Swept up Shavings

14 hand-planed thoughts from the dustpan of my mind–

1. We never wear white after Labor Day-


2. A sawmill operator moonlighting as a rapper is called Lil Wane.

3. Prophecy found behind a wall shingle up at Hatch Mill, circa 1975:


4. True story:

You’re hustling to finish up some joinery, just going along cleaning out a mortise…

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In your haste you drive the damn chisel too deeply into gnarly grain…


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So you pull and twist and pull again–maybe you shoulda had decaf this morning…

Like Arthur & Excalibur that blade is finally released from its bonds!

…and the butt promptly hits you square in your forehead–

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Instinctively, you thrust the chisel away from your head-

and straight into your thigh.

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You didn’t hear this from me, but the guy’s initials were Ted Curtin Jr.

Injury added to insult.

At least you needn’t hone the chisel afterwards.

(Props to the uber-talented artist Megan Stanley for the illustrations!)

5. Your irony game is strong, WD:


6. This is what happens whenever you drink cider in Somerset, UK:


Friar Keegan at work at Muchelney Abbey

7. Is this meant to be distracting?


8. This could be us but you planing:


9. From this morning:


10. Puritans–can’t live with ’em, can’t get ’em to believe in transubstantiation-




12. At a pie-shop in Reading:


13. Sampe Fest is happening this weekend at the Plimoth Grist Mill.

If you’re local, go see Kim and the crew to learn all about this essential dietary staple–You’ll never have so much fun with ground corn!


New Bread Basket author Amy Halloran will be there–

14. This is your last chance to see Peter Follansbee shave–


–riven stock, that is.

Plymouth CRAFT has a couple openings left in the  Riving and Hurdlemaking–a Primer on Green Woodworking workshop this weekend.

While BLUE OAK doesn’t condone impulsive actions made while holding a draw-knife, act impulsively right now to save a spot!





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“Corruption of Youth”

A recent howl from Michigan by friend John Wolf. It speaks for itself: 

Hi Rick,

    I realized 3 weeks ago that my nephew’s 7th birthday is the end of this month.  I also drew a complete blank on what to send him.  Luckily, my brother left me a message a couple of days later saying that he had finished refurbishing the ground floor apartment in their house (hurricane Katrina was not kind to it) and Louie had been his helper.  I thought, “That boy needs a saw! and probably a drill!  And something to keep them in!”.  So I rummaged through my surplus tool supplies, and found a small crosscut saw that had been sharpened away considerably, and cut it down to about 14″ (shaped to the London pattern, which I like for no particular reason).  I made a small handle of cherry for it, and it turned out to be a pretty nice saw that could be of use to him even as an adult.  Then I cleaned up and repaired what turns out to be a pretty good egg beater drill, and a brace from a long ago boys toolbox, small but useable.  I provided a good selection of bits for both.  Found I had a block plane that was useable, but really made for a “toy” toolbox, and blunted the iron – he’s only 7, after all.  There are some other odds and ends too.

    I had some 1x8s that had knot free sections long enough to make a 10 x 22 x 8 chest, roughly 1/8 the size of my carpenter’s chest, then made a sliding till with drawers, on the theory that kids like to poke around in drawers.  I had hoped to mount the saw under the lid, but the till is just a hair too wide for that, so it mounts to the inside front and a square that belonged to Grandpa Wolf is on the lid.  I left appropriate notes with explanations and instructions inside, and packed it tight inside with Big Little Books that had belonged to my brother, which will leave the two of them to argue over their ownership.  Then I sent it off to New Orleans.

    A lot of the motivation was the pleasure of making it.  In a few years, that kind of gift will fall pretty flat, and I’ll fall back on gift cards.  But more important to me is the wish that he grow up with the feel of tools in his hands, and if it’s not the rich, powerful experience that I feel, it will at least feel normal and a matter of course.  I’d also like him to grow up with the thought in his head that people do and make things.  If he goes beyond that to try to add some grace and beauty to the world, so much the better.  It will be interesting to see what catches his fancy and who he becomes.

   Wish I could go to your riving and hurdle making class, that would be very interesting.


We’d love to see a picture of Louie and the tool box, John.

And thanks for the segue…


(just don’t tell Gurney’s and Copeland’s)

How about some green woodworking with Peter Follansbee this Columbus Day weekend?

