I am a biased reviewer. I’ve read and loved all of Nick Offerman’s previous books, and have laughed uproariously at his comedy shows. I’ve watched “Parks & Rec” all the way through several times, and think “Devs” is brilliant. I greatly admire the work Offerman and the rest of the crew do at the Offerman Woodshop. He is an altogether nice fellow. So, I was wholly prepared to enjoy his new book, “Where the Deer and the Antelope Play: The Pastoral Observations of One Ignorant American Who Loves to Walk Outside.”
The book – a response to a challenge from one of Offerman’s heroes, writer Wendell Berry – is in three parts, each exploring a different type of relationship to the land, and our relationships to one another. Throughout, Offerman asks us to confront uncomfortable truths that have helped shape much of the land as we know it today – and he’s not shy with his opinions on racism, strident Christianity, agribusiness, Fox News and more. I sing in the same liberal choir, so I found myself nodding in agreement, but I expect some who are (still!) expecting Ron Swanson will be disgruntled. But perhaps Offerman’s sardonic and self-deprecating humor, and the genuine delight with the natural world that pervades every page, will be enough to keep them reading.
The first part shares a tourist’s relationship with nature – getting out in it through a “bromance brothers” trip to Glacier National Park with Offerman, singer Jeff Tweedy and writer George Saunders. While hiking, rafting, and navigating a couple of scary incidents that could have ended Wilco, the friends had serious and enlightening conversations ranging from food production to Aldo Leopold, and from race relations to how not to be an asswipe. By the end of the trip, writes Offerman, “We three middle- aged white guys, ever aware of our privilege, had taken pretty full advantage of the recreation available in the glorious acreage that some other white guys had set aside for just that purpose.”
In the second part, Offerman helps to shape nature in a small way as he works alongside Cumbrian sheep farmer and writer James Rebanks in a number of flying visits. In this section, Offerman focuses on labor, how agriculture has shaped the land, the ethics of farming and the necessity of ecological stewardship. “We must understand that we are not passive passengers on this mothership Earth, but instead we must participate in the journey, whether that means grabbing an oar and helping to row, or feeding the crew, or holystoning the decks. Only then will we be able to help steer this venerable vessel away from the shopping mall/ Amazon.com and toward the woods and the meadow and the beck.”
The first two sections took part prior to the pandemic, and while Offerman ambles metaphorically through many topics therein, both are (mostly) located in one physical place. Part three is more of a ramble of both place and political topic. With time on their hands due to Covid-19, Offerman and his wife, Megan Mullally (and their dog, Clover), spent the fall of 2020 traveling with an Airstream trailer through West, Midwest and Southwest, safely visiting friends and family, and hiking the trails in some gorgeous locations. (He would like you to know, however, that “Sedona blows” and you shouldn’t bother.) I couldn’t find one quotation I felt summed up the section, but the following is a decent distillation of the book as a whole: “Mother Nature is not an American, and she is not proud. She is all creation, so her vibe encompasses all experience, in every size, shape, and color, from the high to the low. Her economy and its successful evolution thrive on diversity, and her children never rest in their glorious participation, reproducing and adapting, so as to grow ever stronger.”
The above makes the “Where the Deer and the Antelope Play” sound altogether serious – and there is no doubt that Offerman cares passionately about nature and our role in it – but it’s also a funny and entertaining travelogue. And in case I haven’t made it clear: highly recommended.
Editor’s note: After a brief unseasoned interlude, Chair Chat is now back on its high-sodium diet. Please do not read on below if you are allergic to salty potatoes or salty language. Today on the menu is a chair from a museum, served with ocean potatoesand meatballs.
Katherine heads back to college on Monday, and could use a little pocket money – so she made another big batch of Soft Wax 2.0. It is now up for sale in her etsy.com store. Today’s jars are brought to you by Wally – the second-most friendly of the cats. Bean is downstairs to greet me almost every morning; Wally pops down most days for his elevenses – he knows I keep treats in my top chest till.
I use Katherine’s soft wax on many of my projects, including the tills in the chest on which I’m currently working. Katherine cooks it up here in the machine room using a waterless process. She then packages it in a tough glass jar with a metal screw-top lid. She applies her hand-designed label to each lid, boxes up the jars and ships them in a durable cardboard mailer.
Instructions for Soft Wax 2.0
Soft Wax 2.0 is a safe finish for bare wood that is incredibly easy to apply and imparts a beautiful low luster to the wood.
The finish is made by cooking raw, organic linseed oil (from the flax plant) and combining it with cosmetics-grade beeswax and a small amount of a citrus-based solvent. The result is that this finish can be applied without special safety equipment, such as a respirator. The only safety caution is to dry the rags out flat you used to apply before throwing them away. (All linseed oil generates heat as it cures, and there is a small but real chance of the rags catching fire if they are bunched up while wet.)
