads a lot of novels. So Linda is the perfect person to work on “Calvin.”
Within a week or two, she’ll have ready a few “treatments” that we’ll share with Roy for his reaction and input, then she’ll massage the look until everyone involved says, “Yes – that’s it!” After that, it’s simply a matter of styling all the text and images, a few more editing passes, then off to the printer!
OK…maybe that’s a bit reductive, but we are now moving along apace – it won’t be long before “Calvin” is in your hands.
And when it’s off to the printer, I may indulge in a little treatment for myself…in the form of a bottle of 12-year Pappy’s.
For most people, the phrase “tropical hardwoods” conjures up a fuzzy image of some faraway jungle-like scene, in sort of the way that we understand the origin of the food in our supermarkets (hint: it does not come prepackaged). In reality, of course, the tropics are a complex and diverse network of environments, and any specific wood that we might use comes from a similarly specific habitat. I recently returned from a trip to Peru, where I was able to photograph some of these habitats (some of the photos are from earlier trips to other areas in the New World tropics).
What I write about here is New World-specific, but is analogous in a general way to the African and Australasian tropics as well. The primary distinction is that the Neotropics are dominated by two geophysical features not found in the Old World: the Andes and the Amazon basin.
The climate of any particular region in the Neotropics is largely governed by two factors, rainfall and elevation (which in turn dictates temperatures). Rainfall generally increases from west to east, with western zones being somewhat to very dry, and with a distinct wet/dry season, and eastern zones being far more humid (and where “dry season” means “doesn’t necessarily rain every single day”). The extreme topography of the Andes creates numerous small-scale “mesohabitats,” and many species of flora and fauna are thus restricted to surprisingly small ranges. An example of this is the valley of the Río Marañon, which in some places is over twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. The valley is so deep, and the surrounding mountains create such a large rain-shadow effect, that the climate on the east slope of the valley is dramatically different from that on the west slope, only a few miles away.
Puna grassland at ca. 4600m (15,000ft) – the peaks in the background are nearly 6000m (19,000ft); near Abra Ticlio, Río Rimac drainage, Lima, Peru
Starting from the top: At the very highest elevations, above the snow line at approximately 5000m (16,000ft), there is no vegetation whatsoever. Immediately below that is the puna (dry western slopes) and páramo (wet eastern slopes). The air is always cool here, and it frequently dips below freezing at night. The temperature extremes and the lack of oxygen mean that the primary vegetation is bunchgrasses and small shrubs; the only trees are various species of Polylepis (there is no English name that I’m aware of; the most common Spanish name is queñoa, which looks like it is probably derived from a Quechua word).
Polylepis sp., probably P. incana or P. subsericans, at ca. 3400m (11,000ft); Río Rimac drainage, Lima, Peru
Polylepis is heavily exploited for firewood and for small items like tool handles. There are reports that it has been used in furniture making, but I haven’t seen any examples. I would guess from the looks of the trees that the wood is highly twisted and contorted. Overall, the puna habitat is surprisingly similar to that of the coastal chaparral in California, with many of the same kinds of plants: bunchgrasses, Baccharis and Lupinus shrubs, but with coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia) taking the place of Polylepis there.
Dry puna at 3600m (12,000ft) – you can see the beginnings of the cloud forest forming in the protected canyons; near Abra Calla Calla, Río Marañon drainage, Cajamarca, Peru
Below about 3700m (12,000ft), we start seeing signs of real forest. This is the beginning of the cloud forest that you’ve probably heard of. Even on the “dry” slopes the cloud forest is actually wet, but from fog more than from precipitation. Trees in the cloud forest are heavily festooned with bromeliads and lichens. The average tree is relatively small, but there are occasionally some giants. While the cloud forests are heavily exploited locally, very little of the wood is exported, and the local names are ones you’ve never heard of. I think this is because the extremely steep terrain combined with the relative sparseness of valuable trees makes any kind of commercial harvest impractical.
Cloud forest at 2400m (8,000ft) – everything is covered by epiphytes (even people, if they stand still too long); Abra Patricia reserve, Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, PeruCloud forest microcosm at Abra Patricia – the orchid blossoms are about 10mm (3/8″) across; Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
Woods of interest that come from the lower elevations of the cloud forests include Andean walnut (Juglans neotropica), an endangered species that is protected but still at risk because its wood is nearly indistinguishable from that of the more common Peruvian walnut (J. boliviana), and Spanish-cedar (Cedrela odorata). Some species of ipê (Hadroanthus sp., especially H. serratifolius, yellow ipê or lapacho) are also found here, although they are typically found in drier habitats.
