We have a limited run of handmade slipcases hand printed with the image of a honey bee (the symbol of workers everywhere). The slipcase comes with a copy of “The Woodworker’s Pocket Book” plus brass mounting hardware. And we are offering the two together at a special price.
This project began when Texas Heritage Woodworks was raising money to help build out the bathrooms in their new building. We bought 200 slipcases to help them (we have bathroom issues ourselves).
But what to do with all these slipcases?
Katherine Schwarz, our newest employee, hand carved a woodblock image of the honey bee. Then she applied the print to the slipcases with a linen-colored paint. Each print is unique, and many of the bees have their own personality as a result (I love the ones that have one big eye and one little eye).
We have only so many of these slipcases. So buy now to avoid disappointment.
The slipcase is designed to be hung on the lid of a tool chest or on the door of a tool cabinet – or wherever you might need to keep the pocket book handy.
We are now selling jars of Soft Wax 2.0 – our favorite finish for bare wood – which we make at our Covington headquarters.
An 8-ounce jar of Soft Wax 2.0 is $25. Or you can buy a kit that includes the wax, an applicator pad and the huck-weave towels that do an outstanding job of buffing out the finish.
We make Soft Wax 2.0 using only three ingredients: purified linseed oil, cosmetic-grade beeswax and a touch of 100 percent citrus solvent (made from orange peels). The finish is non-toxic and can be applied without gloves.
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. (We have it on our kitchen countertops and love it.) 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. It also can be applied over bare wood that has been stained or dyed. You can easily remove cured Soft Wax 2.0 from a surface by flooding the wood with mineral spirits and wiping it away.
You can read more about the wax and how to apply it here.
During my last day in the U.K. last week, we crammed in as much as possible. It was like a hot dog eating contest. But instead of cased meats, we were consuming culture. And instead of a stomach ache, I became consumed by ennui (just kidding, I got Covid).
One of the last stops before Paddington Station was at Robert Young Antiques in London. I’ll make any excuse to stop here. Everything in the store is wonderful. Of course, we were on the lookout for stick chairs. And we found three winners.
In the front room was this Welsh comb-back with unusual arms. Look how far forward the hands are to the seat. That is unusual. The seat is shallow – 12” at most. But you would be surprised how comfortable these shallow chairs can be.
Also of note: the oval side stretchers. These are a fairly Welsh characteristic as far as I can tell. And they are one that I have embraced with my chairs lately.
And, of course, the seat is not saddled.
The second chair was also Welsh and what we call a root-back chair, likely an 18th-century example.
These chairs have a wildness to them that I always love. This chair is twisted to the right – almost like a corner chair. It’s difficult to see it in the photos. Definitely not symmetrical (symmetry can be boring, darling).
As always, I love to see three-leggers out in the wild. And the little “heart” on the arm indicates it’s sold. Awww. Someone else loves it, too.
The third chair is wild. Look at the negative space between the front post and the back sticks. That is nuts. Also, check out the back sticks themselves. They are fanned out dramatically. That’s a bit unusual for a folk chair. But what is even wilder is that the sticks are hexagonal/octagonal. And they carry their shape above the arm.
The whole chair is fascinating. The legs are so diminutive compared to the massive seat. Even after a few days of sitting with this chair, I don’t quite have it figured out.
After I dragged my butt off the plane to Munich with no sleep, Heiko Pulcher did me a huge favor. He plunked me into his Subaru wagon and drove me to the Das Holztechnische Museum Rosenheim (The Rosenheim Wood Technology Museum).
It’s a 1,200-square foot museum devoted to all aspects of woodworking, from chopping down the trees to the machinery involved in the processing and the finished product.
I’ve never in my life seen a museum that is so focused on the trade. There were scale models of sawmills (from Roman times to the present), machinery you could touch, scads of tools presented in context and lots of ideas about how you could make a living working with wood.
Bending runners for sleighs.
I could have spent all day at the museum (we only had a few hours there). There’s an entire display just on riving wood. Another on bending. A whole wall of handplanes and how they worked and what they were used for.
It’s not a tool museum (though they do have lots of tools). Instead, it’s a museum about work (which is way better).
If I had walked into the museum when it opened in 1983 at age 15, I think my life might have taken a turn much sooner. I grew up around furniture making. My grandfather and uncle did it for relaxation. My father did it for necessity. But no one told me you could do it for a living.
A scale model of an industrial sawmill.
The closest thing to the furniture making profession that I knew about was architecture (our house was filled with architecture and carpentry books).
The museum in Rosenheim presents a much clearer picture. And it shows how the technology has changed through the centuries. There’s an entire display about wooden airplane propellers (they are still manufactured in Rosenheim), plus another display on wooden skis and a third display on wooden pipes used for moving salt water (true, that’s not a job you can get today).
And if I’d been there at 15, I might have walked out of the museum, enrolled at TH Rosenheim and gone full German woodworker.
