Lost Art Press

Meet Our New Assistant Editor: Kale Vogt

Posted on by Kara Uhl

Kale Vogt grew up just south of Covington, in Burlington, Kentucky, in a close-knit family – mom, dad and an older brother, T.J. A self-proclaimed “art kid,” Kale was athletic, playing soccer through high school, and loved to spend time outdoors. Kale’s mom is a special needs bus aide for elementary students, and Kale’s dad served in the military for 25 years, worked in HVAC for a while, and helped inspire Kale’s creativity.

“When I was young, he was really into woodworking,” Kale says. “I grew up surrounded by it but I was so conditioned to it I didn’t take much interest in it, honestly. Now that I’m older, it’s ironic to me that I’ve circled back to that. It’s something I obviously deeply appreciate now.”

This circle includes a loved childhood, a stint in art school, boondocking out West, working in a bakery then landing at Lost Art Press. Here’s Kale’s story.

99 Days Out West

After graduating high school, Kale worked food and retail gigs while trying to figure out how to pursue a career that allowed for creativity. Eventually, Kale took some gen-ed classes at a local community college, then studied studio arts at Northern Kentucky University while living in an apartment, solo for the first time, serving tables to pay for college. 

“I got to the point where it began to seem silly to graduate with a major in studio arts,” Kale says. “I thought, ‘I don’t know what I want to do, why I am putting myself through this if I don’t know my focus.’”

Around this time Kale saw photos online of a hike in Zion National Park.

“I was completely blown away,” Kale says. “Having never been west of Chicago, I was like, ‘Wow. There’s a whole world out there.’”

Kale says they became obsessed (a word not used lightly) with the idea of traveling out West and spent the next 10 months planning, researching and saving up money – $8,000 for the entire trip. They took the passenger seat out of their 2010 Honda Fit and put in a cot. And then, in the summer of 2017, Kale started in the Southwest and did a big balloon loop, up through California and the Pacific Northwest, back down to Colorado. 

One of Kale’s favorite trips: backpacking through the Sierras.

“It turned out to be, in total, 99 days where I was living alone, on the road, at 22,” Kale says. “I really put my parents through it,” they add, laughing. “There were daily texts to my mom. For the plenty of times I was out of service I would give her a heads up. Overall, hands down, one of the most influential trips I’ve ever taken. I truly don’t know where I’d be if I didn’t take that trip.”

Every day Kale hiked. They hiked Antelope Canyon in Arizona and got a permit to climb Half Dome in Yosemite – a 17-mile day chasing a loved feeling of being so small. They took a sunrise plane ride over the Cascades. 

“I was really just living, you know?” Kale says. “Every day was a new hike, and every day was a brand-new experience. It was so memorable for me, all of my senses felt heightened. Everything was new to me.”

Kale boondocked and got a jetboil, living on soup, chili and oatmeal. Once home and having developed a deep passion for public lands, Kale immediately started applying for jobs with the National Park Service.

Four National Parks

Kale applied for more than 30 jobs before getting a call from Kings Canyon National Park in California. They loved the outdoors and had three months experience traveling – that’s it. At the end of the interview the interviewer asked Kale if they had anything to add.

“I basically just bared my soul to the person, begging her,” Kale says. “I was 23 at this point, and I said something along the lines of, ‘I know I may not have on paper a lot of experience but I have a lot of passion. I really think I’d be a great addition…’.”

A week later Kale received an email with a job offer.

Kale’s first year in the National Park Service, Kings Canyon, 2018.

For the next three-and-a-half years, Kale worked at four national parks. As a visitor-use assistant, they started out driving a camp truck from campground to campground in Kings Canyon, reporting visitor usage, ensuring folks were following the rules and performing general safety checks. From there Kale spent the winter at Arches National Park in Southern Utah, watching snow fall on red rocks.

“I love desert; it’s my happy place,” Kale says.

Next up was Glacier National Park.

“Turns out, Montana is very cold,” Kale says, laughing. “And so, from Montana I went back down to Zion, which was a full-circle moment for me. Zion is what inspired me to go out West and it ended up being my last job in the Park service.”

It was 2020, the start of Covid, and everyone wanted to get outside – Zion got hundreds of thousands more visitors that year than the year prior. 

“It kind of just did me in,” Kale says. “It was a lot.”

