Comments are now closed – thanks to everyone who joined us today, and those reading later. Join us again on June 20!
Got a woodworking question, a query about dog holes (which Kale is drilling above, for their new tail vise) or are curious to know what’s on the horizon at Lost Art Press? Today is your lucky day!
You have until 5 p.m. Eastern to pose your question in the comments section below, and we’ll respond. And it’s possible your fellow readers will have answers, too – and perhaps you’ll have an answer for someone else!
The remaining Open wire dates for 2026 are: June 20 August 8 October 19 December 12
My kitchen renovation is nowhere near complete, but I’m glad the space is at least semi-functional.
I’ve been at home this week (and possibly will be next) staring on and off at my not-yet-finished kitchen – on which I cannot currently work – every time I go to refresh my ice pack and drink more fluids. (I’m recovering from minor but uncomfortable surgery, and am under doctor’s orders to do no physically taxing work and to lift no more than 10 pounds for at least two weeks.)
This gives me plenty of time to second-guess my decisions. Maybe I should have built a lazy Susan cabinet in the corner…. Perhaps a smaller refrigerator tucked into the pantry would have been a better use of space… Should I have done inset toe kicks after all… Why did I even start this project ….
But start it I did, the day after Thanksgiving last year. And I’ve been thinking about it since the day I closed on the house in 2016. The first thing I built was the pantry storage, so that I’d have a place to store stuff – and it turns out that the pantry holds about 70 percent of my dishes, cookware, food stocks, etc. Not in any terribly organized or convenient setup, mind you – but at least I don’t have everything piled on my dining room table.
The pantry is also not done, but it’s almost completely functional (blue-tape drawer pulls for the win!). All that’s missing for full functionality is the ladder, which will also be used in the kitchen proper to reach the not-yet-begun upper cabinets there.
I moved my refrigerator into the dining room for a few months while I tore everything out and had the floors sanded and refinished. Going down to the basement to do dishes sucked enough that I got the sink base done quickly and hooked up the disposal and dishwasher with as little delay as possible.
And, my stove is now in place and hooked up. It taught me an expensive lesson: Do not replace a gas stove with a dual-fuel stove (or an all electric range, I suppose) without first making sure you have enough space on your electric panel to run that new stove. (I had to have a new panel put in…there went the budget!)
I built the cabinets just like Nancy Hiller teaches in “Kitchen Think” – except I use loose tenons where she used biscuits, because we have a Domino but no biscuit joiner. I did build one cabinet without loose tenons – screws only – and that was a mistake. The tenons (or biscuits) make it a heck of a lot easier to keep things in alignment as you drive screws. Always listen to Nancy.
I sure wish she were around to help me – or to at least weigh in on my choices. Or to simply share dinner with. (But I think she’d be proud I decided against a corner cabinet.)
Here’s how Nancy usually built kitchen cabinets (and how I do, too).
– Fitz
The method I use most often for built-in cabinetry combines simplicity and strength for the basic casework with materials and techniques for doors, drawers and finished panels that owe more to the world of furniture than that of contemporary commercial cabinetmaking. The technique that follows is a hybrid, drawing on what I learned at the different shops where I’ve worked. I have chosen materials and methods that make sense for my business, given my clientele and the styles in which I specialize.
Basic types of toe kick seen from the cabinet’s left end. The base cabinet at left has a flush kick. The one at right has a recessed kick.
I have worked on kitchen remodels managed by general contractors, but more often I’m working directly for clients. This is at least partly because installing the type of cabinets I most often build for kitchens is more labor-intensive and finicky than a lot of contractors want to bother with. They want to get their job done and return the kitchen to their clients as quickly as they can while doing high-quality work.
I get it. Before my husband and I were romantically involved, we were acquainted as tradespersons in the town we’d both made our home. The first job on which we collaborated was a wall of built-in bookcases. The clients had contracted with me to design and build them; Mark and his crew were going to do the installation. When we discussed the job initially, I asked about scribe rails for the sides where the bookcase face frames would meet the walls. “Life’s too short,” Mark commented. I was happy to be let off the hook and have him install the casework with applied trim, as he saw fit.
