pfollansbee posted: " . EB box, photo Gavin Ashworth for American Furniture, 2005 Many years ago I saw this carved box for the first time. Right away I knew it related to works from Devon England - the initials were something new, but the leaves and flowers were quite " PETER FOLLANSBEE: JOINER'S NOTES
EB box, photo Gavin Ashworth for American Furniture, 2005
Many years ago I saw this carved box for the first time. Right away I knew it related to works from Devon England - the initials were something new, but the leaves and flowers were quite familiar. It's supposed to be from Windsor, Connecticut. Who might have made it is immaterial (it's attributed to John Drake of Windsor or one of his sons, but that's not correct.) I knew I wanted to make boxes with that kind of initialing.
DF box, 2022
My kids don't read the blog. So they won't see these boxes-in-progress. I've owed them these boxes for 2 years I think. I caved most of these parts a while back, and put one box together yesterday. This is maybe really the last of the butternut boards I've had the past few years. What a nice wood for boxes, not hard, not soft. Not light, not dark.
RF box, next up
A recent writing assignment the kids had was about what they think the world will be like in 50 years. Turns out they'll be pretty much the age I am now in 50 years. And for the past few years I have been studying extensive writings of my father's and two people who taught me woodworking. Maybe 50 years from now the kids will read my writings.
one way of looking at our place
Some people think, based on carefully selected photos here, that I live in some idyllic pastoral setting. While I do have a wonderful river view out back, our place is right in town, near some very busy roads. Out of sight, but within hearing is the highway to Cape Cod. Lots of traffic. So lots of accidents. One of my favorite comments on the blog was someone who watched one of the videos - and said words to the effect of: "It looks like you live in a beautiful rural setting, but sounds like you live in Detroit." Sirens mess up my videos constantly.
re-used carving for till lid
white pine till side & bottom
One of the tasks I had yesterday was to cut the parts for the till. I use 3/8" stock for till parts - and squirrel it away when I make extra. If I don't have any on hand, then I hew and plane the oak parts. But the bottoms and sides I make from whatever is around - hard or soft wood is fine. In this case, I ripped a piece of quartersawn white pine. It was 7/8" thick which was enough to give me perfect 3/8" parts. A few moments with a marking gauge and a ripsaw.
It's autumn here in New England. Great light, just a wonderful time of year. Yesterday was unseasonably warm, so all the windows open. And then - the leaf blowers. I hate them with a passion. (I know, I'm in a minority re: leaf blowers, smart phones, etc - I can like you & hate your machines...) So the contrast between my ripsawing and my neighbor's leaf blower reminded me of Bill Coperthwaite's poem Dead Time. (It's been a while since I've mentioned Bill on the blog. Some of the new readers might not know the story - his book is https://www.chelseagreen.com/product/a-handmade-life/ - there's lots more to it, but one place you can learn more is this website http://www.insearchofsimplicity.net/)
His poem Dead Time captures for me a big part of why I use hand tools. It's not to be old-timey, nor pure - it's a personal preference about how I want to spend my time. A tablesaw would have ripped that pine board in seconds. But those seconds - dead time. Like the leaf blower. Here's Bill's poem -
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