By this point, Kale hadn’t lived longer than five months in any one place for three-and-a-half years and knew that a lifelong career working for the National Parks wasn’t what they wanted. Covid helped Kale realize they needed to get in touch with their roots again. 

“Those relationships are hard to keep up when you’re on the road and moving,” Kale says. “So I came back to my family here in Northern Kentucky.”

Home

The first year back turned out to be really tough. Transitioning from an active lifestyle where they had complete control of what came next while living in some of the most beautiful places in the world to a period in their life where they didn’t know what the future held was difficult. 

“I was feeling kind of lost,” Kale says. “I tried out this new thing that I was so passionate and sure of at first then it turned out to not be for me. It was scary. I didn’t know where to go from there.”

Kale lived with their parents for three months to get back on their feet and then found an apartment in Covington.

“I wasn’t sure what route I wanted to take,” Kale says. “Coming back I knew I was ready to focus on a creative career. Though I didn’t know what that would look like yet. It had always been my dream growing up and going to college – I wanted to do something creative, but I could never land on a focus.”

Kale worked at REI for a year.

“It’s what was comfortable, but I knew it wasn’t the goal,” Kale says. “I felt I’d done this – I’ve taken this route before to no avail.”

While visiting a local farmer’s market, Kale talked to some folks at North South Baking Co. and asked if they were hiring. They were.

“Honestly, I’m not much of a home baker at all,” Kale says. “I just really appreciate pastries.” 

Kale brought drawings that could be translated to stickers or other merch to the interview. This, they thought, could be a path to a more creative career. But with few employees there was little time for extra creative pursuits. Kale did whatever was needed – retail, deliveries and working farmers’ markets. North South Baking Co. had a lot of regulars. Christopher Schwarz was one of them.

Building a Chair & the Start of Something New

“Full transparency, I didn’t know what Lost Art Press was,” Kale says. “I was looking for a restaurant on Google maps for lunch and ‘press’ was in the name. When I Google mapped ‘press,’ Lost Art Press came up.”

Kale pulled up LAP’s website and thought it looked interesting.

“I immediately see Chris and think, Wait a minute. This guy is a regular here. I see him all the time!”

Soon after this discovery, Chris came back into the bakery.

“I told him about how I came across his website and how amazing I think his work is,” Kale says. “I asked him about himself and figured, surely, he’s gone to college for industrial design and he’s like, ‘No, I actually just have hippie parents who were homesteaders and that’s how I learned woodworking.’ By the end of our convo he says, ‘Why don’t you come by sometime? We give out scholarships to local people if you’re interested. We could chat about that if you like.’  Which of course I say,  ‘I’d love that.’”

The next day Megan Fitzpatrick came into the bakery and handed Kale her card and a copy of “The Stick Chair Book.” 

“I was blown away,” Kale says. “I just talked to Chris and am now discovering this world, it was an exciting time. I was so thankful.”

A few weeks later Kale met with Chris and Megan for about a half hour after work one day, and Chris offered a scholarship to build a chair. It was mid-November and the bakery was busy with pre-holiday orders. With more time the first week of December Kale reached back out – they wanted to build a chair.

“Chris took me up to the lumberyard for our first day,” Kale says. “We picked out the wood, and he taught me how to read the grain, which I found super interesting. I was documenting all of it. I have so many pictures on my phone of this process because I figured, surely, this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Kale gluing up their first chair. Photo by Chris Schwarz

Kale began working on the chair at LAP several days a week. After working an eight-hour shift at the bakery, Kale at first found the additional two to three hours of chairmaking exhausting. But then, it became something they not only look forward to, but found energizing.

“It really lit me up,” Kale says. “This was a whole new world I was trying my best to absorb in real-time.”

It took Kale about a month and a half to build their first five-stick chair.

“It’s really unfortunate how unhappy I am with my first chair,” Kale says. “Looking back, it’s difficult knowing what I know now. I literally knew nothing going in. I had no idea what stick chairs were. I was trying to take in the history of stick chairs on top of designing one for the first time. I didn’t have a vision going in. So now, of course, I can only think of all the things I’d do differently. I’m sure that some time from now it’ll be a story to laugh about then be proud of my progress, but I’m just not there yet.”

Kale was about halfway through building the chair when Chris asked if they’d sit down with him and Megan to chat. Kale was nervous.