As time went on and we worked together on several kitchens, his attitude shifted. He still prefers not to scribe cabinets to their surroundings – it’s fiddly work that involves a fair amount of heavy lifting. As you get older, it hurts. But despite the aches, Mark has become expert at installing this type of cabinetry. A couple of years ago he even said he’d come to appreciate why I design and build kitchen cabinetry the way I do – it’s far more truly handmade than the majority of custom cabinetry. It allows the cabinetmaker (in this case, Mark’s wife) to use materials and techniques that are no longer common in this line of work, which translates to opportunities for the kind of satisfaction John Ruskin argued was every worker’s birthright.6 And in my experience, it’s clear that many clients appreciate the extra attention to detail, along with the awareness of history and craft that underlies it.
This is not to suggest that building and installing cabinets according to the following methods will be for everyone. It obviously isn’t. But considering how much flak I’ve had for my approach from fellow professionals over the years, it’s worth pointing out that a growing number of craftspersons and clients value this way of working.
The cabinet in the following example was designed for the kitchen of a 1912 house. I planned to scribe it to the floor and to the wall at its left; that’s why the face frame protrudes beyond the cabinet’s left side.
Unless you’re running a production facility where you build things in multiples to standard sizes, you should take the building work in stages instead of cutting all your parts at the start, based on a cutting list taken off drawings. That way you’ll have a chance to adjust the different parts to fit what you’ve made so far, instead of finding that your face frame is 1/16″ too narrow or you cut the recess for your kick 1/4″ too high.
Some people start with face frames, then build their carcases to fit. I work the other way around: Once the basic cases have been assembled, I move on to face frames. Then come doors and drawers.
Get Going
Now you have your scale elevations at hand and have made a cutting list based on them. My typical material for kitchen casework is 3/4″ maple-faced veneer-core plywood, prefinished on one side. The prefinished side goes to the cabinet interior; it saves a lot of time, which helps make my work affordable. That said, some jobs call for painted interiors or other finish treatments, so I always choose the sheet material to suit the job.
The next step is to cut your basic parts (sides, tops and cabinet floors) to size. Because I’m building each job to genuinely custom dimensions, some base cabinets may not be designed to end up 24″ deep or 34-3/4″ high. (For example, I love a 38″-high counter. It should go without saying that the carcase height must be adjusted to allow for the thickness of whichever counter material you’ll be using.) And even if most of the uppers in a kitchen job will be 12″ deep, one may be a 5″-deep spice cabinet, while another may be 16″ deep.
Rip all of the sides and floors to width. The edges and corners of sheet goods may not be square, and they often have minor damage, so it’s ideal to make the first rip slightly overwidth, then turn it around and rip the other edge to the size you require. That way you’ll have two square, clean edges for joinery.
Keep in mind how parts relate. Plan view of cabinet sides and back with face frame overhang (top). Front elevation showing face frame, door and drawer (bottom).
After ripping, cut the parts to length. There are various ways to do this. Aside from cutting each part accurately to length, it’s important to cut the ends square. You can do this with a track saw if you have one. Alternatively you can use a straightedge and a pattern cutting bit to rout one end square, then crosscut on a table saw, running that end along the fence. (The same technique will work with a radial arm saw for the second cut, which trims the piece to length.) My current method is to crosscut one end of each piece using a slider on my table saw, then cut it to length using the fence. Be sure you mark each part clearly as you cut it.
My method for joining cabinet floors to sides may not be refined, but it’s quick, simple and strong. I use a spacer made from scrap 3/4″ plywood to position the floor and support it. Twin-thread screws run in through the cabinet sides will fasten the whole thing together.
Your elevations will determine how high the kick needs to be and whether it will be flush or recessed. Calculate the height of the space that will be be neath the cabinet floor and rip spacers from scrap plywood to this width, then cut them to length. If your kick will be flush, the spacer should be a hair under the width of the cabinet sides in length; if the kick will be recessed, the spacer should be a hair under the width of the cutout portion at the bottom of each cabinet side.
Next, drill for the screws that will tie the sides together with the floor.
Most base cabinets do not need a solid plywood top. A strip several inches wide at the front and back offers plenty of material to tie the sides together and support a counter, and using less material lightens the weight of these substantial cabinets while minimizing waste. Sink bases in particular do not need a solid top; the vast majority of a sink base’s top will be cut out to accommodate the sink. For narrow cabinets (those 18″ or less wide) it’s usually quicker to go ahead and make a solid plywood top, following the same directions as those for a strip top.
