The Carriage-business is of a nature so peculiar, that it is of the utmost importance that manufacturers should at all times have on hand a good supply of well-seasoned and well-selected timber. This every manufacturer who has been in the business long must have learned from experience. At how dear a rate has many a coach-maker obtained this knowledge in the first year!
Having very little experience in practical business life and taking everybody to be as honest as himself, he, with limited means, goes to a lumber-merchant and purchases a quantity of “stuff,” which he is told is dry. Now, there is a vast difference between seasoned and dry timber. No one knows this better than the lumber-merchant, and yet we have known many—honest men, no doubt—who would, if they could, palm off on the unsuspecting an article represented as dry, which, when it come to be worked, would be found as green as the duped purchaser. (more…)
One day last summer we overheard two seaside urchins discussing, coram populo, the merits of a couple of golfers whom they called “Johnnie” and “Freddy.” Any uninitiated listener would have been surprised to find that these players were not at all juvenile, but strapping Scotchmen, in the zenith of their power and fame. Their caddie critics spoke in the familiarity of adulation, and used the customary parlance of the place and species; and it is not a little remarkable that Robert Forgan, living in such an atmosphere of unconstraint, should have escaped the usual abbreviation of name, and have been able to retain his in its original form.
It may be that his somewhat large proportions have impressed even the densest of his familiar neighbours with the inappropriateness of a diminutive title as applied to him. No doubt an ignorant Southron has blundered, and, mixing up two names long associated in the club-making trade, has called him “Morgan, the club maker;” but we are referring to an exception made by an educated people, whose very caddies require to satisfy governmental inspection in the matter of brains. (more…)
For the last two years, Lucy and I have been looking for the right urban storefront for the next stage of our lives, which will begin as soon as our daughter Katy, 14, goes to college.
We’ve looked at dozens of properties in person (hundreds online) and have come close to making an offer on two. I plan to die in the building that we buy – at the bench if I’m lucky – so I’m picky about every detail – light, the architectural core and the neighborhood for starters.
Whenever I teach a class or speak to a club, I get asked several questions: Are you opening a woodworking school? A retail store? A place to film online videos?
The answer is: None of the above.
Lost Art Press, our business, will not change. We are dedicated to making printed books (and the rare DVD) about hand-tool woodworking. We don’t want to start a school or a subscription-based website. Why? We’re passionate about books. Full stop. It’s how we learn woodworking, and we think it is still the best way to transfer the knowledge forward through time.
But this building will fertilize two parts of our business that have been dormant during our first eight years. They involve you, so that’s why I feel compelled to write about them today.
A Mechanical Library. Our research begins in the library and ends at the workbench. As such, we have accumulated many hundreds of books on woodworking, many of which have not been digitized. With this new building, we plan to dedicate significant space to our library, which grows every week. It will be a membership library, but the membership won’t cost money. It will be something even more dear. Consider reading about the famous Cincinnati Time Store for details.
A Woodworking Laboratory. During the last few years I have taken to collaborating with other woodworkers of all skill levels to work out sticky joinery and design problems. Putting four or six minds to work on a question produces amazing results, and it almost eliminates the idiosyncratic nature of some woodworking teaching. Running an active lab isn’t an effort to make the craft more vanilla or textbook-like. Instead, it is a way of quickly getting past the blind spots of individual researchers and woodworkers. Since I started working collaboratively with other woodworkers, I have found the extra brains lend great clarity to my work.
Today Katy and I looked at a 19th-century property that originally was the Rust Cornice Works, a storefront and factory for making sheet-metal architectural details. The location was perfect. There was plenty of space (more than 10,000 square feet). But the windows faced west. And I’d need to dump at least $150,000 into the building to make it a place to live and work. We have seen better.
The other property on our short list this week looks promising, and it includes a liquor license (no, we’re not opening a bar).
After years of suffering with a drawing compass that was intended for drafting, I banished it to my upstairs office and ordered a vintage Starrett 85 for my tool chest.
The 85s are expensive, but surprisingly robust and versatile. As per usual, as soon as I started working with the tool, I knew I had put the moment off for too long.
The tool is absolutely nothing like a drafting compass. It locks tight and is micro-adjustable. You can swap out the points for a pencil, and you can even rotate the eccentric points to get arcs that are a little smaller or a little larger.
Mostly, I’m happy with how well made the thing is. My German-made drafting compass seems a toy.
OK, enough gloating. Back to the Whole Grain Gateway!
