It is an old saying that a child must creep before it can walk. We grow by degrees in almost every thing, and in nearly every direction. The child gradually increases in size—though not so very gradually sometimes—until it comes to the stature of a man or woman.
We grow in knowledge—at first knowing but little, the child slowly acquires the information that, if rightly used, will make him wise in mature years. So it is everywhere, “little by little” the great gains are made. It is step after step that the highest mountain is climbed; one brick upon another and the greatest wall is laid. “Little drops of water; little grains, etc.” (more…)
Let any farmer or person of moderate means look round his house and make a careful minute of all the odd jobs he will find which require to be done. Let him take paper or a memorandum book and note them down. He will find at least twenty little matters requiring repair or amendment. The plank-way to the well or yard; the fence round the garden; a garden gate that will open easily and close itself; repairs to the box protecting the well or cistern; mending tools, harness—and in short almost innumerable small matters all wanting to be done, either on wet days or at some leisure time.
Every one who is not a natural sloven is fully aware of the necessity of attending to these matters, but the great difficulty is he has no tools. His experience goes to show that the last time he tried to do anything of the kind he had to go to a neighbor and borrow some tools to work with. The saw was too close, and very much otherwise than sharp; the chisels were all too large or too small; the bit-stock had lost its spring and would not hold the bits in their place, so that he could not withdraw them, and perhaps broke some and had to buy new ones to replace them. Nothing was fit to use, and hence what he did was wretchedly done. (more…)
It is curious amid the day’s duties and continual bustle of woodworker’s life to watch, note and compare the different degrees of skill manifested by the various hands engaged at their machines. I say “degrees of skill,” because no two men possess and are gifted with the same inborn ability.
Casually looking at the mortiser hand, I was led to observe that his work lacked smoothness of motion. He lifted the pieces up with a jerk, shoved them on the fence with a rush, and threw them down with an air of “d— this work, anyway.”
Stepping over to his elbow I asked him ”was anything the matter, or was he not feeling well?” Really he seemed to be venting some spite on the harmless material which was passing through his hands, and judging from the way it was getting bruised and broken, he was succeeding nicely. (more…)
Having served three years at my trade as a carpenter, five years as a floor mill millwright and machine wood-worker, I made up my mind that I could do business on my own hook. I first started by doing small repair jobs, reshingling roofs, building porches, and small house additions. On this kind of work (which I did at the regular price charged by the local contractor for my own wage, and furnished a man at a profit of 25¢ per day and a small per cent on some materials furnished) I worked along for a year, and then took a contract to build an ordinary eight-room house, furnishing all the materials and labor.
I had always kept track of the cost of the labor and materials for making frames and placing materials, noting the time that it took me to do all these things. I based my estimate for the house contract on this knowledge; and on this contract I made wages for myself and a small profit. By keeping careful account of the cost of labor and material, and comparing the cost of each item with my estimate of same, I was able to tell where some were high and some low. (more…)
I’ve expended quite a few electrons recently, demonstrating that the “one year per inch of thickness” drying rule-of-thumb doesn’t work with thick slabs, both in terms of actual experience and in theoretical models of how wood dries. But that begs the question: Why, then, does the rule even exist? I haven’t been able to dig up any real evidence, but I can think of a few possibilities:
It’s close enough: For relatively thin boards (up to about 2″ or a bit more), it could be that our predecessors just figured that the rule was close enough. After all, 8 months is sort of a year, and 30 months really isn’t that much longer than two years, right?
We’ve got really wet wood: Some woods contain a huge amount of water when green. Such a wood, especially if it’s fairly low density, contains so much free water that getting rid of the free water can have a significant impact on the drying times. An example of such a wood is American chestnut—a species favored by our predecessors—whose green moisture content is a whopping 120%. Free water removal can make the initial stages of drying look more linear:
However, as the graph shows, the rule still fails with thick slabs.
We’re asking the wrong question: What if the answer is correct, and it’s the question that’s wrong?
“Alex, I’ll take ‘Woodworking Maxims’ for $600.”
– Jen Kennings
What if rather than, “How long will it take my wood to dry?” the question to the answer were actually, “How long until my wood is dry enough to use?” Let’s say that you have a 6″-thick slab of white oak that’s been drying for six years. Is it dry enough to use?
If you’re going to use it to timber-frame a barn, it’s more than dry enough.
If you’re going to use it as a cabinetmaker’s workbench, it’s probably dry enough, although it will continue to move a bit for the next several years.
If you’re going to make a Mid-Century Modern slab coffee table out of it, it’s probably not dry enough, since your customer is going to be upset a few years down the road, when it warps to the point that the ends have cracked and stuff starts rolling off the top.
If you’re going to cut it up into cabinet parts, it’s definitely not dry enough. In that case, you pretty much have to restart the drying clock from zero once the wood has been cut up.