Plymouth CRAFT has several openings left in a 2-day workshop all about riving green wood and learning the steps along the way to turn trees into hurdles-


Image from Coppice Co-op- http://www.coppicecoop.co.uk

Wood theory will lead to riving which will lead to hatchet and drawknife work and assembly of mortises and tenons. Registration includes 2 days of the best lunches you’ll ever eat made by the renowned Paula Marcoux as well as an expert tour of the Harlow Old Fort House (which happens to full of interesting original artifacts made using the techniques under study in this workshop).

Get thee to Plymouth CRAFT posthaste to secure your spot: www.plymouth.org



RIP Phil Woods

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Kind of Coal

It’s really not about the product, however useful and historically accurate.


And it’s even greater than the process–though that is itself wicked cool.


For 22 years–give or take–Mark’s been making charcoal on that little hill in Chiltonville.


He’s created a little world which many of us still think about every September, even if we’re a thousand miles away.


It’s a perfect storm of research, experimentation, and calling on the help of curious souls who recognize the legitimacy of what he has created and who want to help out-

-or at least have a look-


And in the end, what matters most is the continuity–a sooty perseverance through it all.


While the wood coals, friendships have been made among many good people who have helped over the years.


The annual rituals which support this event are vital, if a little humble.




Some of us are grizzled enough to have memories of menacing hurricanes creeping up the coast…

Do we have enough hay and leaves for the wind-break?

…and sudden fires which we had to be put out in the wee hours.

We’ll never forget that one day in 2001 when the skies above us were so blue-

and so quiet.

Each year, every year, he has built his pile just so-




-with perfectly-sized wood discovered by chance on a visit to a local farmstand where he saw bundles of firewood for sale.

No one will buy these sticks, the brothers told him–it doesn’t look like firewood to most people.


And when the pile is made, with the help of several friends he covers it over.


It’s not a bonfire, after all.


There’s a draw to the mystery of what Mark creates–


He has always been accommodating to one and all-


Even as his helpers make their own accommodations for the next few nights-


A sweet rest. But that’s not chocolate on the pillow-

The collier casts live coals into the chamber in the middle of the charcoal pit.


Now begins the slow alchemy of transforming wood into coal.


Brows catch soot as the unmistakable scent of wood turning into coal wafts down River Street, looking for quarter among older September burns.


This is a prayer that we may put all of it into context and, through the haze, sift out the purest parts:

22 years and counting.

Twenty and two.

That’s a lot of baskets full of coal.

That’s a lot of hard-boiled eggs.

So many people come and gone–

And not to trivialize or patronize, but today’s drama is nothing new. It is as transient as the greasy blue smoke rising up to the heavens.

The collier’s pit has been there all along–year upon year–

–burning away all the crap and other things which are not needed.

It remains a celebration of  a shared and special thing–

Which has survived through it all.


This counts more than anything.


That is a beautiful thing.







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fittin up



Stacks of wood.

He would stack.


She would stack.


They would stack, those nuns making something.


I stacked last spring.


Alas, no nuns to help.










Stacks seasoning.


They worked every minute of every day for the rest of spring, all summer and into fall–

Those stacks.





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Or, Pounding Shingles In.


There’s been an inflated amount of talk round these parts concerning The Ideal Gas Law, a despotic and over-compensating commissioner, and the handling of balls.

And though we vacillate between disgust and delirium, we’ve kept our game-face on as we huddle up at The ol’ Hatch Mill.

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Our work has taken us to the 2-minute warning and we are under a legal amount of pressure to finish up our part of the job within the next month. All the framing is done. Now we’re on to Cincinnati as well as shingling, putting in new window frames and sashes, and trimming the box-mill out.

As is our want, we strap the roof before shingling. This allows for air flow beneath the red cedar and makes for a longer life.


It also sends us on a trippy 70’s flashback!


Don’t bogart that air, man–

Meanwhile, round the gable, MLB and Justin (wearing his 4-game suspenders) gauge rakes, soffits, and returns.


This led to some sweet, sweet mitering by Dorito Dink:


Once boxed in, the trim will discourage pigeons, not to mention Ravens and Colts.


We love discouraging Ravens and Colts here in NE.

Kevin installed some hand-planed window frames. MLB custom-made them–he is a very good Kraftsman.

Unlike erroneous Twitter reports, they were on the level.


