With a nod to long-time Boston Globe sportswriter Dan Shaughnessy, here are some random things gleaned along the way…
Whenever we’re cutting a scarf joint, I always think of Isadora Duncan and her untimely demise.
I believe in leaving my plane sole down on the bench or on the piece I’m working. It’s more stable and the iron is less likely to attack. PF was largely responsible for this conversion. I will NOT, however, leave any tool edge-down on green oak for long periods.
Plane Soul: Not a good name for a band. Neither is Chip and The Breakers.
The world’s authority on 17th-century green woodworking lives in our backyard. Oh, and he’s an author, television personality, spoon-master, and bird-crazy photographer, not to mention a brilliant teacher. He’s also looking for shop space. Someone somewhere has the ideal situation for Mr. Follansbee. It’s just a matter of time. Spread the word.
I buy my granola based on its weight -Michael B.
Michael still cringes at the memory of snapping in twain Corky Pontz’ beloved grandfather’s handsaw. (The saw turned out to be neither Corky’s nor his grandfather’s). You had to have thick skin to survive The Edge Shoppe, once upon a time.
To make coffee then, you filled the silver urn to the scum line.
Jesse, a good shop dog, would bed herself in shavings of oak and pine. She would turn invisible and sometimes take your lunch as a prize.
The local vendor who sells quality tools and hardware very likely knows which general contractors are good and which aren’t so good. Just sayin.
If the feet in my slippers were in compression like the bottom of a brace in its mortise, there’d be no reason to ever take them off.
When Justin hews timber or cuts out a mortise, noise escapes from him, not unlike pianist Keith Jarrett taking a solo. Effort and quality cannot be contained.
Our working-day Pandora mix includes Woody Guthrie, Danny Barnes, Debo Band, and John Lee Hooker. I plan on quietly throwing Looking Glass into the stew next week.
I just re-set my Pandora password again because I forgot it. If you’re like me, your 349 passwords are scrawled on scraps of paper and duct-taped to various locations around the house. And you can never find the one you’re looking for anyway.
Too often they rely on talent–I fuckin’ hate that -Pret, in reference to a proficient guitarist who queued up the other day.
MLB’s favorite firewood is black locust. He’ll chuck a few billets into the wood-stove at 10:30pm and they’ll still be there smoldering in the am. Locust is the most alien of woods.
Jason put up a link to The Wood Database on his entertaining blog–The Clueless Woodwright–the other day. Check em both out.
We get take-out at Skippy’s for lunch fairly often. One day, a member of our crew was sighing while looking at the few more healthy options behind the glass. The clerk said, Look- we all know you’re gonna get fried chicken and logs (large, riven wedges of french fries). Just hurry up and order, kid.
Be warned: 3:30 pm is known as fart-o’clock around here.
Take a gander at a few books you might want to familiarize yourself with. Someone you know is having a birthday somewhere:
Here’s a link to a video which a local TV outfit made with Paula a couple weeks ago:
I toss a lesser chisel into my bag at the end of the day. We’ve come to call it a bag chisel. Similar to Moxon’s “ripping chisel”, I reckon- a chisel for the dirty work. Download Moxon for free here.
Bag Chisel: Excellent name for a band. Possibly a jazz outfit doing modern arrangements of Duke Ellington.
If you lick lithium batteries, will that calm you down? -Pret
When cutting a frame, we are reminded of the words of timber-framer Frederic Brillant: If you need anything more than your hat to put these joints together, you’re doing it wrong.
Pret once put a hat on a beetle and whacked a joint together. Does that count?
Adze you like it, said Michael Burrey, king of bad puns.
While we are grateful for the work, the swanky demographic that we’re building this covered bridge for would in no way have us as members. “You wouldn’t be allowed UNDER that bridge”, said George Greenameyer.
Justin’s dad visited us the other day and told us stories about growing up in Southie. These tales included one about a pet crow who would rather walk with his gang/flock of boys than fly, and another about Poco, the viscous little monkey, who loved only J’s grandmother and would perch on her shoulders while she did the dishes. Priceless.
Apparently, according to Hollywood Dave, you used to be able to get a live pony sent to you if you had enough Bazooka bubble gum wrappers and a small shipping fee. The things you learn while hewing.
There’s something about hockey players shaking hands at the end of a playoff series, after an Olympic game or any game from youth through high school. It’s what sportsmanship is all about.
Clearly, Bob Costas detoured through Pinkeye Village on his way to Sochi.
That’s Jack in the middle, looking up during a pilgrim cameo about 20 years ago.
Jack Sobon has strongly influenced some people I respect. You should know about him if you’re even remotely associated with this kind of work.
Kim Van Wormer has started writing more stories about her work as a miller in her blog, The Miller’s Tale. Not only that, but she’ll be grinding delicious organic corn meal again very soon. Kim’s doing some wonderful things over at that little mill in downtown Plymouth.
John and Jonas have been doing yeoman’s work at MLB’s other project in Norwell, MA. Thanks for holding down–and restoring–the fort, gentlemen.
Tuuka, with the help of his post, just stymied the shifty Patrick Kane for a second consecutive penalty shot in the bronze medal game between the Finns and the US. Bruins fans have mixed emotions about this.
If Ella Fitzgerald‘s voice has the timbre of a cordless Dewalt, then surely the throaty vintage of a Milwaukee drill brings to mind the great Sarah Vaughan. Does this make Chrissie Hynde a Makita?