The strips for a particular cabinet will be the same length as the floor for that cabinet, so cut them to length at the same time. The sides of the cabinet will be joined to these strips with twin-thread screws, but I also use biscuit joints, for increased strength as well as a positive means of locating the parts during assembly. Mark each strip with the cabinet name or number and “front” or “back,” so you’ll be able to identify quickly which end is right and left, and which long edge faces forward. It’s a good idea to have at least two biscuits in each strip to help prevent the strips from twisting during assembly.
If you have ever found yourself on hands and knees, searching for that custard pan in the very back of a base cabinet, you’ll understand why most cabinets today are made with drawers or pull-out trays on full-extension mechanical slides instead of with shelves concealed by doors. I rarely put shelves in base cabinets, but I do use them in upper cabinets and in shallow base units such as bookshelves.
When a cabinet will have adjustable shelves, I usually use 1/4″ pin-style supports, which are unobtrusive, extremely strong (I have used them to store large shelves of LPs) and fast. Now is the time to drill shelf support holes, because you can clamp the cabinet sides together and mark them at the same time. Lay out the positions with a long square.
Safety first. Drill shelf support holes close to the front and back of the shelf, where they will give the necessary support.
Shelf spacing may seem like a no-brainer, but even here it’s worth paying attention to a few considerations:
There is no point putting shelf support holes too close to the cabinet floor or top (or, in cases where there will be drawers above the shelf compartment, too close to the drawers) where there would not be enough room to store anything on the shelves. Think about what the shelves will need to hold and plan their spacing accordingly. If the bottom of the cabinet will be holding flower vases that are 12″ tall, there may not be any point putting shelf support holes lower than about 13″ above the cabinet floor.
Holes at the back of the cabinet should be about 1″ forward from the back edge to allow enough space for fingers when inserting and removing supports.
Holes near the front of the cabinet should be positioned close enough to the front edge of the shelves that they prevent the shelves from tipping when someone is putting an object away or taking it out. At the same time, take any lipping at the front edge of the shelf into account. In general it’s a good idea to center the front shelf support holes about 5/8″ on center behind the back face of a shelf lipping that hangs below the underside of the shelf.
Consider how much adjustability is really necessary for the shelves in a given cabinet. For cabinets that will store shorter items such as juice glasses and dishware, closer spacing may be warranted; I often lay these out at 1-1/4″ on center. For cabinets storing large items such as tall jars of dry goods, 2″ on center may be more practical. The point is to allow as much versatility in positioning the shelves as may be needed while avoiding the visual busy-ness of too many holes.
A typical upper unit. The top shows a plan view; at bottom is an elevation.
Assembly Time
With the basic carcase joints cut and shelf support holes drilled, you’re ready to glue up the cabinets. Run a bead of glue along the top edge of each floor spacer, then stand the sides on the floor, front edge facing up. (You can lean each side against a workbench, stationary machine or sturdy trash can to hold it temporarily.)
Set the cabinet floor in place between the sides, and clamp loosely. Depending on the size of the assembly and whether you have a helper, it may be more practical to hold the floor and sides together by clamping the floor to the bottom spacers instead of clamping across the cabinet’s width. At this point the clamp is just to hold the parts together while you insert the top (or top strips); there will be time to adjust the fit and get things square.
Now apply glue to the biscuit slots for the top (or top strips), insert the biscuits, and set the top in place. Apply a couple of clamps to hold the assembly together while you adjust the fit.
After squaring the cabinet, sight across the top edges to check for winding. Shim at the bottom as necessary to remove twist, then drill and screw. Let the cabinet sit until the glue has set, per the glue manufacturer’s instructions.
Vertical Dividers Plywood that’s prefinished on both sides comes into its own for vertical dividers. I measure for dividers at this point and fasten them in place with screws.
Instead of using a tape measure, I cut a couple of pieces of scrap plywood (one for the bottom, the other for the top) to the distance between the divider and the nearest cabinet side. Clamp the scrap in place and you have an instant way to drill the pilot holes, 3/8″ on center from the edge of the scrap. This method also makes locating the divider a snap when you’re ready to screw it in place.
Of course, you can’t insert that divider until you’ve cut it. Don’t precut dividers to size; cut them to fit. Otherwise you may find that your divider is too small. The most accurate way to determine a divider’s length is by setting one end in place and marking the other.
