Despite our best efforts to get him on a payment plan, Chris’ outstanding tab at the local bar has run up to astronomical heights. To offset the damage a bit, we’re dropping prices on a few past projects – the Blackout Tee and our Ebbets ballcaps.
The tees are a thick, tough 6.1-ounce jersey, tube-knit from domestically grown cotton. That’s about 50 percent heavier than your typical cheapo tee, and the tubular knit means no side seams to chafe and/or fall apart. They’re proudly Union-sewn in California, discharge printed in Oregon, and we couldn’t be happier with them (aside from their being remarkably difficult to photograph).
The hats are a heavy brushed cotton bull twill, with a short, flexible brim – you can wad the cap up and put it in a pocket, and its shorter length doesn’t bang into the top of the band saw when you’re focusing on a cut. They’re gorgeously made in the USA by Ebbets Field Flannels.
The Lie-Nielsen No. 102 fits in both the top and bottom of this miniature Dutch tool chest.
Nick Gibbs, editor of Quercus magazine, asked some woodworker friends to build a storage box for a Lie-Nielsen No. 102, aka an apron plane, as inspiration for the magazine’s Young Woodworker of the Year award.
The way I understand it, entrants ages 16-19, and from anywhere in the world, are invited to make a box for a No. 102, in whatever style they wish. The deadline is Dec. 31, 2022. The winner receives £500 from Quercus, and a Lie-Nielsen No. 102 (courtesy of Lie-Nieslen) that has been engraved by Jen Bower. (For details and to enter, send an email to info@quercusmagazine.com.)
The No. 102 is my go-to block plane (it fits comfortably in my small hand), so I was happy to come up with a box…though I broke the rules a bit by building one that holds two No. 102s. (If only I’d bought a white bronze No. 102 when Lie-Nielsen did a a limited run – how cute would it have looked in tiny tool chest atop its iron brethren?!)
For the most part, this little chest is built exactly like a full-size one: dovetails in the bottom; cut nails to secure the backboards, bottom lip and front; dados to capture the shelf that divides the compartments; battens and a lock through a catch to hold the fall front in place; a raised panel on the fall front and lid, with a fingernail moulding on the lid (I guess it’s a pinky moulding); rot strips; lid battens keep the top flat; and a hinged lid. Oh – and blue paint. Of course. (Yes, I’m writing a book about Dutch tools chests, and as long as I don’t expire, it will be out this year…if for no other reason than chagrin at dragging my feet for so long.)
I chose sugar pine with the tightest grain I could fine, and surfaced it to 1/4″ – aka the size of the blade in my small router plane – so I could use that tool to remove the waste in the dado that holds the shelf in place (and the other bits are walnut). I skipped putting nails through the side into the shelf (as is typical on some full-size DTCs), because I didn’t trust myself to get the necessary tiny pilot holes perfectly centered, and didn’t want to risk splitting the sides with a lot of work already done.
For that same reason, I glued on the lid battens, rot strips and strip underneath the slot for the catch. So in this case, the lid battens won’t keep the lid panel flat (they would properly be screwed or clinch-nailed to the lid panel) – but I’m not too worried about the lid cupping, as it’s only 3-1/2″ wide. Hinging the lid was the most difficult part – holding those screws in place required tweezers and a lot of squinting!
The chest itself is 6-1/4″ long, 2-3/4″ deep and 5-3/4″ tall. I don’t know its scale, or if the parts scale properly to a full-sized DTC – I just did my best to make it look “right,” based on it fitting the plane, per the requirements. Or in this case, two planes.
As promised, here are the almost-finished carved and joined oak boxes, with pine lids and bottoms. One person has to leave early – the rest will stay a bit late to finish the wooden pintle hinges – you can see one hanging down on the top box – before we clean up and head home.
No one in this class had done any kind of pattern carving before walking through the door on Monday morning – I think the results speak to Peter Follansbee‘s genius at teaching.
It’s no surprise that everyone looks happy and proud – they should!
One aspect of furniture finishing that has not been fully explained is how to achieve the gently worn, warm and human surfaces that you find on antiques.
Sure, there are lots of people who “age” furniture by thrashing it with heavy chains and burying it in a dung pile. But their furniture looks like crap (at best) and not believable (at worst).
During the last few years, I’ve gotten to know John Porritt, a British chairmaker and antiques restorer who works from a small red shed in upstate New York. Porritt has been at his trade for many decades, and his eye for color and patina is outstanding. I’ve seen many examples of his work, and it is impressive because you cannot tell that any repair or restoration has been done.
For his first book, “The Belligerent Finisher,” Porritt explains all the steps in taking a new chair and transforming it into something that looks like it’s 200 years old. The goal is not to produce fakes, but instead to create a finish that looks correct for pieces built on antique patterns.
His techniques are simple and use (mostly) everyday objects and chemicals – a pot scrubber, a deer antler, vinegar and tea. How you apply these tools – with a wee bit of belligerence – is what’s important.
The book will be lavishly illustrated with color photos. Megan and I spent two long days with Porritt in his shop, documenting every process for the book. We are currently editing the text and working on the page design. If all goes to plan, the book will be available in late summer or early fall.
Both Megan and I were properly amazed at the results Porritt achieved in a short period of time. We think almost anyone with a little patience (and belligerence) will be able to achieve beautiful results.