And Greg put finishing touches on the copper sheathing for the cricket–a small framed structure between the gable wall of the box-mill and the roof of the saw-mill.

We are happy to report that Greg does fantastic work.

This report was brought to you at no cost and using only a few words.


I would read the Wells Report if HG Wells wrote it.

John Tinker, a seasoned veteran, took a well-deserved break at halftime-


Later, Jim rolled by at the end of the 3rd quarter. He’s been doing the heavy lifting over at the new dam.


Jim destroyed his phone after this picture was taken.

The kids were in attendance by the cheap seats on the dam the other day-


They made a fishing pole out of a piece of strapping and a bent nail.

We even got a little primer and paint on the trim before the weather turned-


And using cut nails-


-pounded shingles in on the rear wall of the box-mill.


Unsubscribe if you must, Indianapolites and Baltimoreans. I’d offer that to Jets fans as well, but they’re just looking at the pictures.

All at once, the sky turned a Patriot blue:

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We’ll all be happy when this overblown hullabaloo blows over.

In the meantime, if you’re feeling too much pressure–


Stick a needle in it.




*this post contains a number of references to American football and a controversy over an iconic player–Tom Brady–and balls which were supposedly deflated below a legal limit . It’s known as Deflategate. Most of us understand how absurd this is, but it hasn’t stopped us from making sophomoric jokes about balls.  

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The Head of the Nail

Some dry nail humor to get our bellows pumpin’:


(A little trick is sometimes used among some (that would be thought cunning Carpenters) privately to touch the Head of the Nail with a little Ear-wax, and then lay a Wager with a Stranger to the Trick, that he shall not drive that Nail up to the Head with so many blows. The stranger thinks he shall assuredly win, but does assuredly lose; for the Hammer no sooner touches the Head of the Nail but instead of entring the Wood it flies away, notwithstanding his utmost care in striking it down-right.)

From Moxon’s Mechanick Exercises, or The Doctrine of Handyworks 1683. Free download available via Lost Art Press link: http://blog.lostartpress.com/2013/05/13/free-download-joseph-moxons-mechanick-exercises/ Thanks, Chris Schwarz

I mean, who HASN’T pulled this trick at a kegger or an office X-mas party a few times? And ee by gum, what a novel use for ear-wax!

Nails. We love em, common though they may be. We hot dip and galvanize them, we pound them, shoot them from guns, bend them over on themselves to clench them, and adding insult to injury we give them funny and archaic names like Stainless Ringshanks and 8-Penny. They’re relatively cheap, they come in convenient packages, and they are ubiquitous.

They’re wicked easy to take for granted.

But have you ever REALLY thought about the humble nail? Have you gone on a Wayne’s World flashback to when they were actually forged one at a time by a smith on an anvil? Have you considered how wonderful it would be to be able to make your perfect little (or not so little) pieces of hardware to compliment and personalize your project?

Have you ever wanted to forge your own nails?

Here’s your chance–

Text and photos from Plymouth CRAFT’S link:

Nailmaking with George Pare


Nails are some of the easiest things to forge yet they can take a lifetime to perfect. In this one-day workshop, blacksmith George Paré will teach participants to forge a wide variety of nails for aesthetic and practical applications, or for use in restoration projects.


The forging of nails is an ideal form of training for building hammer control and muscle memory as a blacksmith.  One can easily see his or her progress as a smith by comparing nails made over months and years forging.  The satisfaction of making one nail is soon replaced by that of watching a pile of them grow beside the anvil.


This workshop is open to individuals of all skill levels and forging ability. It will be conducted in the Sellars/Demoranville Blacksmith Shop located at the Freetown Historical Society, itself an exceptional cultural resource. We will take advantage of the unique setting to learn a little bit about local craft history, which happens to be quite rich in iron.


Discover for yourself the satisfaction of driving nails that you forged by hammer and hand.

Lunch is included in the participant fee.

In keeping with the theme of the day, it will be cooked onsite using cast and wrought iron utensils, over a charcoal fire.

