When I first started harvesting green wood for my workshop, I was worried about bringing wood-boring insects into my workshop. It would be like letting loose 1,000 raccoons into a Golden Corral restaurant.
So I got some advice from fellow woodworkers. All of the advice involved pesticides. And some of it sounded reckless. (Put the wood in a garbage bag with an aerosol bug bomb. Be sure to tie up the bag really quick!)
Years ago, I found this short article by Michael F. Potter, an extension entomologist at the University of Kentucky College of Agriculture, and it was exactly what I wanted. Potter recommends eliminating insects from the wood using your fridge or your oven.
I’ve been using his freezing method for several years, and it has worked brilliantly.
In short: Put the wood in your freezer and set it for -4° F. Let the wood stay there for seven days. Remove it. Done.
Potter recommends using a plastic bag to protect the wood, but he’s mostly concerned about finished household items. I haven’t found it necessary when freezing raw wood.
The article also discusses how to kill bugs with your oven and gentle heat. I haven’t tried this method yet. I want to experiment first with some test pieces that are green because the method might rapidly dry out the stock and check the ends. (Potter does recommend adding a pan of water to the oven to keep the humidity high. I am interested in this technique; I just haven’t had time to give it a go.)
Another bonus with the freezing method: If you keep the green wood in the freezer it won’t dry out and will stay green as long as it’s frozen.
All this is just another excuse to add a beer fridge insect deinfestation device to your workshop.
As I write this, in Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, hundreds of attendees and a dozen or so presenters are enjoying the waning hours of the 27th annual “Working Wood in the 18th Century” conference. This year’s theme was “To Furnish a Town: High, Low, and In-Between,” and I was honored to be asked to reproduce for it a piece in the museum collection, a late 18th-/early 19th-century dovetailed blanket chest.
And I was very much looking forward to the other presentations, including CW joiners Bill Pavlak and John Peeler talking about the evolution of style and construction on drop-front desks and dining tables. Curator Tara Chicirda on how 18th-century homes were furnished (and how we outfit those same spaces today). Conservator Chris Swan on how furniture surface decoration and finish has changed over time. And lots more. I love this stuff! (Heck – I even bought a new car in large part so I didn’t have to worry about mechanical issues while driving from Cincinnati to Williamsburg – that’s how eager I was to go!)
Check out the wave on those sweetgum end boards!
I’m not sure if the CW folk consider this chest by an unknown maker as representative as “low” or “in-between,” and I didn’t think to ask. (But because I’ve never met a shell carving I wanted to carve or a marquetry panel I was slavering to make, it’s safe to assume they asked me as a representative of the vernacular, so not high.) Once I got a closer look at the chest, I categorized it as a “high low,” or “low in-between.” The joinery and simple design was well executed, and the dovetails were evenly spaced and well cut…but no city joiner would have chosen sweetgum (Liquidambar styraciflua) as one of the primary woods for this piece. You know how we often say, “Wood hates you?” Well sweetgum loathes the very thought of your existence.
The maker used Southern yellow pine for the front, back, top and plinth; the sides and bottom are sweetgum. Notice the dovetails pulling apart at the sides. That’s the sweetgum working its warped magic. These dovetails are all wedged (the wedges are in the middle of each pin). In most species, that would lock the joints together for generations. I suspect these started pulling apart not terribly long after construction…because I got the same wavy and exciting drying in my sweetgum boards within a day of surfacing it – after it had been carefully dried, allowed to acclimate, flattened in stages to allow for moisture exchange and to accommodate movement, and generally treated like I would care for a sickly kitten: carefully and lovingly. Then the kitten poops on you.
I had to work around the splits – there was but one slab. What you see is all you get!
I was lucky to find a wide slab of sweetgum at C.R. Muterspaw (it’s not typically a commercially available wood), and Shea Alexander of Alexander Brothers tracked down, cut and dried some gorgeous SYP for me. I needed stuff wide enough for single boards for the front, back and ends – those big boards were a lot easier to find 225 years ago, I’m guessing (or not…the original maker scabbed on narrow pieces to the top and bottom to make up the overall width – but maybe that was just poor planning).
This was a big pine tree; the planer is a 20″. And the shop smelled like a Southern forest for days afterward (yum!).
The biggest problem I expected from the pine was sap, and of course I got it. I had to wipe my saw down with mineral spirits after every couple of cuts. But I also had a little trouble with the SYP splitting – so I incorporated that into my planned stage show. I cut and fit all the joinery in our shop, kerfed the pins for the wedges on all but the fourth corner, and cut the plinth pieces and moulding blanks for the underside of the lid (the original had some kind of moulding nailed on around the sides and front, though it’s now missing). I’d finish up the kerfs on stage, then assemble the chest…and enjoy the audience gasps as the SYP split while I tapped in the wedges. I figured if I anticipated the split, it might not happen – a reverse psychology play, if you will, on “man plans, the gods laugh.”
I was so close to ready!
But gosh did the gods laugh…
Two weeks ago, as I was finishing up the prep on my chest pieces and making lists of the tools to pack for the trip (in my Dutch tool chest, of course!), I slipped on an icy Covington city street and snapped my ankle in three places. So instead of driving my new car to Williamsburg, I’m sitting on my couch (crutches within grabbing distance), with my ankle elevated above my heart and recovering from surgery. (Good thing I’ve plenty of editing to keep me busy in the coming weeks!)