If you are ever in Bavaria, the museum is well worth a visit. Right now there is an excellent temporary exhibition on Western and Japanese joinery, with a fascinating film on Japanese temple building.
Glen Huey, a great furniture maker, teacher and (I hope) friend, died unexpectedly on June 27 after posting a short notice about an upcoming medical procedure on Facebook. You can read his full obituary here.
I first met Glen in the late 1990s as he and his father, Malcolm, launched their custom furniture business and were showing their pieces in shows across the country.
I was working at Popular Woodworking Magazine at the time, and we were looking for new authors who could help us build a world-class woodworking magazine. One of the other editors, David Thiel, met Glen at a furniture show and was impressed by his furniture, his friendliness and his willingness to teach others.
It was a great match.
In the following years, we published dozens of articles in the magazine by Glen (and sometimes Malcolm). Glen was both ambitious and a quick study. He went from being a contributor that we assisted with ghostwriting to a completely independent and entertaining writer. (This is no small feat.)
Eventually, we asked if he wanted to join the staff of the magazine, and he agreed. Glen brought his skills and ambitions to the staff of the magazine. It’s completely fair to say that he was one of the key reasons the magazine rose in quality and stature. He had outstanding taste in furniture design. He was a fast builder. And what he built always elicited oohs and aahs from people.
I’d be dishonest if I also didn’t say that this success wasn’t easy. Glen and I frequently clashed on the editorial direction of the magazine. He thought I was too focused on hand tools. I thought that writing about handwork made us special.
This friction is (I think) essential to a good magazine. You have to have lots of strong points of view among your editors. Otherwise your rag is going to read like Melba toast.
I thought that Glen and I had a good and respectful relationship (he was the first person I invited to my 40th birthday party). But I might be wrong.
One morning, Glen asked if we could talk in one of the magazine’s conference rooms. He told me he was quitting, and he was visibly angry. It was obvious that he was angry with me and my editorial philosophy.
I immediately offered to make him a contributing editor and to continue to publish his work. He seemed a bit disarmed by this. I think he was expecting a fight. But I knew the magazine needed him.
After I left Popular Woodworking in 2011, Glen rejoined the staff of the magazine. Everything devolved into chaos there soon after because of corporate stupidity. Glen and two other employees left to start their own online magazine. And we lost touch after that.
Despite my checkered past with Glen, I have nothing but respect for him and his work. He was generous with his time and knowledge. There were so many times that I had to prepare wood on a Friday for a Saturday class. And Glen volunteered to stay late to help, though it was of no benefit to him.
He was willing to teach anything to anyone. And though he had a quick temper (Rule No. 1: Never cut off Glen in traffic), he also was just as quick to forgive and laugh about it.
When it came to furniture making, Glen taught me more than I can ever repay. Glen used to say: “If you can’t do it on the table saw, it isn’t worth doing.”
He was joking. But the guy knew the table saw better than anyone else I’ve ever met. And by watching Glen and working with him, I have a confidence and capability on the table saw that makes my day-to-day life easier in the shop.
But Glen’s biggest asset as a furniture maker was his eye. He knew how to build pieces that would appeal to a wide swath of woodworkers. His taste was for vernacular pieces that were just a notch above. Many times he could take a simple design and use wood selection (the guy adored curly maple) to make it something unforgettable.
He also wrote some great books before leaving the craft. And if you like traditional American furniture, I think you should own these as well.
After Glen left the furniture trade, he opened a donut business north of Cincinnati called “The Donut Dude.” I always meant to drive up and check it out (Megan did). It’s a huge regret for me. If you have any unfinished business like this in your life, don’t put it off.
— Christopher Schwarz
I have a few things to add to Chris’s comments above – but I must first reiterate that Glen was a massive asset to Popular Woodworking, during both of his staff tenures and as a contributor. He was also incredibly important to my development as a woodworker, and as generous with his time and teaching as could possibly be.
I’m glad I didn’t go down the hand-tool rabbit hole right away; I’d have missed out learning from Glen how to make large pieces of cove moulding on the table saw, cabriole legs on the band saw and line-and-berry inlay. He gave up several nights and weekends when I (entirely out of my depth) asked his help in making a spice chest for my mother’s Christmas gift, and we laughed together the whole time.
He was quite the charmer, too. My aunt and grandparents adored him; they met a few times when Glen helped move some things from their houses to mine – he was always willing to lend a hand.
I was overjoyed when he came back to Popular Woodworking during my tenure as editor. It was such fun to have him back around – until we eventually also butted heads about the magazine’s direction. We didn’t then part under the best terms, I think it’s fair to say. Despite the tussles, though, I missed him.
Last year, I happened to be driving by his donut shop and decided to visit, having no idea how I’d be received. I should have known Glen had long ago let bygones be gone. I got a big smile and a hug. Of course.