Me again. There you have it. What the fine print doesn’t tell you is that George is super friendly, incredibly talented, and a wonderful teacher. (He also teaches kite-boarding, but we’ll let him tell you about that). Also, you remember Paula Marcoux, of Cooking with Fire fame. She will be working the fire to make something amazing, guaranteed. This aint a pizza & soda kinda workshop, folks. In meeting both George and Paula, you will have made two lifelong friends. Last but not least, you will be soaking in the history of an unspoiled and culturally rich part of southeastern Massachusetts through The Freetown Historical Society’s forge. Did I mention that it’s only a stones throw to the best sawmill/lumberyard on the eastern seaboard? If you work wood and you haven’t been to Gurney’s Sawmill, you need to change that.

BLUE OAK apologizes for the hard sell…but not really. These folks are talented and dedicated craftspeople and teachers–the best at what they do, really. They aren’t in it for the money and they aren’t in it for the Twitter follows. They are sincerely devoted to traditional arts, restoration, and handcraft and to sharing that knowledge and skill with you. It’s a lot of money to many of us. Understood. But if you can afford it, it’s a fair price for a learned skill, great contacts, and new friends.

It’s up to you now.

But ladies and gentlemen please, leave the ear-wax at home.

The Details:

Date: July 26

Time: 10:00 am – 5:00 pm

Cost: $175

The Place:

Freetown Historical Society

1 Slab Bridge Road

Assonet, MA 02702 USA


To register and for more information, pound the link below like a hammer pounds a nail:


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Cape Cod’s Most Interesting Man

He once led the California Highway Patrol on a 3-county chase at the end of which the officer bought him an Arbys Roast beef.

He told US Senator Edward Kennedy to get a real job while they stood side by side on the half-deck of The Mayflower.

He schooled famed archaeologist/anthropologist James Deetz on the sociological ramifications of The Brady Bunch

He is Cape Cod’s Most Interesting Man.


Hey how are you. You got your pants on?

With a name harkening back to colonial times and a wit as droll as any yankee who has ever scratched the earth, Dave Wheelock is an authentic throwback. Shipwright, timber-framer, archaeologist, author, museum curator, historian and part-time farmer and fisherman, stories flow from beneath his Newman’s Own mustache in a soft spoken, southeastern Massachusetts lilt. Women have written him fan mail about his dreamy blue eyes. Dudes want to have lived out even a small percentage of his stories.

I don’t always restore house frames, but when I do, it’s for a good cause.


Needless to say, it’s been nice to be able to work with him.

We’ve been moonlighting at The Benjamin Nye Homestead, replacing sills, post bottoms, joists and a few studs. It’s quiet on this little jog off of touristy route 6-A. You should visit the place. They’re open for the season.


It’s a charming little house–quintessential Cape Cod, really.



The ghosts of Benjamin and his family watch our comings and goings-

Digging out old sills gives Dave a chance to sift through the debris for artifacts on this rich site:



He’s found coins, the obligatory pottery sherds, and pre-colonial evidence of a Wampanoag settlement–a storage pit in the front hall of the house, dug well-before the Nyes’ built their home.

A woman’s hand-

 The other day, while fetching out the rotted end of an old joist, Dave also found this:


To the untrained eye, this would appear to be nothing more than the random remnants of a rat’s nest.

But Cape Cod’s Most Interesting Man knew better–

This is the coolest thing I’ve found in the last 20 years, he said.

If you knew Dave, you’d realize how significant this statement was.

It was flax–expertly, patiently arranged by “a woman’s hand”, as Dave said. The detail of such a delicate and fragile artifact somehow surviving for centuries beneath the floor was astonishing, once Dave put the rarity of such a find in context.


Each strand arranged and the whole work tied up loosely in a knot.

Think of all the steps which led to this, Dave reminded us: The growing of the flax, its meticulous combing and dressing, and the rat which unbelievably did so little damage to it. Perhaps the Nye’s sprinkled a little more arsenic around the rat-hole when the original thievery was discovered sometime around the Revolutionary War.

All this drama played out on a little stage here on Cape Cod, fleshed out centuries later by an expert eye and a sublime storyteller.


John (left) a Nye descendant, great guy and keeper of the house, takes in the find with Dave.

Another day another find:

Our man Dave picked up a sash-sawn floorboard the other day–it came up from near the hearth of Nye House’s parlor.


The shallow burn marks are just above Dave’s hand.

Those divots, he was sure, represented the shallow burning of the legs of hot kettles being put down on the pine. They looked a little like cigarette burns to me, but we always influence our perceptions of “history” with our own experience, don’t we? It would be interesting to see if any of the house’s kitchen tools fit the profile of the burn marks.

