These words, inscribed on the door of a farmer’s tool house, recently caught our eye, and furnished a ready theme for meditation. Borrowing is an ancient and evil custom, the fruitful source of many troubles. In the ruder stages of civilization there might have been greater necessity for borrowing than now; but as the world progresses there can be less and less need of it.
The tendency of cultivated humanity is to independent action—the tendency of barbarism is to a servile obligation. The more educated a community, the less they borrow, and consequently the more the borrowing element predominates, the greater their degradation. (more…)
This machine is specially designed for felling trees. It is well known that in chopping down trees with an ax, two or three feet, according to the size of the tree, of the most valuable part of the lumber is lost. By this machine the tree is felled within five inches of the ground; and by removing the soil sufficiently to avoid dulling the saw, it can be cut as low as desired. Four men can do the work of ten men with axes in the forests.
It will be recollected that the butt must be squared, or cross-cut, before the log is ready for the mill; but the single operation of felling the tree with this machine leaves the log already squared. The land is left smooth, thus facilitating cultivation, and greatly increasing its value. The surface of the stump being left flat and level, is porous and spongy, so that by the action of moisture and air it soon decays; but when cut by the ax, its pores are sealed up and its surface rendered smooth, and the stump will not soon decay, but remains for years an unsightly and inconvenient object. (more…)
Let any farmer or person of moderate means look round his house and make a careful minute of all the odd jobs he will find which require to be done. Let him take paper or a memorandum book and note them down. He will find at least twenty little matters requiring repair or amendment. The plank-way to the well or yard; the fence round the garden; a garden gate that will open easily and close itself; repairs to the box protecting the well or cistern; mending tools, harness—and in short almost innumerable small matters all wanting to be done, either on wet days or at some leisure time.
Every one who is not a natural sloven is fully aware of the necessity of attending to these matters, but the great difficulty is he has no tools. His experience goes to show that the last time he tried to do anything of the kind he had to go to a neighbor and borrow some tools to work with. The saw was too close, and very much otherwise than sharp; the chisels were all too large or too small; the bit-stock had lost its spring and would not hold the bits in their place, so that he could not withdraw them, and perhaps broke some and had to buy new ones to replace them. Nothing was fit to use, and hence what he did was wretchedly done. (more…)
There are some men in London who have not travelled far, nor seen many workshops, whose ideas of the importance of the Metropolis and the excellence of everything done in it might be corrected by hearing the opinions of master craftsmen in the quiet towns of England and Scotland. There are men in the provinces who have a strong suspicion that furniture made in London has not been well made: it may be fashionable, they admit, but it is likely to be flimsy; it may be cheap, but it is not durable; for they know that good material cannot be procured at the price, and cabinet makers in the country do not work for nothing.
They smile when you tell them that large transactions can pay for the great rents charged for warehouses and workshops in the City, and ask you if living is cheap, and what percentage is given for commission. They put their hands in their pockets and say, We can buy wood in the same markets with your manufacturers, we employ no middle-men, our rents are not so high, our profits are not too great, and we cannot compete with you in cheapness.
They may be too polite to hint that London furniture is dear in the long run. They confess that they have a personal interest in the welfare of their friends; they dislike accidents, and nurse a strong prejudice against chairs that need repairing in twelve months and tables liable to paralysis in the legs. Their customers do not believe that everything excellent comes from the Metropolis; and as they desire solidity and durability, they are prepared to pay a fair price to cabinet makers in their own town. A good reputation is the best advertisement in the country; for friends tell their neighbours where they can have value for their money. (more…)
One of the treasures I inherited when buying my house was a falling-down chicken coop/rabbit hutch with (I can say without blushing) a brick shithouse tacked onto the end. It is in the courtyard, and was built in a hurried fashion, with the materials the farmer had at hand – some brick, some stone, concrete block, wood and a steel roof that had come loose at some point and was weighed down with odds and ends of heavy things. The toilet, judging from its style, was in use well into the 1960s, flushed with a bucket.
So, being the sensitive type, this fall I decided to have a go at renovating the ruin; I sought to maintain the fabric, the “built textures of the countryside,” as they say in the more sensitive kinds of house magazines.
I was sitting at the table outside, looking at the building and plotting my campaign when my neighbor Roger turned up and sat down.
The start of the rescue operation
“What are you thinking about, Brian?”
I told him I was going to fix up the chicken coop, and asked how he would do it.
He gave me a startled look, like he does sometimes, and took a couple of puffs on his cigar.
“Well, I’ve got a sledge hammer in the garage if you want, but you could just maybe give it a shove and save me the trouble of walking across the street. Probably faster, too.”
A couple more puffs, he laughed.
“Ha! ‘Course if you actually had any chickens, you could just find a feather and knock it down with that.”
So I got to work with some old bricks I had salvaged from a half-demolished chimney in the barn, learning the joys of bricklaying when one day my wife was watching me rip out some of the old rotten limestone. (The local stone is often very soft and porous; acids in the rain plus salts in the ground water can eat it up over decades.)
“It’d be nice if you could use some stone when you rebuild that part. Like it was kind of a patchwork, quoi. Roger gave you some stone, didn’t he?” she said.
Stone cutting. Why not? I remembered a book I had seen one time, and ordered it from the publisher’s site. “Pierre de Taille” (cut, or ashlar, stone) by Jean-Marc Laurent, Editions Eyrolles (2004). Turned out it is an excellent book. One interesting thing that struck me while reading it was how closely it followed Roubo. The tone and information is the same. The book is mostly oriented toward people looking to follow what a stone mason is doing on a renovation project of some kind. But in fact, almost all the info is there, set out in precise detail – the tools, how to use them, the sand and lime for mortars, the different kinds of stone, common problems in old stonework and how they should be fixed.
I needed to cut and dress some of the local stone. From this section: “The Cockscombs” (Chemin de fer, in French) “The straight cockscomb is used to dress the visible faces of a stone. It is made of a rectangular piece of wood (beech), to which is fixed a handle in the same wood, and in which on the other face cuts have been made with a saw. In the cuts, blades of tool steel, sometimes with teeth, sometimes not, have been embedded.”
The cockscombs are basically planes for stone, used on soft to medium stones, and are used for facings and mouldings, like wood planes. Laurent goes on for more than a page on these tools.
But how was I going to cut the old stones to more or less the right size? The next bit was on saws, and mentioned various types, among them “La scie type scie egoine” – that is, a regular hand saw, though the ones for stone have carbide-tipped teeth. In the end I tried a an old saw for wood that is too dull to use and had hardened teeth that can’t be resharpened. Worked OK.
Nothing earthshaking. You need the information, you can buy a book and get it. It’s obvious today that is how it works. You describe the tools, and then what to do with them to create what you want. But reading through parts of Roubo, and now the woodworking parts of André Félibien’s “Principles of Architecture,” it’s clear it wasn’t always obvious. Even just the idea that detailed information would or could be interesting to someone outside a given trade was actually quite new. Félibien was one of the pioneers, and it’s a fascinating book. Roubo created the form that we still use today.
— Brian Anderson
Brian Anderson is a translator and woodworker living in France. He is translating the woodworking parts of André Felibien’s Des principes de l’architecture, de la sculpture, de la peinture… avec un dictionnaire des terms for Lost Art Press. The book is due out in the Autumn of 2014. Anderson translated Grandpa‘s Workshop for us.