Wide cabinets should have support feet below or near vertical dividers to prevent sag. Make these from strips of 3/4″ plywood cut to the same height as the spacers supporting the cabinet sides. Screw a batten on each side of the foot through which you can fasten to the underside of the cabinet floor.
Excerpted from Nancy R, Hiller’s “Kitchen Think” – which I cannot recommend highly enough if you’re considering a kitchen renovation. And doubly so if you’re considering a sympathetic renovation for an older home
Join the Lost Art Press gang, along with four score of the world’s best hand tool makers and teachers, and 5,000 or so of your closest woodworking friends for the hand tool event of the year:
Roy Underhill, entertaining the Saturday morning crowd in 2023.
Admission to the event is free (though donations at the door will be much appreciated by the organizers) – but do register in advance on the Handworks website. That way, you’ll be eligible for some fabulous door prizes donated by the vendors.
On Saturday morning, Christopher Schwarz and Mike Siemsen will kick things off at 10 a.m. with what I am sure will be a slightly unhinged and thoroughly entertaining presentation. (Doors will open at 9 a.m. that morning to allow folks to find a spot.)
This is the fifth Handworks, and while I didn’t think it possible, it grows more amazing every time. It truly is a not-to-be-missed event.
A fuzzy shot from 2017 (I hope it’s similarly temperate this year; last year was a scorcher!). Who’s that young man?!
Now available in our store is Ed Zappen’s book “Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration Desk.” Inside, you’ll find construction drawings, details and techniques, as well as plenty of color photos, to guide you as you build your own faithful replica of the Declaration Desk. Plus, an overview of events that led to the American Revolution and some of the people involved, as well as a bibliography for those who wish to further study the period and the Declaration of Independence.
The original Declaration Desk, on view at the Smithsonian.
The original Declaration Desk (shown above) was made by Philadelphia cabinetmaker Benjamin Randolph (1721-1791). It’s a typical 18th-century desk for a man of letters, with a baize-covered bi-fold writing surface that is adjustable via a hinged support that rests in stops atop the desk box. The delicate drawer features tiny half-blind dovetails at the front, along with a thin inlay of satinwood that is mirrored on the back of the mitered box. The drawer interior is cleverly divided with two inkwell compartments and a longer cubby in between for quills, with room behind for paper. It’s a lovely little build – and a lovely little compact book – for those interested in 18th-century furniture and furnishings.
Below is the foreword from “Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration Desk,” written by Harry R. Rubenstein, Curator Emeritus and former Chair of the Division of Political History National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution
Within the vast collections of the Smithsonian Institution, one small item stands out for its association with the nation’s founding. It is the small wooden writing box on which Thomas Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence. Like many of Jefferson’s designs and writings, this seemingly plain desk reveals a greater complexity with further examination, even as it reflects his desire for simplicity and order.
As a delegate to the first meeting of the Second Continental Congress in 1775, Jefferson lodged with Benjamin Randolph, a prominent Philadelphia cabinetmaker; Jefferson commissioned Randolph to make a writing box of Jefferson’s design to keep his papers and writing instruments.
In June 1776, the Continental Congress appointed Jefferson to the five-member committee to draft the Declaration of Independence. Scribbling on scraps of paper on the slanted boards of his writing box, Jefferson outlined founding principles for a new nation and listed grievances against the British crown that led the Colonies to their decision for independence. The finished text inspired many colonists to a revolutionary cause and continues to stir democratic aspirations worldwide.
With an open mind and a bit of imagination, objects like this desk make the seemingly mythic past more real and offer insights into the lives of those who still influence us today. For those who follow Ed Zappen’s carefully drawn plans and instructions, you will have not only the opportunity to produce an excellent and faithful replica of Jefferson’s writing box, but also the chance to enter a world of talented cabinetmakers from another era. It was a time when writing required its own set of tools, when handwritten notes were a principal form of communication, and when revolutionary ideals of democracy and freedom were taking shape to create a new nation.
One of Ed Zappen’s reproductions of the Declaration Desk.
This version of the cupboard was made by Peter Follansbee to look as it would have fresh out the door of the unidentified shop of its original maker in Essex County, Massachusetts, circa 1670-90.
I uploaded the interior files to our printer on Tuesday for Peter Follansbee’s latest book, “17th-Century Essex County Cupboard” – so by the time you read this, I hope we’re finalizing the cover. This one is a tour de force – a twice-in-a-lifetime project (though I’ll bet Peter wouldn’t mind making it again) that we are honored to be preserving in this 200+ page book. Below is Christopher Schwarz’s foreword. (Barring delays, this book will likely be in house by the end of May.)