“He brought me back to his office and he had a book in his hands that he said was a really profound book for him.”

The book was “The Joiner and Cabinet Maker.”

“He shared with me that it’s always been his dream to work with an apprentice and if I was interested, he had this idea about us both journaling from our perspectives during this process. I said, ‘Absolutely.’ It was so serendipitous. I go from working in a bakery and now there’s a possibility I get to learn from this master?”

By the time Kale finished the chair Chris had brought up the idea of a part-time position, working with him. By this point Kale had been looking for another job – they needed a full-time job. So Chris came up with a plan: They would work full-time at LAP, splitting their hours between working on editorial duties and helping with fulfilling orders.

“I think all of it was unexpected for the both of us,” Kale says. “I think we’re navigating it together.”

Kale’s been journaling, as Chris asked. 

“Now that I’m working here, everything once again is a new experience,” Kale says. “I have so many thoughts about it all, so journaling has been helpful for processing.”

They are also studying the work of others.

“I’m learning about different styles and techniques,” Kale says. “It can feel a little overwhelming at times. I don’t yet feel ready to create my own designs. So as of now, to make myself feel less overwhelmed, I’m learning from the masters. I’m learning from Chris’s designs. I’ve been looking at Chris Williams’s work and of course John Brown, all the people I know Chris looks up to and has been inspired by. I’m taking note of the masters, taking what resonates and leaving the rest.”

These days Kale’s also been working on a research project for a workbench video, editing videos for the blog, and woodworking, which is considered part of the job (and really fun, they say, because it doesn’t feel like work). Megan is teaching Kale how to cut dovetails, and they’re finishing up a tool chest. Kale is also working on a second chair.

When not at LAP Kale loves spending time in nature. 

“It’s my daydreaming time,” Kale says. Kale’s partner, Jordan, has two dogs and they like to take them out to explore several parks a week. Drawing will always be a hobby and lately, Kale’s been drawing a lot of chairs.

Portrait practice by Kale.

“I am wildly happy,” Kale says. “It’s been hard to articulate because I’m fighting the part of my brain that says this is too good to be true. I’m still in this headspace where I feel the need to prove to Chris that he made the right decision. I have a fair amount of imposter syndrome coming into this field, for good reason. Especially working with Chris and Megan, I mean, what teachers. I couldn’t ask for better role models. I’m allowing myself to be a student again and I’m just so wildly grateful to have been granted this opportunity.”

— Kara Gebhart Uhl

Open Wire: March 9, 2023

Posted on by Lost Art Press
The calm before the class.

Megan is teaching a class on building a Shaker silverware tray here at the storefront this weekend, so y’all are stuck with me and Wally the cat for Open Wire. 

We are happy to answer your woodworking questions here on Open Wire. Simply type your question into the comment box below. Post it. We will read it and answer as best we can. Know that Wally has only one answer to every query: “Treats, in my mouth.”

Sometimes there is a lag between the asking of the question and the typing of the answer. But I will attempt to answer all questions. Sometimes we answer them after comments have been closed – it just depends on our schedule for the day.

As always, comments will close about 5 p.m.

— Christopher Schwarz

Bashing out Dados by Hand

Posted on by kalevogt

With Chris out of town this week, Megan and I determined this a perfect time to wreak havoc around the shop. And by “havoc,” us nerds mean finally getting around to finishing my first Dutch tool chest. In this video, Megan demonstrates her dado cutting process using hand tools while I film. What if my chest shelf is cupped? How do I ensure I am at the baseline all the way across? What is the most entertaining way to bash out my dado waste? Megan answers all of these questions and more. Make sure you watch the end of this one.

— Kale

p.s. I’m the newbie here; you’ll be hearing more about me soon!

Wooden Handles, from Robert Wearing

Posted on by fitz

The following is excerpted from Robert Wearing’s “The Essential Woodworker” – one of the two of our books I most frequently recommend to those getting started in hand-tool woodworking. (The other is “The Anarchist’s Tool Chest.“) “The Essential Woodworker” is filled with more than 500 hand-drawn illustrations by Wearing that explain every operation in a hand-tool shop. His illustrations are properly drafted, drawn in perspective and masterfully clear.

– Fitz

Wooden handles, apart from those manufactured commercially, fall into two categories, turned and bench made. There is no great distinction between those for drawers and those for doors.