Soft Wax 2.0 is an ideal finish for pieces that will be touched a lot, such as chairs, turned objects and spoons. The finish does not build a film, so the wood feels like wood – not plastic. Because of this, the wax does not provide a strong barrier against water or alcohol. If you use it on countertops or a kitchen table, you will need to touch it up every once in a while. Simply add a little more Soft Wax to a deteriorated finish and the repair is done – no stripping or additional chemicals needed.
Soft Wax 2.0 is not intended to be used over a film finish (such as lacquer, shellac or varnish). It is best used on bare wood. However, you can apply it over a porous finish, such as milk paint.
APPLICATION INSTRUCTIONS (VERY IMPORTANT): Applying Soft Wax 2.0 is so easy if you follow the simple instructions. On bare wood, apply a thin coat of soft wax using a rag, applicator pad, 3M gray pad or steel wool. Allow the finish to soak in about 15 minutes. Then, with a clean rag or towel, wipe the entire surface until it feels dry. Do not leave any excess finish on the surface. If you do leave some behind, the wood will get gummy and sticky.
The finish will be dry enough to use in a couple hours. After a couple weeks, the oil will be fully cured. After that, you can add a second coat (or not). A second coat will add more sheen and a little more protection to the wood.
Soft Wax 2.0 is made in small batches in Kentucky using a waterless process. Each glass jar contains 8 oz. of soft wax, enough for at least two chairs (or 30+ ATC tills).
I really shouldn’t write about stave churches. First off, it’s really way too much for a blog post. Second, I’m not an expert. I’m just an awestruck fan. Also, there are doctoral theses, documentaries, articles, research projects, books, lectures, artworks and chock-full web pages that you can scroll through that will tickle your fancy for medieval woodworking. You can also find stave churches in our folklore and even fairy tales if you prefer a more mythical perspective. Then again, who needs all that when you have the Lost Art Press blog and a mediocre Norwegian chairmaker to tell you all about them? It’s just woodworking, after all!
Heddal Stave Church, built ca. 1150. This is Norway’s largest stave church. Built by trolls, according to local myths.
I’m joking of course. I’m a complete moron compared to the people that built the stave churches. These buildings are all unique woodworking wonders that put on display some of the most incredible craftsmanship that existed in Europe during the Middle Ages. Along with our Viking ships, the stave churches are by far Norway’s largest and most important contribution to the World Heritage Sites. So if you ever come to Norway, forget about brown cheese and the midnight sun. Go to church instead!
Eidsborg Stave Church. Built ca. 1250.
A Brief History of Something Very Old
Research estimates that during the Middle Ages (ca. years 500-1500), somewhere between 1,500 to 2,000 stave churches were built in Norway. They were probably also common throughout other parts of Northern Europe. However today there are only 30 left in the world. And 28 of them are in Norway. The other two are the Hedared Stave Church in Sweden and Vang Stave Church in Poland. The latter was built in the village of Vang, Norway, about 1150. In 1842 it was taken apart and transported to Poland, where it was rebuilt. And remember, this was before U-Haul.
The construction of stave churches abruptly ended in the 1400s. Most of them disappeared during the period from 1350-1650, possibly due to the Black Plague and the Protestant Reformation. The 28 churches left in Norway were all built somewhere between 1150 and 1350.
The reconstructed Fantoft Stave Church from 1997. Originally built in 1150, but was set on fire by satanic worshippers in 1992. It burned to the ground in just 30 minutes. The church was rebuilt as an exact replica, using 400 year old pine. Photo by Diego Delso, license CC-BY-SA
The name “stave church” derives from the wooden posts that were the load-bearing elements in these timber frame constructions. These posts were placed vertically on top of sleepers (horizontal beams) that were clamped between corners and larger posts that were placed into the ground. On top of the posts, new beams were placed. This created frames that were completed with raised boards. In the Old Norse language, a post in a timber frame construction was called a “stafr.” The name since evolved into the word “stav,” which is used today and means the same.
All photos: Main staves (out of 20) in the Heddal Stave Church.
Octagonal stave repaired with bowties.
Picking Perfect Pine
Pine (Pinus sylvestris) has always been abundant in Norway. In dense forest they grow straight and tall, and usually with few branches along the stem. This made them perfect for Viking ships and stave churches. On top of these attributes, the Vikings were also extremely picky about the trees they used. They had a deep knowledge of how to exploit and even manipulate the trees into becoming perfect for their intended use.
