Category: Make a Joint Stool from a Tree

I’ve made lots of joint stools over the years. Right now, I have a few underway, (see above) and a joined “form” to go with them. A form is just a stretched-out joint stool, such as this one I shot in Derbyshire a few years back.

Surviving examples from early New England are not common, I can think of maybe a dozen or so. But in England, these things abound in all shapes and sizes. I use examples from both places for inspiration when I’m making stools.

In my research I have collected names for stools from probate inventories, and sometimes you can see what the people were looking at as they made the list. Other times I’m still scratching my head. The quotes that follow are from inventories in New England and old England.

“(T)wo little joyne stooles”  – I have two little kids, so that was easy enough.

I haven’t made any “busted stools (worth) 1s6d” yet, but this example tested my mettle.

“(T)urkey worke stooles” are upholstered stools covered in wool that looks like a Turkish carpet. Usually it’s turkey-work chairs you see, such as this one.

Now, if I can just find someone who can make turkey-work covers, then I’d make an upholstered stool. Another name for an upholstered stool is “wrought stoole,” and Jennie Alexander made one we put in the book “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree.” That example was upholstered by our colleague, furniture historian Bob Trent.

I hope to not need “a close stoole 8s,” but sometimes it’s not necessarily a stool of ease, but just a stool with an enclosed box in it. I have made one of those by fitting a bottom into the aprons. You can nail the bottom to the lower edges of the aprons, or fit it into grooves in the apron’s inside faces. Then just hinge the seat instead of pegging it down.

One last use for a joined stool shows up in a non-period term that I hear a lot from visitors from the United Kingdom, usually old-timers. “Coffin” stool, like in William Hogarth’s series of engravings in “The Harlot’s Progress.”

And the phrase “6 joined stools of the worser sort….” Well, it doesn’t say “worst” sort, so I guess some I have made are “worser” than others. So I keep trying to get them better.

— Peter Follansbee, one of the authors of “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree.”

For your viewing pleasure: Steve Schafer sent along this photo of a joint stool that he built after asking himself the following question: “What would Ruhlmann do had he lived during the American Federal Period?”

The stool is made from curly cherry, holly and Texas ebony. The checkerboard inlay design was inserted using a technique from Rutager West. Rutager’s method will be shown in an upcoming article in Popular Woodworking Magazine.

It will be interesting to see how the authors of “Make a Joint Stool from a Tree” will react to this piece. Horror? Amusement? Something that involves a hatchet?

Steve asked me to point out one thing about the project:  “Boys and girls, this is NOT how you make a joint stool.”

I think it looks kinda cool.

— Christopher Schwarz

… then they would have had joints that failed suddenly instead of slowly and gradually – like a mortise-and-tenon does. I know this after dropping an anvil on a lot of joints.

If they’d had a router, they would have used it – unless they didn’t want to sand out all the machine marks on the mouldings.

If they’d had a dovetail jig, they would have used it – unless they didn’t want the jig to dictate the height of their drawers.

If they’d had a random-orbit sander, they would have used it – unless they were skilled with a handplane, which would make them faster than the sander. And they might not wanted to spend the money on sandpaper, which has always been expensive.

If they’d had PVA, they would have used it – unless they wanted their joints to be reversible and unless they wanted to dial in the gram strength and open time of their adhesive.

If they’d had dowels, they would have used them – unless they preferred a joint that wasn’t mostly end grain.

If they’d had a table saw, they would have used it – unless they wanted zero grain runout on their stock (which is what you get when you rive your wood) so it was as strong as possible.

If they’d had a drill press they would have used it – unless they wanted to drill a hole at any other angle than 90°.

If they’d had a chop saw they would have used it – unless they wanted to saw something angled or compound.

OK, I’m sure you’re sick of this line of thought. I am. Truth is, I dislike talking about this sort of stuff. Work wood the way you want to. But when you get assaulted by people who say that power tools would rule if they were sent back in time through some wormhole, I have to laugh.

I have access to a CNC machine. I would never use it for building furniture.

I have access to fancy word processors that will correct my grammar, spelling and punctuation, but I never use them. They slow me down, try to correct things I don’t want to correct and generally get in the way of good writing.

I could buy a car with an automatic transmission, but it would interfere with the amount of control I want when I drive.

I prefer vinyl over digital music. Et cetera.

We all make choices about the technology we employ in every task we do. So why would we assume that the people of the past would like to do things the way we do? I sure as heck don’t want to “print” a piece of furniture using a 3D printer. Trust me, that’s coming.

When that day arrives, then maybe all woodworkers will stand united. Until then, let’s allow the woodworkers of the past rest in peace.

— Christopher Schwarz

P.S. Be sure to read Peter Follansbee’s take on this topic on his blog.