In Fig 489, a shows the quickest, easiest and cheapest form, often found on modern mass-produced furniture. A length of material is machined to section then sawn off in length. It is seldom produced by hand using moulding planes, but can quickly be made with a power router. Such handles are fixed, generally horizontally, by two screws from the inside of the drawer. Screwed-on handles, possibly in more exotic woods, in forms similar to b are an improvement.

Quality handles, in woods such as rosewood and ebony, c, are tenoned into the door or drawer. If the tenon is brought through it can be wedged. These handles show end grain on the front; this polishes well to give a most attractive appearance, but if the tenon is slotted and wedges inserted, the handle will split, d (B). The wedges must therefore be inserted at the ends, d (A). A handle tapering towards the user will need a finger grip carved underneath, e.

A full-width handle, f, housed into a drawer front gives a good grip, particularly for larger drawers. It is very effective in oak and similar woods, and where a number of drawers is stacked vertically as in a chest of drawers. The dovetail housing can be stopped just short of the top edge of the drawer.

Turned handles (Fig 490) always present end grain to the viewer, so the finish on this face must be immaculate to exploit its appearance to the full. Although these handles may be screwed from the inside, they tend to work loose and rotate; very little extra effort is required to turn a small tenon and to bore the drawer front for it, and you will be happier with the result. Set a caliper to the drill and turn to this size. Unless you are working with small pieces of exotic woods, a number of handles are turned together between centres and then parted off. The face is finished off finely by gripping the tenon either in a wood chuck or in a drill chuck. A great variety of shapes is possible and those in Fig 490, are typical. By careful paring or disc sanding, polygonal features can be introduced, B. An inlaid central contrasting dot can be added, e.g. sycamore or holly in ebony, C. Turning and bench work can combine to give bar handles, D, in which the use of contrasting woods may be effective. This style does not appear to be used in the vertical form. In oak or similar chunky woods a rotating latch can be arranged, E.

The Lowdown on BLO

Posted on by fitz
An 1803 advertisement for linseed oil, “boil’d” or “unboil’d.”

The following is by Steve Voigt, whom you might know primarily as a maker of wooden planes. But he’s also passionate about traditional finishes, and has been taking a deep dive into that subject as he works on a book for Lost Art Press. The working title is “Oil, Resin, Solvent & Pigment: Making and Using Traditional Woodworking Finishes.” We have no publication date yet, but here’s a little taste of what Steve has learned. – Fitz

A few years ago, I went looking for a period-appropriate finish for the handplanes I make, and fell into  an enormous rabbit hole. Ever since, I’ve been making and researching traditional oils, paints, varnishes, and other finishes. I’ve written a number of posts and an article on the subject, and I’m currently working on a book for Lost Art Press. Along the way, I’ve found there’s a lot of confusion about boiled linseed oil (BLO). That’s understandable – it starts with the name itself. But the real problem is that the truth about BLO has become obscured behind a haze of myths and misconceptions. In this post, I’ll try to clear up some of the confusion.

A brief note on the products mentioned below. I don’t have experience with all of them, because I generally do all my oil processing from scratch, starting with high-quality, cold-pressed oil. I’ll try to be clear about what I’ve used, and what I haven’t. My goal here is to disentangle the various oils that are BLO or BLO-adjacent, so you can make informed decisions about what you want to use. I have no financial relationship with any of the companies mentioned here, and won’t make a nickel from anything you might purchase.

Modern BLO
Most woodworkers probably know what’s in the BLO available at the hardware store: Raw linseed oil and heavy metal driers (mainly manganese and cobalt). The mixture may be heated to help disperse the driers more quickly, but heat does not play any important part in the process. In the late 19th century, for reasons I’ll explain below, this stuff was known as “bung hole oil.” I’m not a fan, for a couple reasons.

First, the oil the manufacturers start with is not the high-quality, cold-pressed stuff I referred to earlier; it’s cheap oil that’s been hot-pressed and solvent-extracted. The main difference, from the user’s point of view, is that it’s going to darken or yellow over time, much more so than good oil will. 

