Ric “Formerly Anonymous” Archibald made a cool little locking system for his Dutch Tool Chest. He calls it the “Gravity Latch.”
Ric, like a fair number of students, made a Dutch tool chest before taking the class on making the Dutch tool chest. Yes, I think it’s curious, too.
— Christopher Schwarz
Today we had to assemble 18 dovetailed Dutch tool chests during a two-hour period. We had glue. We had mallets. But we didn’t have any clamps that were long enough.
So we fetched the hammers and the nails.
When you look at lots of old furniture, you’ll come across a fair number of them where the dovetails are nailed. If you are a regular visitor to The Furniture Record, then you have seen this joinery method before.
Sometimes it is obvious that the nails were added later for some reason – waffle-headed roofing nails on an 18th-century piece are a clue. Other times the nails look like they are as old as the piece and were added by the maker.
When I announced we were nailing the dovetails during this class at Lie-Nielsen Toolworks, I saw a few raised eyebrows. But as there were no clamps, so everyone dove in.
To assemble these chests, we used 6d cut hinge nails from Tremont. The hinge nail is a headed nail, so it is ideal for fastening chores such as this. All the chests went together in less than two hours and are all as tight as ticks.
— Christopher Schwarz
People often ask: “Where do you get your ideas?”
And people often ask: “Do you really like to travel so much?”
The answer to each question is wrapped up in the other question. Then dipped in batter. And deep fried. The truth is that traveling is impossibly stimulating. The world is made of wood, and if you will allow yourself to be consumed by it, it will reward you with both insight and a way of life.
For the last two days I have been immersed in the world of minister Jonathan Fisher, an 18th-century Renaissance man who traveled to the wilds of Maine in the name of God and tamed them in a way that has touched generations of people in the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries. Thanks to woodworker Joshua Klein and Thomas Lie-Nielsen, I’ve spent the last two days examining Fisher’s tools, furniture, paintings, house, lathe, workbench and camera obscura (for starters).
I could write a few sentences about Fisher here, but they would be weak. (Here’s an all-too-brief account.) Fisher was a polymath in a way that no blogger could condense or compile. He was astonishingly industrious. He left a long legacy of tools, furniture, maps, architecture, drawings, schools, paintings and writing that all give an amazing glimpse into the early American mindset.
He was, in fact, the prototypical American. He did everything. And he tried to do it well.
During the coming weeks I hope to post photos of Fisher’s tools and work here on the blog. I think you will like what is to come. His efforts represent what many of us hope to achieve in our own lives. But when you look at Fisher’s body of work, you can say only one word.
Dang.
So stay tuned.
— Christopher Schwarz
If you don’t know what to do, don’t do anything, then you waste nothing but your time and are not likely to waste any material. It is better to do nothing than to do something wrong. It affects the nerves of the boss less, as well as leaving more money in his purse.
If you do not know what is the right thing to do, and do not find out from those that do know, and thereby do something wrong, the error is yours, and you alone are responsible. It is a poor excuse to say that you weren’t told not to do it the way you blindly went at it. It doesn’t cost near as much to ask questions as it does to do the job a second time.
If you start to do a job without a clear idea of the result you wish to attain you are like a man with his eyes blindfolded going over a rocky road: you will stumble often and make many a start only to fall down again. Whereas if you have planned your job beforehand you will see the rocks in the way and go around them instead of falling over them.
The able official who practically created the Forest Department of India once remarked to the writer that the strongest evidence of the wealth of the English landed proprietors was the large-minded way in which they refused to have anything to say to scientific forestry.
They keep enormous parks, in which the timber is intended solely for ornament, and ancient and decayed trees are left till they rot, beautiful ruins of trees; and in their woods and coverts the picturesque and not the profitable is the apparent aim of the British woodman. The trees are left at wide distances apart, they throw out branches from the sides, the stems deteriorate, and though British oak was famous stuff for making curly-grained dining-tables and the “knees” of old line-of-battle ships, builders will not buy British timber, and special clauses are inserted in contracts forbidding its use.