Andean walnut (Juglans neotropica) growing along the Río Utcubamba near Leymebamba, about 45cm (18″) DBH; Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
As we move further downslope into the foothill region (below about 1500m/5000ft), we start to see some dramatic differences between the dry and wet habitats. The dry zone becomes thorn forest; everything is covered with thorns to protect against browsing by herbivores. Thorn forest is very reminiscent of the Lower Rio Grande Valley in Texas. Although the trees are small, this is where some of the most valuable highly-figured woods come from, including cocobolo (Dalbergia retusa), ziricote (Cordia dodecandra) and bocote (several Cordia species).
Dry thorn forest at ca. 1200m (4,000ft); near Jaen, Río Marañon drainage, Cajamarca, PeruFoothill forest at ca. 700m (2,300ft); Braulio Carillo National Park, Río Sarapiquí drainage, Heredia, Costa Rica
The wetter slopes become dominated by numerous species of fig (Ficus sp.). Unfortunately from a woodworking point of view, the wood of most figs is soft and non-durable. To top it off, the latex exuded by the bark (a defense against insects) quite literally gums up the works when it is heated by the friction of cutting. You are also likely to see balsa (Ochroma pyramidale) here, especially as a fast-growing pioneer tree in disturbed areas.
This is also where that most important of drug plants, Coffea arabica, is cultivated.
Latex exuding from a fresh wound in a fig branch (I wonder how that wound got there?); semi-dry foothill forest near Moyobamba, Río Mayo drainage, San Martin, Peru
In the foothills, we begin to see many of the woods that are available commercially in quantity, although they don’t grow as large here as they do in the lowlands. The lowlands (below about 500m/1500ft) are broadly divided into terra firme (forest that normally does not flood) and várzea (forest that is flooded for a significant portion of the year). Várzea forest is generally not a source of commercial timber, but Spanish-cedar does grow there, and it is also home to that second-most-important of drug plants, Theobroma cacao. Terra firme forest is where we find the true forest giants, trees like big-leaf mahogany (Swietenia macrophylla), cumaru (Dipteryx odorata) and purpleheart (Peltogyne sp.).
Terra firme forest; near Pantiacolla lodge, Río Madre de Dios drainage, Madre de Dios, Peru
Two other Neotropic habitats that don’t fall into the high-to-low elevational sequence are worthy of mention: First up is the Pantanal, a unique wetland habitat in Brazil. Flooded for much of the year, it is mostly grassland, with trees growing on small “islands,” much like the mahogany hammocks of the Florida Everglades. Here and in the adjoining cerrado (a mixed grassland/shrubland savannah) is where most of the species of Hadroanthus commercially harvested and sold as ipê are found. Second, the Atlantic coastal forest of Brazil is one of the most seriously endangered of tropical habitats, and is where two of the rarest woods, pernambuco (Caesalpinia echinata) and Brazilian rosewood (Dalbergia nigra) occur.
Pink ipê (Handroanthus impetiginosus); Passo da Ema lodge, Pantanal, Matto Grosso, BrazilDeforestation in action – five years ago, this was all intact cloud forest; hillside near Laguna Pomacocha, Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
Is a sustainable tropical forestry possible? In principle, yes. But there are serious obstacles. As many suppliers of tropical hardwoods point out, agriculture does far more damage to tropical forests than does logging. While this is generally true, it’s also misleading. Logging, along with other non-agricultural activities such as petroleum mining, requires roads. And any road in the tropics becomes, in effect, an invitation to would-be poachers and others to exploit the land. Without controls in place to protect lands after logging has taken place, they quickly becomes yet more cattle pasture or palm oil plantations.
Marvellous Spatuletail (Loddigesia mirabilis) with Sparkling Violetear (Colibri coruscans) in the background; Huembo reserve, Río Utcubamba drainage, Amazonas, Peru
ADDENDUM: As you have probably guessed, I didn’t travel to Peru just to take photos of trees. The primary purpose of our trips to the tropics (22 at last count) is to see birds. The same geological forces that lead to enormous diversity of flora do the same for fauna, and many species of birds are limited to relatively tiny ranges. The Marvellous Spatuletail shown here is restricted to the eastern slope of the Río Utcubamba watershed, 2100-2900m (7000-9000ft) elevation. The theoretical range is about 600 square miles, but for whatever reason the birds occupy only a fraction of that; the total population is believed to be fewer than 1000 individuals.
– Steve Schafer
EDIT: Finally figured out how to enable comments… –SS