Thanks, Zach, for letting me steal your IG snap (but did you have to take one where all my wrinkles are showing?!).
I wasn’t able to do the presentation I’d planned (obviously), but I did manage to cobble together a slide show with voiceover – thank goodness I took lots of pictures of both the original chest and my own build process – and the folk at CW made it work (thank you to everyone there!). Then I Zoomed in for the Saturday morning session, and took questions afterward. (It’s weird to watch yourself on screen.)
I plan to get back to the chest build in a few months – I hate leaving things unfinished. I just have to hope the sweetgum pieces haven’t in the meantime warped into hyperbolic paraboloids. But I rather expect them to.
In the meantime, I’ll be here on the couch, writing and editing. The only ones happy about all this are Olivia and Toby.
I wrote about the following trick to reduce splitting when nailing in “The Anarchist’s Design Book.” Since then, I’ve caught flack from people who say it’s not true. So much so that I’ve been doubting my own shop experience.
Here’s the problem: When you nail together a piece – especially using cut nails or Rivierre nails – it’s easy to blow out the end grain, reducing the holding power of the nail. Driving a tapered nail is a delicate balance. You need the nail to bite hard, so you don’t want to use a huge or too-long pilot hole. But if you use a pilot hole that is too small or short, the nail will split the work and ruin everything. Oh, you also have to account for the wood species and how thick it is.
It’s a balance of factors to get a good joint. (And that’s why I recommend you make a test joint before nailing together anything – especially if you’ve never worked with a particular brand of nail or species of wood.)
All this is a lot of set-up for…
A common split. This joint was unclamped when I drove the nail.
Here’s the joint (a few inches away from the failed joint) after the joint was clamped hard while I drove the nail.
Here’s the Trick If you apply a bar clamp across the end grain of the joint, you can reduce the tendency of the wood to split out the end grain. The clamp has to apply significant pressure for this to work.
Today I tried a variety of strategies as I nailed together a mule chest using 40mm Rivierre nails. All the joints were in Eastern white pine. All the pilot holes were the same diameter (7/64”) and depth (7/8”). And all the holes were located the same distance (7/16”) from the end of the board.
Without a clamp, about half of the joints busted out the end grain (good thing I started at the rear of the chest). When I added a clamp and applied hard clamping pressure – what you would use to close a joint – the failure rate dropped to zero.
I wondered if I needed to have the clamp at full pressure. What if the clamp’s pad simply acted as a wall to prevent the end grain from fracturing? Nope. Clamp pressure – lots of it – was important to keep the joint intact while driving the nail.
I have all sorts of thoughts on why this hard clamp pressure works. But I am weary of theories. If you’ve read this far, give this trick a try yourself in the shop before pontificating in the comments.
Confession: I was greatly relieved that this trick still worked. The internet had made me doubt myself again.
Soot was one of the earliest materials used by humans to decorate their surroudings. In the late 18th century and well into the 19th century smoke painting was a decorative technique used on furniture. It was cheap and the smoke could be manipulated into a variety of patterns, from waves of haze to leopard-like spots. If you are looking for a different and easy-to-use decorative technique give it a try.
On this blanket chest the smoke has been smudged and softened before a clear finish was applied. Smoke painting the drawer front inside the chest is an unusual feature.
Small dome-top chest, ca. 1830.
White and yellow were the most common background colors used. This dome-top chest with a bright yellow background has the addition of a snappy red trim.
Chest from Snow Hill, late 18th or early 19th century.
The Snow Hill chest is the oldest piece I found and it looks as though a graining tool was used to manipulate the smoke.
This upright chest from New England is dated early to mid-19th century. The painter used the smoke in a controlled manner to achieve a very regular pattern. I would guess that the “smoke trails” were smudged to soften the edges and increase the coverage of smoke.
Although not as common as the white and yellow backgrounds there are pieces with other background colors and they are especially valued by collectors of smoke-painted furniture.
A nice blue with a simple pattern and a racy red veering toward leopard spots.
Chests and boxes were not the only furniture given the smoke paint treatment. In the piece below only the table top of a drop-leaf table was smoke-painted.
If you want to try smoke painting make several sample boards first to practice the technique and determine the kind of pattern you prefer. Smoke painting is not a difficult process but it does involve using an open flame so there are several precautions. These are same precautions you would used when working with any flammable material.
It is best to work outside with another adult, avoid windy conditions and paper-covered surfaces. Have a bucket of water and a fire extinguisher nearby. The tools you will need are a candle and a palette knife or other flat tool. The palette knife is held at the tip of the candle flame to create a sooty smoke.
Apply a basecoat of milk paint to the surface. Use enough coats to get the depth of color you prefer. While the basecoat is still damp light the candle and use the palette knife to get a sooty flame. Hold the still-damp painted surface above the sooty smoke and move it around to create your pattern (this is where the second adult come in). If desired, once the smoke is on the surface use your fingers, a brush or other tool to smudge the soot. After smoking (the furniture, not you) let the piece dry. Apply shellac or other clear finish you normally use.
The gallery below has a several more examples of smoke-painted boxes, chests and a small wall box.
“Do not condemn the cutting qualities of a new tool until you have ground it more than once, as invariably you will find a perfect edge on the second if not the first time grinding.”
— Charles Buck, of Buck Bros., in “A Few Points on Sharpening to Users of Wood Working Tools.” For more on “decarb,” see this old post I wrote.
