If this were corporate America, I would have been fired either today or on the Tuesday after Christmas (let him have a nice holiday with his family before we can him).
Lost Art Press shrank about 6 percent in 2023 across the board – that’s sales, revenue, numbers of orders and visitors to our website. So far this year, we’ve shipped out 43,341 books, tools, posters and T-shirts directly to woodworkers (I don’t yet have the numbers for what we shipped to our wholesale customers). That’s about 6 percent down from last year.
In corporate media, shrinking is unacceptable. You have to grow top-line revenue every year and maintain your profit margin – or increase it. Sometimes the goal that was handed down was to grow by 5 or 10 percent during a year, without additional expenses.
Why did we shrink? Because we grew in other ways. We bought a building so we could bring our fulfillment operations back in-house – where they belong. Megan, John and I stuffed a lot of boxes this year and attended a lot of construction-site meetings when we could have been making books or videos.
We also grew as an organization. We added two employees – Mark and Gabe – who run the fulfillment side of our operation. All our employees have company-sponsored health insurance (even though we aren’t required to offer it because of our company’s small size). And everyone started the job with vacation days in the bank.
How we judge success is – thankfully – different than in corporate media. Here’s how I evaluate our year:
Are we eating, paying our bills on time and enjoying what we do?
Do we have enough money in the bank so we can make good books, tools and the like?
What are customers complaining about? Are we getting more or fewer complaints than last year?
Are our authors happy with the royalties on their book(s)?
Do we have enough challenging projects ahead to keep life interesting?
Would I rather push a broom at Costco?
By these measures, Lost Art Press had a good year. To be sure, we had some flubs along the way. Both Megan and I failed to get our primary book projects to press. Both “The American Peasant” and “Dutch Tool Chests” were supposed to be out this year. Not to mention Vol. 2 of “The Stick Chair Journal.”
All three projects are entering the third trimester. We should begin pushing any time now.
So what’s ahead for next year?
We hope the Anthe building will be stabilized and fully operational by the end of January.
Matt Cianci’s book “Set & File” will be out in February.
“The American Peasant” will be out in March.
Other projects will follow: “Dutch Tool Chests,” “Stick Chair Journal,” a new book from Jim Tolpin and Geo. Walker, and full-length videos on building the Anarchist’s Workbench and my Hobbit-inspired stick chair.
I’ll start working on my next book (it’s a pocket book on finishing à la “Sharpen This”).
We also hope to release our claw hammer, plus a couple canvas accessories for your tool chest.
Will we be able to do all that? I hope so. But if we don’t, no one’s getting fired.
With family things happening here this weekend, the storefront doors will not be open until around 11:30 a.m., and we will close at 4 p.m. – just in case anyone is planning a visit for a last-minute woodworking gift (and you might instead consider a Lost Art Press gift certificate – no need to venture out!).
We will, however, still be answering your Open Wire questions throughout the day. So leave your question(s) in the comments below, and we’ll do our best to answer. Comments will close at around 5 p.m. Or possibly earlier (so don’t wait until the last minute)!
Also, Chris has a post scheduled for 3 p.m. that includes, among other things, what’s planned for 2024 – so all questions along the lines of, “When is X going to be published” will be referred to said post. And yes, that includes the Dutch tool chest book and Issue 2 of “The Stick Chair Journal.”
The hardest thing we do here is apparel. No matter what we offer, people want it in a different color, style, size range or material. About 90 percent of items returned by customers are apparel, typically when a garment doesn’t fit like the buyer hoped.
Rather than just dump our apparel, I decided to try something different.
In the 1980s, almost every mall had a kiosk where you could get a custom sweatshirt or T-shirt made for your school, band or high school crush. The letters were typically blocky and “flocked,” which feels like suede.
I’ve always loved the way these look and especially the way they age.
Recently I bought a Cricut machine to experiment with a lot of different materials. My first thought was to use it in our publishing efforts (more on that later) and maybe make some small batches of stickers. After learning the ropes on the Cricut, I designed a Lost Art Press iron-on logo to make a batch of sweatshirts for our employees.
The finished sweatshirts we made for employees.
Then I asked our local shirt shop if they would sell us the transfers alone (with no garment). They said yes. So in the next two weeks we’ll sell a transfer that you can apply to any cotton or cotton/poly garment using a household iron.
