Without exaggeration, I have at least 10 blog entries I need to post. What with my trip to England, some new Lost Art Press products and a short journey to Charleston, S.C., I have a lot to tell you about.
But before I launch into any of that, this is a news item. On Aug. 23, 2014, there will be another (perhaps the final) wood sale at Midwest Woodworking in Norwood, Ohio. You can read full details at the Brownell Furniture blog.
Prices have been slashed – particularly on the near-limitless supply of veneer there. But the solid wood prices have also been reduced significantly. I will be buying a lot of wood for “Campaign Furniture II” and “Furniture of Necessity.”
I cannot overstate the high quality of this stock. Every stick of lumber I have ever bought from Midwest was stable, perfectly dry and gorgeous. Frank David – rest his soul – had better taste in timber than most of us.
If you’re kicking yourself for missing the sale last summer, stop it. Apply those feet to the accelerator of a vehicle. Don’t get fooled again.
Joshua Klein and Thomas Lie-Nielsen examine Jonathan Fisher’s turning tools.
During Joshua Klein’s research into the woodworking life of Jonathan Fisher of Maine, Joshua has found several tantalizing entries in Fisher’s journal about mechanical marvels he has invented or made for his workshop. But perhaps most interesting is when Fisher hooks up his lathe to his windmill.
Joshua has been looking for other historical references to people using wind power for turning. Check out his blog entry here.
If you have any clues for Joshua, drop him a line.
Jeff Burks has written here several times about the drinking habits of 17th- and 18th-century woodworkers viz. they used to work like the devil all day and then spend all of their hard-earned largesse on gin (known as “mother’s ruin” here in the old country). Workshops typically set up a system of penalties for unsuspecting apprentices to generate alcohol for the journeymen.
It should not have been a surprise that when students joined Chris for the first New English Workshop course the evenings were, in short, a mess; our group of budding anarchists simply reverted to 17th-century type. They worked like the clappers and then went nuts every night.
Inevitably talk turned to differences between U.S. (i.e. damned colonial) and The Queen’s English. It all started innocently enough with the usual woodworking terms: English “timber” being U.S.’s “lumber,” the English cutting “rebates” whilst Americans cut “rabbets” (though there is evidence that “rebate” was originally pronounced “rabbet” here in dear old Blighty). Then we moved onto the more general terms like “chips” in the UK being “French fries” in the U.S., pedestrians getting hit with the hood of the car in America whereas we run them over by hitting them with the bonnet. You get the picture.
I can’t remember who mentioned it in the deepening alcohol-induced haze but somehow the word “chub” came up, and Chris and another American plain flat out snorted their (warm) beer through their noses. So for the next 5 minutes:
Americans: Hooting with laughter.
English: Staring in shock, bemused.
We managed, eventually, to get out of them that in America a chub (chubb?) is a semi-erect willie, whereas in civilised parts of the English speaking world it is a fish or a brand of lock. I’m serious: Englishmen everywhere lock up their homes with a large Chubb at night and fine upstanding Englishmen spend long hours on riverbanks here trying to catch the biggest chub they can….
But then in the U.S. if you have a “semi” you are driving an articulated truck, whereas here in the UK you have a semi-erect johnson… Result:
English: Hooting with laughter.
Americans: Staring in shock, bemused.
But then there are always going be differences: In America “Hooters” is a chain of family restaurants with a friendly owl as its mascot. We also have “Hooters” in the UK but this is dirty, salty, saucy Edinburgh Hooters that has naked ladies of the pole writhing barely inches above your burger and chips. (If my better half is reading this, I heard that on BBC Radio 4, I swear.)
So, thanks to the power of alcohol we established each evening that The Special Relationship is alive and well. Our sorry anarchic crew would then troop into the workshop each morning, scarf down a litre (about a quart) of water and crack on banging out tails in time to the jackhammer pounding in their head. But then on a course where everyone got their bottom ripped French style (see photo above) at least once isn’t a special relationship just what you need?
Say you’ve found something great. It might be a reference in an obscure book, or some odd device you lucked into on eBay, or a damn good bottle of Calvados brandy – whatever. Your first thought is of the guy you want to show it to, to share it with, the one guy whose judgment and appreciation gives you the measure of all things. For me, that guy was Jay Gaynor, and I am so very sad to lose him.
Jay was more than the touchstone for us in historic trades. His joy was that free-yet-disciplined inquiry that held the doors open for his fellow explorers. He took risks with new ideas and worked to help them succeed if they stumbled at first. I personally owe him much for that.
Jay was the right man in the right place as the leader of Historic Trades at Colonial Williamsburg. Through tough times, Jay was the hub of the wheel that kept the program on the right path. Thoughtful with his responsibilities, it was always because he knew that playing by the rules made the game more fun for us all.
Some years back, I visited Jay at his house for a meeting on the Working Wood Conference. Covering the dining room table was his in-progress, scale model of a Higgins boat infantry landing craft! Certainly Jay was proud of his family members that served in World War II, but the broader truth is that he honored all honest, energetic endeavor. He lived in quiet awe of the best, creative works of mankind.
It is a lucky man who can have a model Higgins boat spread all over the dining room table for months at a time. The man who can do that and still share his life with a fine woman is doubly blessed. Jay’s partner in love and life, Jane Rees, made up a happy team. Her loss is greatest, but the rest of us carry no small share.
News of Jay’s passing came to me when I was in the company of a dozen other workers in wood. I shared the news with all, too stunned to know what to do. The silence was broken when of the men then raised his saw and said, “Then let us salute him on his way.” All the tools were raised then as they called out, “Bon voyage, mate!” and “To Jay!” into the air. In my mind’s eye, I saw Jay look back, and I do hope so much that I saw him smile.