They did this by first picking slow-growing mountain pines, often in the range of 200-300 years old. These trees had a much larger amount of heartwood, with very little space between the growth rings. They were then debranched and had their top cut off, before they were left standing for another 15-20 years. The resin then seeped into the heartwood and saturated it completely. The result was a highly resinous and dense heartwood. This is called ore-pine and is virtually rot-resistant. All the stave churches were built using this technique. The ore-pine was preferred for the main staves and beams, the wall boards and the roof tiles. Ore-pine is still widely used today in Norway in house construction and other areas.
Here I’m holding a cross section of Norwegian ore-pine, showing the distinct transition between resinous heartwood and the sapwood.
Cross section of nearly 300 years old mountain pine. Notice the very compact growth. The line marks 200 years. Please excuse my pale legs for also looking centuries old.
Another ancient Scandinavian tradition is the use of pine tar for protecting wood against harsh weather conditions. The tar was made by stacking highly resinous pine heartwood under an airtight cover of clay and other materials, and then lighting the wood on fire. After burning for up to two days, the wood was decomposed into charcoal and pine tar. This was then smeared onto the stave churches to further prevent them against rot.
By Hand & Axe
No one really knows who built the stave churches and where they learned their craft. The distinct style is also up for debate. Some think they came to life during a period of cultural vacuum here in the north. Others believe that they are a result of imported traditions and culture from Europe. Some have argued that the stave churches are inspired by the Roman basilicas. Others again thought they sprung out of the old heathen hofs, which was the Old Norse term for pagan temples. While others insisted that they were built by trolls and other mythical creatures. I’m pretty sure someone will soon claim that Hillary Clinton and a bunch of aliens were the ones who really built them.
What we do know is that the churches were without nails and mostly without wooden pegs as well. Even the roof shingles were often laid without the use of pegs or nails. While some early stave churches had board roofs that were pegged, most churches built after year 1200 had tar-covered roof shingles. Using tar-covered shingles on outer walls was also a common practice.
A typical roof shingle.
Eidsborg Stave Church. Roof and walls with tar covered shingles.
Detail from Eidsborg Stave Church. Tiled outer wall.
Pine tar covered roof shingles on Heddal Stave Church.
The skilled people who built our stave churches used a wide range of tools. The most important were different types of axes, augers, plumb bobs and a set of tools that I really don’t know the English words for – the pjål, the skavl and the skjøve. While that may sound like the Norwegian title of a famous movie starring Clint Eastwood, I assure you it’s not. The pjål, also called veggskave (wall scraper) was a an edge tool fastened onto a long wooden shaft and was used two-handed in a scraping action along the wall boards to joint them and smooth axe marks. There were also special types of pjåls that were used for more ornamental shaping. The pjål probably came in many sizes and shapes.
Besides some technical and architectural variations, the stave churches are generally similar in both construction and ornamentation. Each church has portals decorated with carvings, some more than others. A common theme in these carvings is fighting dragons, lions and intricate vines. Researchers argue whether this iconography is pagan or not. The carvings do not have any direct biblical references. Despite this, some think that the iconography is a pagan interpretation of Christianity, which was a new thing during the time many of the churches were built. Norway was Christianized around year 1020. In any case, they are extremely impressive. In addition to the portals, there are intricate carvings and detailed decorations to be found all over the churches’ interiors, the staves themselves, walls and all around the churches.
So, if the church builders were this meticulous about making the churches resistant against Norway´s rainy and cold coastal climate, why did so many of the stave churches disappear? According to the experts, most of them were taken down in order to build larger churches to house more people as the population grew. Fires, avalanches, storms and general decay were other reasons. In 1650, Norway had 270 stave churches left. Around 1800, the number was 95.
In 2001 most of the stave churches were in a bad state, so the Norwegian government started funding a project to renovate and preserve them better. The 28 left today are in good shape. They´re all open to visitors and some of them are still being used for religious services, weddings, funerals and other ceremonies.
So, unless you´re a satanic arsonist, suffer from ecclesiophobia or are afraid of trolls and Vikings, please come visit our stave churches. We need more woodworking tourists to counter all the ones that just want to take a fjord selfie.
Whenever I write, whether it’s a blog post, article, book or simple email to a friend, I’m thinking about what readers may make of my words – not only my words in a literal sense (especially when I use a term of art, a foreign name or a four-letter expression that starts with the letter F), but the points I aim to convey. As someone who was fortunate to have teachers who were strict about standards and liberal with criticism, I internalized the most challenging critiques that came my way, a practice that has served me well. Over the years I’ve augmented those critiques with thought-provoking comments from others, among them the kind of uncharitable characters who read everything with an arched brow and think they know the author’s mind better than she knows herself. (Really…just spare me.)
As the publication of “Shop Tails” nears,* I thought it would be helpful to answer a few questions from my inner dragonAva Hunting-Badcocke as a heads-up to those who may be interested in buying the book.