The vinyl transfer will be inexpensive to mail, and easy to apply. And you’ll know beforehand that you love the fit and feel of your garment. The transfers are expensive (there is a lot of handwork to weed them – to remove the middle of the Os, A Rs, etc.), so the transfers will be $27. That’s more than I hoped, but I think you’ll be happy with the result.
— Christopher Schwarz
P.S. The margin on these is terrible – worse than tools. So we won’t be able to offer these to retailers. Apologies in advance. If you’re outside the U.S. and want one, I recommend using a re-shipping service.
Right after breakfast, Amelia helped Amos, her grandfather, bring in enough firewood to last for several days. Snow was expected in a day or two and he wanted to be prepared. Amelia loaded baskets into her grandfather’s old garden wagon and helped him unload and stack the wood inside the cabin. After several trips her grandfather said, “That’s good. Now, sit and rest and get your feet back under you.”
Just about mid-morning, Amelia was at the table with a book propped up before her. “How commited are you to that book? asked her grandfather. “Not much, “ she answered. “How about you go out and find me some crooks for spoons. Take the big path into the woods. After about a 10 minute walk you should see a patch where some branches came down a while ago. You know what to look for. When you get back we’ll go into town for lunch at the Thursday Market.” “Sounds good to me,” answered Amelia. She got her backpack and a big canvas tote. She grabbed a small axe and headed for the back door. “Have you got the axe?” he called. “Yep, got it,” she answered.
Amelia crossed the open field behind the cabin and stepped into the big path. Within a few minutes the woods were thicker and the light dimmer. Deep in these woods there were old-growth sections with enormous trees that were protected by law. She had not yet found the patch her grandfather mentioned, instead, she was at a point where the path forked, something she didn’t remember from previous walks in the woods. She took the right fork. The trees loomed above her and the wind came up. Amelia pulled up the hood of her jacket but the wind caught it. With her hand shielding her eyes she leaned forward and kept moving. The wind grew stronger and the light dimmer. The air was filled with debris. Tree branches creaked and squeaked as they moved with the wind. She stopped and the wind lessened as did the creaking. The squeaking, however, was louder than ever. She looked up and saw a gray squirrel scrambling down a giant white oak tree. It was doing the squeaking and it looked angry.
When the squirrel was almost at Amelia’s head height it stopped. It half squinted it’s eyes, pointed at her and yelled, “Drup that ass!” Puzzled, Amelia answered, “Drup my ass? Who are you to tell me to drup my ass? Wait, what does that even mean?” The squirrel dropped from the tree and bounded over to the top of a nearby boulder. It took a deep breath and said, “No asses! No asses!” Amelia also took a deep breath and, as she smacked one side of her butt, asked, “Well, squirrel, how am I supposed to walk without my ass?” The squirrel chipped and chucked and almost fell off the boulder. “Are you laughing at me?” demanded Amelia. “Yez!” came the answer between more chips and chucks.
The squirrel regained its feet, pointed at Amelia then pointed to his eye. “OK, you want me to watch, go ahead,” she answered. The squirrel put its paws together and moved its little arms up and down in a chopping motion. This was followed by it crossing its arms to form an X. Amelia watched closely and guessed, “No chopping? No chopping the trees?”The squirrel repeated the motions and finished this second try by pointing at Amelia’s right hand. She tried again, “No chopping, no,” she looked at her right hand and the light turned on, “no axes! No asses! No axes!” She bent over laughing and looked over to see the squirrel jumping up and down squeaking, “Yez!” Amelia put the axe in her backpack and as she did noticed the wind had stopped and the trees were still.
Looking at the squirrel, Amelia explained, “I came looking for wood for spoon carving. “Spoons?” questioned the squirrel. “Yes, wood for spoons,” replied Amelia. “Crooks. Come with me, Dummy,” instructed the squirrel. “Hey, my name is not Dummy! It’s Amelia!” she complained.
The squirrel led Amelia to an area where there were plenty of fallen branches. She was able to find several good crooks and some larger pieces that might work for carving bowls. After loading them into a big canvas tote she looked up to where the squirrel perched on a branch and said, “Thank you for showing me the way. I apologize for bringing the axe into the forest.” The squirrel nodded and pointed towards the path, “Time to go.” “Do you have a name?” she asked. The squirrel nodded. “What is it?” The squirrel tilted his head one way and then the other as though he was contemplating her question. Finally, he made a zipping motion across his mouth and took off up a tree. “You little devil!” Amelia yelled, followed by, “Oh!” as a large spray of pine needles landed on her head.