Second, there’s no way to know exactly how much cobalt and manganese are added to the linseed oil. Based on how quickly it dries, my guess is that they use a lot. This is important, because the more drier you add to a finish, the more quickly it will break down. A lot of woodworkers believe – erroneously – that any linseed oil finish is destined to turn grimy and black in the long run, and one can find plenty of furniture examples at the local antique mall that seem to prove the point. But the culprit is usually either too much metal drier or improper processing of the oil. 

So there are better options available, and we’ll cover them. But first we need to talk about what BLO isn’t, and has never been…

A varnish factory, from “The Manufacture of Varnishes and Kindred Industries,” Vol. 2.

Was BLO Ever Just Boiled?
The most pervasive belief about BLO is that back in the good old days, it was just boiled until it bubbled like boiling water, without those nasty metal driers. It’s an appealing story, but it’s pure Internet myth: Since the Middle Ages, BLO has been made with metal driers. The idea of making a fast-drying oil without driers is a good one, but it’s a modern notion, born of our concerns with toxicity and the environment, and not old or traditional.

The notion that oil was simply boiled involves a misunderstanding of both the chemistry of oil and the historical meaning of the term “boiled.” When water boils, it undergoes a phase change from liquid to gas. Oil does no such thing. If you heat linseed oil to approximately 620°F, it starts to rapidly decompose, giving off small bubbles of carbon dioxide (CO2) as it breaks down. If you’re lucky, you can hold it at this temperature for about 15 minutes before one of two things happens: Either it will turn into gelatin, or it will burst into flames. If you manage to avoid these fates, you’ll end up with a dark, viscous oil that will dry modestly faster than raw oil, and will yellow badly. It’s not a particularly desirable product, and that’s why BLO was never made this way.

So where did the “boiled” in BLO come from? Part of the answer is that the term didn’t always have the precise meaning it does today: “Boiled” was simply a synonym for heating. But it’s also important to realize that until recent times, freshly pressed linseed oil was a lot more raw than the stuff we buy in the store today, and contained a fair amount of water left over from pressing. “Boiling,” then, may simply have referred to heating the oil hot enough to boil off the residual water. In his seminal three-volume work on finishes from 1899, The Manufacture of Varnishes and Kindred Industries, J.G. McIntosh writes “a moderate heat [is] applied so as to eliminate moisture. The slight ebullition caused thereby is not to be regarded as the “boiling” of the oil, although in former days it probably gave rise to the term.”

Now, this doesn’t mean that heating oil without driers is ineffective; in fact, there is a long tradition of doing so. But these oils are more properly called “bodied oils,” and have historically been used for either printing inks or as paint additives. Heat alone has only a moderate effect on the drying speed of oil, and oil cooked without oxygen will actually dry more slowly than raw oil. To get a faster-drying oil, we have to combine heat with oxygen, sunlight or metal driers.

Smelting lead in the 15th century, from Agricola’s 1556 “De re metallica.”

OK, Then How Was Traditional BLO Made?
For centuries, BLO was made by cooking linseed oil with naturally occurring forms of lead oxide (PbO). The most common of these is litharge, which is still available today; you can buy it on eBay. Here are instructions from the DeMayerne manuscript, a 17th-century collection of recipes for painting, varnishing and related disciplines:

Take of the oil one half sextier, Parisian measure which weighs about 1/2 lbs, put into a newly glazed pot and throw in a half ounce of lead monoxide, stir a little with a wood spatula and let it simmer on a weak fire under a covered stove or in the yard for two hours. The oil becomes less, but only a little. Let it settle thoroughly and pour the thickened oil off by tipping the pot, and keep it for all kinds of uses.

Note the instruction to “let it settle thoroughly.” Litharge is only partially soluble in oil, so you want it to sink to the bottom of the pot before you decant the oil. But in addition to speeding up drying, litharge also plays another crucial role: It actually refines the oil.

Today, most people buy linseed oil in its raw, unrefined form. But historically, it was much more common to refine the oil before using it, because raw oil contains a lot of foreign material, called mucilage (sounds and looks like mucus!) that your oil is better off without. Oil can be refined in lots of different ways: It can be centrifuged with acids or alkalis, which is common in industrial refining, but it can also be simply shaken with water, a practice common in pre-industrial times. Or, it can be cooked with litharge, which acts as a precipitant, causing the mucilage to separate. The result is a dark colored but clean oil that dries quickly. That’s traditional BLO.