Oh, he carves gravestones too-

Thanks to Tonia Deetz Rock for the reminder about this little gem of a video which The Heritage Museum in Sandwich produced a few-less gray hairs ago:

Jethro’s got a goat playing a fiddle inside his head–and you know what they say about goats–they’re hard to catch.

-Dave Wheelock


Poor Kevin (right). He just met Dave and is not sure what to believe. Been there, Kev.

The stories flowed while we cut new oak to replace the old: Tales of eccentrics who hurled angry epithets at rocks in the woods, tales of ground penetrating radar and whether to exhume or not to exhume, and a characteristic chuckle from Dave when he realized he didn’t know his own cell phone number–

I’d call myself but I wouldn’t pick up for that asshole.


Vintage Wheelock.


The Benjamin Nye Homestead & Museum is off route 6A at 85 Old County Rd in Sandwich, Mass.

They’re open Tues – Sat, noon-4:30. (508) 888-4213


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Swept Up Shavings

-24 random thoughts from the dusty corners of my mind…

1. My poor, wonderful framing chisel. Was the world awash with color given how many times some brute used it to open paint cans?


It’s allright, sweetheart. Let me flatten your back and compound your bevel.

2. Take a bougie screen door and make it better:


Woven wattle to thwart the gnats. Or at least the hummingbirds.

3. We were cranky, sore–maybe a little bitchy–after a long week when we raised up the last significant timber (a rafter) at The Hatch Mill the other evening:

This momentarily undermined the significance of the moment, considering all the good people who have been working to save this gem for several years.

More on this later…


4. Someone uttered Toenailing the Heel a couple days back. Isn’t that some sort of traditional Polish dance?

5. From the Pandora Algorithms Don’t Always Get Me Dept:

 Don’t leave me alone with this song

6. On a related note, if you don’t like Earth Wind and Fire, I will fight you-

7. Led Zeppelin has aged really well. But some of the Jimmy Page solos–not so much.

8. Lose the tension–stay upright in compression!

9. I like it when I have a 200 yr-old trenail garnishing my nail salad:


10. I may be obtuse but I’m dependably obtuse.

11. Best handsaw advice: Play it like a viola da gamba.

12. Wasps don’t like Dexter Gordon. This was proven the other day when Justin nearly swallowed one.

13. How can avant-garde ever be old hat?



Saw to that line in the new venture, O’Rourke.

14. How many times must I lose my star bit?!? Please place your thoughts for good places to keep it in the suggestion box at the end of this post.

15. Best leftovers for lunch? Spaghetti.

16. Lacking help on this day, Nathan was forced to go next level on his scaffold, shaving clapboard bevels with his draw knife and shaving mare high above Weymouth’s teeming masses. A tip o’ the scally cap to you, sir. The house is looking great.


17. Everything I know about scaffolding, I learned from 3 wise men:



18. From the Damned by Faint Praise Dept:

The Red Sox have been a horror show this season but at least my wife tells me I have warning track power.

19. I’d like to thank my neighbor for playing his pop-country all day/night on the weekends. It serves to confirm my disdain for most “country” since Hank Williams Sr.

20. So if a hammer is a snare drum and a plane a violin, does that make a handsaw brushes on a hi-hat?

21. Great to see SW Bolton out at Pine Fest a couple of weeks back.


He’s still got it, for a guy who wears a suit most days.

22. Plymouth CRAFT was well-represented on that day. Have you taken a look at the latest CRAFT workshops? They are surprisingly affordable and feature some of the most friendly and talented people around. More on that later.

23. We’re working a side job at the lovely Benjamin Nye Homestead on Cape Cod. Maybe it was getting late, but I couldn’t help but notice the connections between things found there:


Mannish invention


Nature’s handiwork.

Deep, I know right?

24. And finally, no more need to castoff your janky sawzall blades–

Just in time for Father’s Day–Preservationist Wind Chimes!

They crosscut–they rip–they fill the air with a dull and muted jingle!

I made this in like 5 minutes:


It’s prob my best work.




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Structural Dust

One man’s dust is another man’s treasure…


That’s today’s 175 yr-old dust on my cheaters.

We preserve structures–that’s what we do.

The work can be challenging and sometimes it sucks–but the concept is really friggin simple:

We save as much of the original building as we can.