Amelia wasn’t sure what had just happened or if it had happened. She didn’t quite trust herself and her reactions to new things. She had been in a bad car accident in the spring and had a slow recovery. Her grandfather had invited her to spend a couple months with him to, as he put it, get her feet back under her. She was feeling stronger and more balanced since arriving at his cabin, but it was her head injury that caused her to doubt what she had experienced in the woods. She decided not to tell her grandfather about the squirrel.
As promised, her grandfather took her into town for their lunch and to visit the farmer’s market. After lunch, Amos went in search of some vegetables, while she headed to see Sarah, the basket maker. She found Sarah at her usual spot in the market and greeted her with, “I’ve got some sassafras for you, Sarah.” “You must have been reading my mind, Amelia girl!” exclaimed Sarah. “Just in time! A couple of people have been asking for my sassy baskets to give as Christmas and New Year gifts.” Sarah added the fragrant sassafras around the rim of baskets to make make them sassy and spicey, which happened to be a good description of Sarah herself. “Can you sit with me for a while?” asked Sarah. “Yes, of course and I want to hear all the gossip!” answered Amelia. They were close to the same age and Amelia had learned the rudiments of basket making from her new friend. Amos found the two of them with heads together giggling over something Sarah had just said. As Amelia and Amos left, he turned back and called to Sarah, “We’ll see you at Christmas dinner!”
By the time they arrived back to the cabin it was almost dark. “I can’t get used to it getting dark before 5 o’clock,” said Amelia. “It creeps up on you, doesn’t? Come on, let’s have an early supper. I’m thinking pancakes,” answered her grandfather. Over supper, her grandfather told her they had one more thing to do that evening. They were going into the woods. “Why? It’s dark and cold!” exclaimed Amelia. After the episode with the squirrel she wasn’t eager to go into the woods. “It the long night, the winter solstice, and it’s a tradition of mine,” answered her grandfather. “And, I think it will be good for you. So, dress warmly, we won’t be back until late.”
They left a couple of hours later. Amos pulled his garden wagon loaded with bags he had pulled from the root cellar. Her grandfather shrugged off her question about the bags with,“Amelia, sometimes you just have to go with the flow and see what happens.” As they crossed the field behind the house and were well away from any lights, Amelia looked up and exclaimed, “The stars are so clear tonight! There’s Orion and the Pleiades and Aldebaran!” “Wait until we come out of the woods later tonight. It will be even more spectacular,” answered Amos. “Come along, hold the lantern up. We’re almost at the path into the woods.”
Amelia held the lantern higher as they entered the woods. It was quiet and dark, very dark and she said so. “Amelia,” her grandfather started to say and she cut him off with, “I know, I know, go with the flow, I’m flowing, I’m flowing.” Amelia thought they were going to walk the entire network of paths until Amos stopped at a small clearing. Taking some wood from the wagon he lit a small fire in a pit. “Grandpa, is that allowed?” she asked. “There is no wind, it will be fine,” he answered. “Take the bags out of the wagon and put them near the sitting boulders. Then, grab one of the cushions, have a seat and get comfortable,” he directed. She did as she was told and waited for him to also take a seat before asking, “Now what?” He answered with, “Shhhh.”
Amelia waited. The quiet was broken by a scrabbling sound coming from a nearby tree. A few seconds later a squeaky little voice spoke from the boulder closest to her grandfather. “Good evening Amos, you brought Dummy with you.” Before her grandfather could say a word, Amelia jumped to her feet, pointed at the newcomer and exclaimed, “You! I wasn’t imagining you!” Then she turned to her grandfather, “You sent me into the woods this morning knowing I would meet him, didn’t you?” “Only if you entered the old part of the forest and were carrying an axe,” Amos replied. He was sitting on his boulder, arms crossed with a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Amelia, please meet Wipunk, guardian of the old forest and my companion for our annual meeting on the long night. Wipunk, Amelia is my granddaughter.” Wipunk was dancing from foot to foot. “Amos, I made a mistake with the words today. I told Amelia no asses, I meant no axes. She thought I was nuts!” Amelia told Amos the details of the squirrel’s pantomime and Amos and Wipunk burst out laughing. She added, “I thought I was nuts.” Wipunk considered her for a moment and said, “It is okay to sometimes be nuts.”
