This is the only opening in a tool chest class until 2014 I believe.
If you can ditch work that week, contact the school’s director, Bob Van Dyke, via e-mail or phone: bobvandyke@sbcglobal.net or 860-729-3186. During this class we’ll be building the chest out of some outstanding Eastern white pine – Bob is a wiz at finding beautiful stock.
And we will be eating at Frank Pepe’s pizza. A lot. Perhaps until I am sick.
I am a nosy teacher. During classes, I always like to poke through my students’ tool collections (with their blessing, of course) to see how they have modified their tools.
This weekend, I stumbled on a honey of a bird-cage awl.
One of the students in a class at Kelly Mehler’s School of Woodworking was an accomplished turner who was new to the world of “flat work.” He had some nice tool handles.
By far the best was the handle he turned for a bird-cage awl kit he’d bought from Czeck Edge. (The kit is $20 and is available here.) He’d turned the handle from she-oak, an Australian timber, and used what he termed “an English profile.”
The awl was perfect. The little peak near the ferrule allowed you to use your fingers to push the tool into the work instead of your palm.
If you are considering making one of these tools for yourself, I highly recommend the above handle pattern.
As I rushed out of the shop to drive to the French Oak Roubo Project, I snapped this quick photo of my teak campaign chest to keep with me, like a photo of my sweetheart during wartime.
I hate to leave a project at this stage – all the hardware is fitted and just needs to be screwed down. Then I just have to make a couple small repairs and do the final clean-up before applying the finish.
Installing the pulls was the most difficult part of the project. After a cock-up with a powered router (and getting spanked for it on my blog at Popular Woodworking), I read all the readers’ thoughtful (cough) suggestions and ignored them completely.
The best way to install these pulls has absolutely nothing to do with a router. But it does use electricity. The secret weapon: a cheap flatbed scanner.
The rest of the work was with a good chisel and a mallet. I could not be more pleased with the fit.
The finish on this piece is going to be fairly minimal. The basecoat will be a couple coats of garnet shellac – Tiger Flakes from Tools for Working Wood. These are the best flakes I’ve encountered so far. And then I’m going to apply a coat of satin lacquer because I’m quite good at that finish, and I like the way it looks.
But before I can get to that, I will spend the weekend teaching a class at Kelly Mehler’s School of Woodworking on building precision layout tools. It’s a fun class in a verdant location. But a little bit of my midbrain will be fixated on Monday when I am reunited with my chest.
I have never counted how many benches I have brought into the world, either through my hands, by teaching classes or writing books.
No matter what the number is, I can tell you that this bench will be my favorite. Not because the design is perfect – it’s a direct copy of A.-J. Roubo’s bench in plate 11 of “L’Art du menuisier.” And not because of the material – we’re using 18th-century French oak. It’s a great design and it’s great material, but the reason I love the unfinished bench that is now hanging out the back of my Nissan Xterra is because of the people I built it with.
Woodworking is a solitary endeavor for the most part. So getting to build a workbench with a bunch of guys, day in and day out, was new. I didn’t have to teach people how to cut a mortise, a tenon or a dovetail. There was no hand-holding.
And together we brought 16 benches into the world. What kind of designs? Who cares?
What height? Don’t care.
What kinds of vises? Lots.
The joinery? All kinds. All good.
Look, based on my writing you might assume that I like one kind of bench over all others. That’s not exactly true. My favorite kind of bench is the one that gets used.
When we kicked off this French Oak Roubo Project on Sunday night, I made a pledge to those participants who might use their bench as merely a decorative object (kitchen island? Dining table?). I vowed to sneak into the house and leave a flaming bag of poo on the benchtop.
Now, I’m joking, of course. I don’t think I could actually poop into a bag. (I haven’t tried since I was in Cub Scouts.) And I don’t think it would be all that flammable.
But still, the point I’m trying to make is this: Even if it’s a hollow-core door on sawhorses, it’s an awesome bench if things get built on it. There are other designs that might make it easier for you to hold the work, but if your hollow-core door inspires you to build birdhouses or highboys, then it’s a good bench.
In fact, the only thing that sucks about this class is that I have to leave it a day early. I managed to cut my sliding dovetails (yes, by hand) and rough out the through-mortises (yes, with a drill), but I didn’t get the whole thing assembled.
But I will.
When it’s done, I know that some people will wail about it. I will not add finish to it. I will tooth its benchtop. The leg vise will not have a parallel guide or a garter. And I’m going to use a toothed metal planing stop, which will surely mark my workpieces and utterly destroy my handplanes.
Despite all that, I will build a lot of cool s#$t on it.
If you have ever been in spitting distance of a tornado then you are familiar with the sound and then the silence.
Today we finished up most of the machine work for the benches and turned our attention to the handwork needed to get the joints together. But first, there was to be a smoke show.
While ripping a last piece of oak on a 14” Martin table saw, the oak clamped down on the back of the blade. The operator, one of the skilled assistants, held his ground at the arbor. If he’d let go, the 60-pound piece of oak would have flown back at him. He couldn’t turn off the saw because the old-style switch was out of reach of his leg.
I saw it happen all from behind. First there was a noise. When I looked up the smoke from the blade was drifting into the shop fan – shooting it out like a jet across the room.
As the noise began to bend, the operator’s strong arms began to jiggle like Jell-O. I started to run for the switch, but Jeff Miller was faster. He dove under the saw and switched it off. No harm came to anything except the wood, which was burned.
No one said much of anything for about an hour. The machines in the room were turned off. The rest of the day was mostly quiet. A few people switched on the band saw for a cut or two. But most of the day was all hand cutting, hand planing and hand paring.
Despite the adrenaline, I tried to keep moving all day long. Thursday is my last day here in Barnesville, Ga. On Friday morning I have to head out to Berea, Ky., to teach a two-day class on making wooden layout tools at the Kelly Mehler School of Woodworking.
So I had to get all the joints fitted for the base of the bench so I could cut the joints in the top. The strength in these French workbenches is in the joint between the tops and the legs. The stretcher joints are not as critical.
So when it comes to fitting those joints, I usually take a page from the playbook of Peter Follansbee. He says that mortise-and-tenon joints such as these should be seated when you hit them with your hat.
So about 5 p.m., Jeff Miller walked up to me as I was bashing one of my joints with a dead-blow mallet.
“Looks like we have the same kind of hats,” he said.
I grabbed my shoulder plane and finished the job in 10 minutes.
I wiped down my tools and put them away. Ate barbecue. We went back to our sleeping quarters and the power went out in a thunderstorm (it was a 30-percent chance of rain).
So now I need to sign off so Raney Nelson, Don Williams and I can tell ghost stories.