Dido, a kitten I adopted from a salvage yard.
I just saw that you identified your medical diagnosis as “adenoma of the pancreas” in one of your early chapters. Don’t you even know that the name of your disease is adenocarcinoma, not to be confused with the rarer form of pancreatic cancer, the neuroendocrine variety that killed Steve Jobs? How can you expect anyone to grant you a shred of credibility after reading that appalling mistake?
I make my share of mistakes. I cannot tell you how many times I read the manuscript, not to mention how many articles in medical journals I have read about pancreatic adenocarcinoma. And still I missed this poop pile while cleaning the yard. So now I’m covered in it. We will forewarn readers with a note on the ordering page.
Joey and Tony in the early daysof Tony’s regime.
Most publishers look for consistency in a manuscript – consistency in voice and chapter length, as well as spelling and punctuation. Your manuscript reads more like a lorry packed with the assorted contents of a shuttered Oxfam shop that’s spilt its load all across the motorway, leaving a trail of tacky Beatles portraits on velour, melamine ashtrays with burnt spots, hand-knitted Shetland jumpers, crotchless knickers and worn plimsolls with missing laces. The first few animal stories read as though they were written by a child. The rest are what we expect from you. Some of the chapters are 30 pages long, while others are only four – or in one case, two! What is that, even? How can a chapter be two pages long? I can’t believe that your publisher agreed to invest in this farce. — Miss Ava Hunting-Badcocke, 1973
Consistency may be overrated. I wrote the first few chapters from the perspective I recall as a child, when I lived with the animals in question: Sidney and Phoebe (both dogs), Binky (a mouse), then David (a guinea pig). One pre-publication reader described these chapters as “sweet.” The sweetness vanishes with “Oscar”; he was my first dog as an adult, so the narrative voice reverts to that of the adult who wrote the first two introductory chapters.
My goal is to convey important information and entertaining stories, and sometimes introduce a reader to new perspectives on familiar subjects. I’m writing about real life, and at least in my experience, real life is more like the contents of that overturned lorry than the polished near-perfection of your sitting room-turned-security–checkpoint-homework-checking station, with your line of girls and Gaston, your farting pug.**
My husband, Mark, with Henny.
I thought this was a book about animals and woodworking, but the first two chapters read like someone’s private cancer journal.
By the time Lost Art Press sent me a contract to publish this book, I’d been writing the stories about individual animals for about 15 years. My relationships with non-human animals have brought me comfort and joy (and the occasional heartbreak). They have also taught me important lessons about life and my relationships with my fellow human animals. What precipitated the contract was my diagnosis in November 2020, so as I began to work on the book as a project for publication, my mind went naturally to the circumstances that had prompted the opportunity.
When Christopher Schwarz was designing the book, I told him it would be fine with me if he wanted to excise the first two chapters, or parts thereof. I worried that there might be too much introspection and blow-by-blow accounting of what was going on in my head. He replied that he wanted to leave them in because they show how my mind works and add richness to the stories that follow. You can just skip those chapters and go straight to the animal tales if you’re so inclined. There will not be a test.
Edie’s puppy Poika looking like a sheared lamb.
I see you’re trying to con us into believing that blurb from “Edith Sarra of Harvard and Indiana University” is legit. We know the two of you are friends, and we’re here to out you.
No one is trying to pull the wool over your eyes. Edie is one of my dearest friends. We met in 2006, by which time I’d been hearing for years from my friend Ben Sturbaum that I just had to meet this woman who lives in his favorite house in the world because we would love each other. And love her I do. However, I didn’t ask her for what publishers call a “comment”; that blurb is an excerpt from a personal note she sent to me after she had read the manuscript of “Shop Tails” a few times. She’d been interested in the project for as long as she had known of it, because she, too, is a serious lover of animals (especially dogs, but don’t tell anyone). My friend Edie has delivered some world-class withering comments, sometimes by saying nothing, so I trust her not to be giving me an easier time than she would give most other people. She implicitly affirmed this by granting us permission to quote her remarks as a blurb for the book.
William reading the comics.
So, Lost Art Press gave you a contract because you had cancer?
Pardon me while I wipe the tears of laughter out of my eyes. I know… I’m not supposed to be laughing, right? Because I have an incurable life-threatening illness. But why go on living at all if I can’t keep laughing?
Seriously, though, I get your point. When I sent my pitch to Chris and told him that writing this book could provide the motivation I needed in order to face chemotherapy, I added that I was simply stating the truth, not inviting a pity party or being emotionally manipulative. Or something like that. I trusted that he would get where I was coming from, because he is a straight shooter. I was relieved that his response included something along the lines of Lost Art Press does not engage in pity publishing. So, yeah, no.