Still looking at Amelia, Wipunk explained, “This is the long night and on this night we have a fire and we share food. Amos, what did you bring for the long night?” Amos started to open the canvas bags. “Acorns from white and red oak, hickory nuts, late-harvest apples and pears, a few berries, Catawba grapes and cabbage leaves,” he answered. “Cabbage?” queried Wipunk. “Rabbits and deer eat cabbage. Try some,” Amos answered and handed Wipunk a small piece. Wipunk took the cabbage and sniffed it, gave it a lick and took a small bite. “Not bad,” he announced. Amos handed a small bag of almonds to the squirrel. “I didn’t forget your almonds for the long night.” While Wipunk started on his almonds, Amos and Amelia spread the acorns and other goods outside the circle of boulders. As they did so, Amos explained, “By morning, all of this will be eaten or stored away.”
When they sat back down, Wipunk looked at Amelia. “The long night is also when we tell stories. Amos, Amelia should hear the the story of how you met my ancestor.” Amos had a strained look. He rubbed his face with one hand as though he was removing a protective mask. He looked at Amelia, his eyes sad. “I suppose I must,” he said. “Yez, Amos, you must,”replied Wipunk. Amos began, “It was twelve years ago, not long after your grandmother died. I was in a bad way.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Amos was struggling. His dear Anna had died several months before and he was bereft. The funeral, the visits by friends and neighbors, the memorials and the legal paperwork were finally done. He was alone and without her for the first time in over fifty years. His grief descended and held him for days.
Late one afternoon, he was sitting in his favorite chair looking across at her old chair andthought Anna would have told him to get outside and walk away his bad mood. “That’s what I’ll do!” he announced to the empty house. He got his backpack ready, grabbed his hiking stick and again announced, “I’m going outside!” Going out the back door, he walked through the garden and was about to started across the field when he stopped. A white-throated sparrow was under the laurel bush searching under some leaves. “When did you get here?” he asked. He looked around and realized he had not only lost his wife, he had lost the autumn. Although it had happened around him, he had not noticed the leaves turning colors then dropping, or the October arrival of the little sparrow from Canada. Normally, he paid close attention to the natural world and kept a journal filled with notes on animal life, what was eating which vegetable in the garden and the weather. “I have to get myself together. Anna would expect me to do better,” he said as he shook his head and started across the field heading towards the woods.
Walking through the woods always lightened his mood, but that afternoon felt different. Well, I haven’t been here in a few months, he thought. It seemed darker than it should be and he couldn’t find familiar landmarks or pathways. The further he walked, the more disoriented he felt. “Why is it so dark so soon?” he asked aloud. Further along the path he came upon a clearing. There was a small fire pit surrounded by a half-circle of small boulders. Amos sat down on a boulder, checked his watch and saw it was only half-past four. Looking around, he could still see the trees, but the light was closing fast and it was getting colder. Not knowing where he was made him think he might have to stay the night right where he was. The air was still and he thought it would be safe to have a small fire in the pit. He got to his feet and started gathering a supply of wood to keep a fire going.
The light and warmth from the small fire helped him feel a bit easier with his situation. He could relax a little, but not too much. Sitting cross-legged on a cushion of pine needles, he leaned back against the boulder. His growling stomach reminded him he had energy bars, nuts and water in his backpack. He opened a package of almonds and popped a couple in his mouth. As he started to take a few more from the bag he heard a small voice say, “What are you eating?” Without thinking, he answered, “Raw almonds, no salt.” The voice came again, “May I, please?” Amos snapped to. He wasn’t alone! In a panic he jumped to his feet and called, “Who are you? Where are you?” “I am over here, on the other boulder. May I have the almond?” came the answer.