In the late 19th century, liquid driers (containing lead, manganese or cobalt) that fully dissolved in oil were invented, and a simpler, cheaper method of making BLO took hold: Driers were simply poured into the top of a barrel of oil. The driers would sink down, mixing with the oil, and the resulting “boiled” oil would be withdrawn through a spigot at the bottom of the barrel, known as the bung hole. Thus, the name “bung hole oil” was born. Unlike traditional BLO, bung hole oil is just raw oil, with all its mucilage, and a lot of cobalt and manganese. When it was first introduced, it was held in low regard. The state of New York even passed laws to discourage its manufacture. But faster and cheaper usually wins out in the marketplace, and today, nearly all BLO is bung hole oil. The only exception I’m aware of is Rublev’s dark drying oil, which is made in the traditional manner. I haven’t used it – I’d rather not mess with lead in any form – but if you’re curious, it’s available. Keep in mind that lead is particularly toxic for children.

If you want a lead- and mucilage-free BLO that’s far better than the bung hole oil from the hardware store, it’s easy to make your own. Go to an art supply store and buy a bottle of alkali refined linseed oil. To 500 ml oil, add 5 ml Japan drier, and mix thoroughly (500 ml is just more than a pint, and 5 ml = 1 teaspoon).  “Japan drier” is an imprecise term, and different brands contain different mixes of driers, but Klean Strip from the hardware or big box store will work fine. If this dries too slowly, add a little more drier, but remember, in the long run, the less the better.

If you don’t want to mix your own, Heron paints sells a pre-mixed version that looks very similar (I haven’t tried it myself, but I’ve heard good things about their products).

If you’d rather avoid heavy metal driers in any form, read on – there are a number of options available.

A couple alternatives to bung hole oil.

BLO Alternatives
When I started woodworking in the 1990s, BLO from the hardware store was pretty much the only option available, but now there are many different brands of processed linseed oils you can buy. Some of these are good alternatives to BLO, and some are not. There are many I haven’t tried, but here are a few I’m familiar with.

Tried & True Danish Oil, unlike most other so-called Danish oils, is 100-percent linseed oil, with no driers or volatile organic compounds (VOCs). I spoke with Joe Robson, the founder of the company, who confirmed that it’s a refined oil that has been heated and oxidized. It’s a nice, light-colored oil that dries faster than raw oil, but not as fast as BLO. You’ll need to apply thin coats and wait 1-2 days between applications. If that’s not a problem, you’ll find that it gives far better results than BLO.

Ottosson boiled linseed oil dries faster than Tried & True, and is made from cold-pressed oil. I’ve used it and like it, but the company is a little guarded about what’s in it. On the product page is stated that “the raw material is cold pressed stored and absolutely pure raw linseed oil which is heated to approx. 140° C.” However, on another page, they write that “both oxygen and metal salts are added to make the product more reactive.” I wrote to Ottosson for clarification, but didn’t receive a response. More generally, I get a little irked by their claim that the oil is purified by storing it for six months. This doesn’t refine the oil; there’s as much mucilage in these oils as there is in fresh oil (try washing some, and you’ll see). Despite these reservations, I think Ottosson BLO is a big improvement over hardware store BLO.

There are some processed oils that are better avoided if you’re looking for BLO alternatives. “Stand oil” is made by cooking linseed oil at high temperatures in an oxygen-free environment, so it actually dries more slowly than raw oil. It’s useful as an additive to paint, but not ideal if you’re looking for a transparent wipe-on finish. “Blown oil” is made by blowing air through the oil until it becomes very viscous. It dries more quickly than raw oil. While blowing can be used to make a nice oil for woodworking, commercial blown oil isn’t ideal; like stand oil, it’s best used as a paint additive. Sun-thickened oil is the same deal. You can sun thicken oil to whatever viscosity you want, but the stuff you can buy is very thick and, once again, is probably better used as a paint additive. 

Making Vs. Buying
You may have noticed a theme in the previous paragraph – the gap between what could be commercially available, and what is. We’ve all been trained to view finishes as something you buy, which means you’re stuck with whatever is available. But once you start thinking of finishes as something you make from raw materials, a world of new possibilities opens up. Oils, paints and varnishes can all be made to have the characteristics you want, rather than what some giant multinational company thinks you should want. This is a big topic – far too big for one blog post – but I’ll continue to explore and write about it in the coming months and years.