– Fitz
I think it’s fair to say that Peter Follansbee doesn’t dabble in much. Sure, he builds some Windsor and ladderback chairs, he carves spoons and constructs the occasional Chinese firewood carrier.
But for most of Peter’s life, he has focused his research and woodworking on one thing: the furniture and workshop practice of 17th century New England. While our best furniture scholars dedicate themselves to the materials, provenance, culture and forms from a particular era, Peter went even further.
He trained to become a 17th-century joiner to understand how the tools were used, why pieces were made the way they were and how the dang things were put together. And that training began with help from scholars and woodworkers. It’s a good list: Jennie Alexander, author of “Make a Chair from a Tree,” Drew Langsner, founder of Country Workshops, and Robert F. Trent, then the curator at Winterthur Museum. They all helped train Peter’s mind, eye and hands.
But then Peter took a huge leap and became a full-time joiner at Plimoth Plantations (now Plimoth Patuxet Museums) in Plymouth, Massachusetts.
For 20 years, Peter built furniture there every day while exploring the tools, processes and furniture forms common to the period. He figured things out by doing the tasks of a 17th-century joiner day after day. The turning, the mortising, the tenoning, the unusual crease mouldings and the processing of green oak into beautiful riven boards.
It takes a deep knowledge of all these things to make furniture that looks and feels right when you encounter it in person. A joint stool made with home center oak and dowels just looks wrong. You have to go all the way and embrace the materials, tools and limitations of the 17th century woodworker.
Well, except for the clothes. Peter always seems to be wearing 20th century cargo shorts and tie-dyed shirts (we challenge you to count the total shown in these pages).
Of all the woodworkers I know, Peter comes closest to living the professional life of the joiners he studies. It’s not just his hobby. Since he left Plimoth in 2014, Peter has made a living making furniture in the 17th-century way. No machines. No power tools. And he does it in a small timber-frame shop behind his house. He makes a little money from teaching and writing. But making furniture is what puts food on his family’s table. He’s learned much more about the craft this way than someone who plays “historical re-enactor” in their shop on the weekends. Such as? Well, if you ask him a question about “How did they do this operation back in the day?” you’re likely to get the response “Everyone who knows is dead!”
But if you press him, he has some interesting ideas to share.
Which brings us to this book. When Peter began work in early 2021 on the two 17th-century Essex County cupboards shown in this text, he began documenting his work. Eventually, in September of that year, he approached us: Would we consider publishing a short book that captured his notes, drawings and processes concerning the cupboard?
I replied, “I definitely am game.”
That day, Peter wrote the first 2,000 words of this book and kept going until he turned in 40,000 words of text and 1,200 images in January 2025.
This is not a short book.
As we dug into the text, we realized that this book is about as close a description as we’ll ever get to how complex pieces of 17th-century furniture began in the forest and progressed through the workshop. This particular cupboard contains a multitude of operations: riving stock, insane amounts of tricky (and simple) joinery, drawboring, nailing, faceplate and spindle turning (some of it on a massive scale), plus sometimes-wild mitering jobs to add all the decoration to this enormous and beautiful piece.
Building a cupboard like this isn’t just figuring out the joinery. It’s also figuring out how the original makers may have held some of the odd-shaped bits to work on them. It’s puzzling over the order of operations to assemble the components. It’s figuring out when to carve and paint, when to rive and when to cut joints to keep the whole operation moving forward.
Even if you never plan to build this cupboard, you’ll find Peter’s book a gripping account of a twice-in-a-lifetime project. After reading the book’s final proof in March 2026, I was a bit awe-struck. Not just by Peter’s commitment to the time period and its forms, but also by the original joiners who made these pieces in early America.
It made my own work at the bench feel a bit small. But it also nudged me to be better. To get the details right. To chase after the materials used by the early woodworkers I study. And I hope you will find that the same inspiration as you read through Peter’s text.
It isn’t often that Lost Art Press gets to publish a book like this. Written by a joiner at the top of his game after a lifetime of research, training and daily work. Plus a project that is worthy of all the long years of toil it took Peter to be able to build it.
This is what furniture research should look like. And it’s what the best woodworking books should be like, too.