Amos looked over and saw a gray squirrel perched on the furthest boulder. The squirrel had one paw extended waiting to be given an almond. “Did you just talk to me?” Amos demanded, then caught himself, “I’m hallucinating! Yes, I am hallucinating.” He plopped back on the pile of pine needles and started laughing at his situation. “I don’t know about that. May I have the almond?” asked the squirrel as he jumped to the next boulder in the circle. Thinking he would just go with the flow, Amos said, “Sure you can try an almond. Here, take a few.” He put several almonds on the boulder closest to the squirrel. The squirrel picked up one almond, sniffed it, licked it and then took a small bite. His little jaws working fast, he took another bite. Amos counted eight bites to eat the whole almond. “This is good,” said the squirrel as he took up a second almond. After eating a third almond, the squirrel turned to look directly at Amos and asked, “Are you here for the long night?” “Yes, it looks like I am here for the whole, long night,” replied Amos. The squirrel tipped his head to the side and replied, “This is the long night, are you here for long night?” Amos was about to repeat his previous answer when he stopped and said instead, “What do you mean the long night?” The squirrel explained, “This is the long night of the year that follows the short day of the year. On this day I can talk to you. On this night we have the fire and share food. It has been a long time since Old Joe came here for the long night.” By the time the squirrel finished his explanation Amos was wide-eyed and his mouth was hanging open in disbelief. Deep down, he really wanted, no, he needed, this squirrel to reassure him and asked, “So, I’m not seeing things and I’m not crazy?” he asked. The squirrel jumped to the boulder closest to Amos, leaned forward and with one little paw tapped Amos right on the nose, “You are not crazy, just a dummy!”
Amos laughed so hard he cried, then he sobbed until he was laughing again. The squirrel watched and helped himself to the bag of almonds. After Amos recovered, he introduced himself and asked the squirrel if he had a name. “I am Wipunk. The squirrel that can talk is named Wipunk. After we have more to eat and more talk I will show you the way out of the forest.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“And that is what he did,” explained Amos. “He showed me the way out. I would see him every time I went into the forest and he would acknowledge me by tossing an acorn or pine cone my way. I asked around and was able tracked down Old Joe, a former ranger. He was well into his 80s and in a nursing home. He spent about a quarter-century of long nights with several generations of Wipunks and he learned the word Wipunk is from the Lenape language and means gray. So, probably, the Lenape word for gray squirrel was somehow shortened to just gray. Old Joe thought there must be some kind of winter magic on long night, magic that made the barrier between humans and nature permeable.”
“Wipunk did one more thing for me that night. I was about to put another piece of wood on the fire when he stopped me. “No, keep that one for spoons,” instructed Wipunk. Old Joe was a spoon carver and Wipunk had learned how to choose a good crook. When I found Old Joe he was still carving spoons and he taught me the craft. The first spoon I made was from the crook Wipunk told me to save. It’s hanging above the stove.”
When Amos finished his story Amelia was very quiet. “I didn’t know you had such a bad time after Grandma Anna died,” she said. “You couldn’t have known, you were a young child,” replied Amos. He continued, “Now you know why the long night and Wipunk have such great meaning for me. It brought me back to myself and helped me become closer to the great healer, the natural world.” Amos reached into his backpack and took out two sandwiches. He handed one to Amelia and unwrapped one for himself. Sniffing the air,Wipunk pointed towards Amelia and asked, “Is that one peanut butter?” She tore off a corner off her sandwich and offered it to the squirrel, “Yes, peanut butter with grape jelly.” Wipunk tasted and then devoured the small piece of sandwich. “Oh, very good! Please bring some next long night, Amelia.” He added, “You will come the next long night?” “I wouldn’t miss long night here with you and Grandpa for the world!” she answered.
Soon it was time to go. They packed the bags into the garden wagon, put out the fire and started homewards. Wipunk rode in the wagon until they reached the edge of the woods. He jumped out and sprang up to the trunk of the nearest tree. Continuing up the tree he called out, “Good Night, Amos and Amelia!” “Good night, Wipunk!” they answered. As they cleared the tree line the sky opened up and they stood still, dazzled by the winter constellations.
“I proposed to your grandmother under a winter sky like this,” said Amos. “With Yeats,” he added. “You quoted Yeats to propose to Grandma!”laughed Amelia, “How did that go over?” “Well, it was the third time I proposed to her. I had to make it extra special,” he said. “When was the first proposal?” asked Amelia. “The last day of ninth grade. She threw her chewing gum at me and ran away,” he said laughing. “It took me a month to memorize the Yeats poem. Do you want to hear it?” he asked. “I sure do. Fire away!” she answered. Amos looked up to the sky and began:
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
Amelia looked at her grandfather and saw he was deep in his memories of his Anna and she waited. Finally, he shook himself and said, “It’s cold! Let’s get home and warm up.”