This aint dropping a 7-11 on the corner; it’s not taping up yet another plywood mcmansion.


Keegs gluing back the broken short grain of a king post-

Enter Michael Burrey, a man who is as passionate about saving every part of an historic structure as anyone now drawing breath on this mortal coil.

Really. As in, this is his calling and he can’t refuse the call.

Where most people see a derelict and lost eyesore–and developers see dollar signs–Michael’s eyes light up with the possibility of preserving not only a structure, but the rich and untold history of one little part of the world.

One building at a time.

If there were 36 hrs in the day, he’d be at your historic doorstep, knocking on it with a mallet and leaving you pamphlets asking if your house is saved.

He is as compelled to save an historic building as Noah was to build the ark. Pine and oak, two by two.

The wanton destruction of historic structures is Michael’s white whale. It galls him. He takes it personally when he hears of the thoughtless or greed-fueled razing of a building which could have been saved.

“Is he mad? Anyway there’s something on his mind, as sure as there must be something on a deck when it cracks.”


So all this arrives with Michael when we meet up at the job site each morning.

He packs up his passion for preservation like you and I would throw a turkey sandwich into a plastic grocery bag.

Some days, there’ll be layout marks on the skeletonized dust of ancient, bug-happy sapwood.

You want me to cut this line, I ask, knowing full-well the answer.


Purlin trench-ok band name. a capella dubstep

Yep, he’ll say, with that familiar smile all of us who’ve worked with Michael know very well.

And if you know MLB, you know there’s a LOT behind every yep:

Like, there’s the craftsman side of things–he does some stupidly good work, from the finished details of a newel post to knowing just where to hit the sledgehammer to knock apart a joint to being one of the best hewers in the western hemisphere. There’s the historian/archaeologist, who could give you the full historic narrative of a structure being preserved and the skinny on many of the artifacts in and around the grounds. There’s the, Hello this is Michael of MLB restorations, answering a call from a church on Nantucket, or a timber framed bridge in the pine hills of Plymouth, or the don’t forget about tonight’s cub scout meeting from home

The dude doesn’t even drink coffee.

So while all this is rolling around inside his head like some frenetic game of jai-alai, some well-meaning but uninformed soul might wander (wonder) by and ask,

Why don’t you just replace the whole thing? That’s what I would do. I could put up a new rafter in 20 minutes. 

He’ll pause before replying, gathering himself in a way that I simply could not.









Dear reader, let us pause to take in the full meaning of that response…

If we can save a timber, a trenail, a sheathing board, we will.


Nailed it.

It’s messy. Yep. It’s frustrating. Yep. It’s slower than replacing the whole thing with something new.



-and it’s the right thing to do.

Because once that original sash-sawn rafter is gone, it’s never coming back.

If you can save half of it, you do it. 


And when you can’t save a piece of the original, the replacement tells a pretty good story–about another time and place, and about the community who cared enough to preserve something special.


I brought my own trenail, said the collar to the rafter.

Who will carefully and skillfully wrest out the good from the gone?

Look for the men and women with structural dust on their pate and in their pockets.

That’s the dust of centuries.

That’s the dust of preservation.




To contact Michael of MLB Restorations, text or call: 508 277-4468 

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We just arrived-time to split

There are a lot of good people out there looking for meaning in their work…


And we met a bunch of them at Plymouth CRAFT ‘s most recent workshop on riving wood.

Peter Follansbee led the group and wrote about it in Joiner’s Notes.


We set up at the venerable 1677 Harlow House. Many thanks to wonderful host Donna Curtin and the Plymouth Antiquarian Society.

Under fair skies and the come-hither of a thousand birds…


…we talked about trees and processed green wood into usable stock.




While we cleaved oak and pounded ash, Charlotte Russell led a Plymouth CRAFT class for those who were more inclined toward the textile arts:


And Paula Marcoux, of Cooking with Fire fame, made a workshop-lunch for us that was, in itself, worth the price of admission.

No sooner had we filled our teeth with poppy seeds then Mr Follansbee gave us a lesson in converting ash into splints–one growth ring at a time.



It’s an almost magical process and a lot of fun to make a trial of.

It’s pretty much therapeutic. All of this “work” is, actually.


All around, it was a great day for splitting for those who arrived.


See you next time?


Here’s the video:




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