The next morning a light snow was falling. Tired from the long night, Amos and Amelia took their time over their coffee. Looking out at the snow, Amos said, “One night, a couple ofmonths before my Anna died she told me she had been talking with the angels. It made me worry that she was starting to lose her mind. Now, I don’t think so.” “What changed your mind?” asked Amelia. Amos turned to look at her and had a big grin on his face. “I have been talking to a squirrel and so have you!”
This gorgeous book (we can say that without being braggadocious because we replicated the design from the Swedish original) teaches you techniques for cutting triangle chips, fingernail cuts, lines and letters — plus you’ll learn what kind of wood, knives and tools you need to get started, and techniques for painting your finished work. You’ll find 15 projects, from simple decorations on knife handles and signs to more demanding objects such as boxes and combs.
In addition to providing practical knowledge, “Karvsnitt” opens a window into older slöjd and folk art, and provides fascinating in-depth descriptions of the traditional meanings of different patterns and symbols.
“Blåudd” (Blue chip) has two ridge borders with single-sided triangle chips and a X-shaped border with fire-eyes in between. “Rödkryss” (Red cross) has an X-shaped border with lines running through each cross, which are cut before the three-sided triangle chips. Spoon carvers: Top left Jarrod Dahl; top right Derek Sanderson, with a kolrosed braid pattern. The rest are made by the author.
The spoons you carve will be too beautiful to stash away in some box. They deserve to be displayed on the wall! This spoon rack has many names. In Sweden, it comes in local variations, such as the spoon chair, spoon bar, spoon tree, spoon shelf, spoon rack and spoon hedge. It might be fun to check the archives of your local museum to see what it was called and how both the shape and pattern have been designed where you live.
Level of difficulty: intermediate Tools: Froe, maul, axe, drawknife, sheath knife, fine-toothed Japanese saw, chisel 18mm (11/16″), small wooden mallet, chip carving knife. Material: Straight-grained birch.
Method Split out a piece of straight-grained birch, ~40 x 4 x 2 cm (15-3/4″ x 1-9/16″ x 13/16″). Carve it smooth and evenly thick in the shaving horse or plane it with a smooth plane on a workbench. Cut a wide bevel on the front side, on both top and bottom. Space the spoon holes evenly on the side facing the wall. They should be 25mm (1″) wide. The wall between each hole should be 10–12mm (~3/8″). Saw cuts 12mm (1/2″) deep. Hollow out the gaps with a chisel. Place the blank against a flat board that can take marks from the chisel. To avoid unexpected tear-out, remove half the material with the first cut before turning the blank and clean-cutting in line with the depth mark from the other side. Carve the sides of the spoon holes and drill holes for screws or nails about 20mm (13/16″) from the end grain. Clean-carve all the sawn surfaces.
Sketch the pattern. Divide the front into rectangular sections and mark them with crosses. Draw single-sided triangle chips a short distance from the centerline of each cross to create a flat surface of about 2mm (1/16″) in the shape of a cross or X-shaped cross. If you feel confident, you can also cut them directly, without sketching. Leave about 1mm (1/32″) of flat surface toward the sides.
The long V-shaped grooves can also be cut with a small V-tool, but the chip carving knife creates a deeper blackness in the bottom of the cut.
Where the crosses meet, a ridge is formed between them, creating a fire-eye. It’s most practical to make all the cuts with the same angle along the entire border at once. Start with all the 90° angles and finish with the 30° angles. More detailed descriptions can be found in the chapter on cutting techniques. Paint and wax, then hang your spoon rack in the kitchen. Warning! Daily use of wooden spoons with carved patterns can lead to a lifelong addiction.
Detail on a mangle board from Nord-Trøndelag, Norway. The white cowrie shell is a small porcelain-like shell from the Indian Ocean that has been used to decorate harnesses for draft animals. Its shape was an exotic feature in folk culture and was often painted or incorporated into patterns. Here, the border consists of elliptical grooves, known as vesicae piscis, and three-sided triangle chips combined with V-shaped grooves.
Editor’s Note: One of these days, I’d like to try making the hanging tool rack for the ATC or DTC a la this project from Jögge – can’t see why it wouldn’t work!
