Life has really gotten in the way of woodworking in the last month, but will give way to much more woodworking in the coming months. I suddenly find myself with some temporary “shop” space (a small room), no car, and some energy/creativity/angst/brain juice to burn. As you may have noticed by now, no obstacle is too great for me when I am determined.

Today marked my first trip to my hardwood dealer to get stock for small projects that will help to keep me occupied as I gear up to finally tackle my tool cabinet project. The good news is that I will also be networked in my “shop” and will be streaming my progress, if anyone’s interested. I’ll set up a link here in case anyone wants to pop in.

Back to the quickie, an example of determination follows: If you suddenly find yourself without a car, without a real shop, without a pep squad, and with a deep need to make some stuff, what do you do? Do you give up and sit around and watch TV? Do you complain that it’s too much trouble? Do you *assume* that it’s too much trouble? Or do you cowboy up and make it happen? I generally choose to cowboy up.

Here I am getting ready to hop on my bike to go get some walnut, complete with a ryoba sticking out of my bike courier bag. I call this “urban samurai woodworker.”

I managed to get 10′ of rough-cut walnut back home on my bike:

Incidentally, the walnut is for some small speaker stands, which may or may not double as floor lamps. Maybe there’s another post in that, but I’m still tinkering.

The point is: soldier on, friends. Life is unpredictable. Find your center, find your way, and don’t let anyone or anything get in your way.

Side note: I got a chance to use The Woodshop Widget for the first time at the hardwood dealer where I was originally inspired to build it, and it was pretty awesome…

I’m breaking from my normal routine of posting about hand tools and shoplessness to talk about something that is burning up the Interwebs at the moment. I’m jumping the gun by posting about it here, but I figure that the traffic here is low enough that I’ll barely scratch the surface. :)

I’ve been working on a widget that’s absolutely crammed with woodworking utilities, with Marc Spagnulo, for about 8 months now. There are two flavors: an iPhone/iPod/iPad app version and a web version.

It has everything from shellac mixing and dilution (in Imperial and Metric) to a wood movement calculator with data for 230+ species of wood. The iPhone flavor even knows what your local number formatting system is, and uses your local currency for calculations, so it will automatically work for anyone who can read English, anywhere!

It’s an ongoing project, with live tips updated by Marc and more functionality already in the works. You can copy links directly in the widget and share your calculations and other information with others by pasting the links elsewhere. Lots of stuff going on here, and it’s finally live! Here are a couple of grabs from the app version. The web version has all of the same functionality, with a different interface.

You’ll be hearing a lot more about this in the next few weeks. You can check out the web version at woodshopwidget.com, and grab the iOS app here. If you have any questions or comments please let us know!

18 mortises, 24 rabbets, 16 grooves for paneling, 4 tongue-and-grooves, a lot of sawing, and we have ourselves a giant planter. Done by hand, it was a lot more work than it looks. It was good practice though, and a great workout for my bench. I mentioned this project a few months ago.

It turned out almost as I had planned, with a few minor modifications along the way. The joinery was a bit more complicated than expected.

At the junctures of all of the rails, there are stopped grooves that open to mortises from 2 directions. Since the legs are relatively thin, the tenons are trimmed at an angle to allow them to mate with the tenons sharing most of the mortise. Lots of geometry in these corners, and in something like chunky and irregular redwood there’s a major risk of blowing structure out. On more than one occasion I found myself right on the edge of peeling entire layers of this wood apart like an onion. I had to glue a chunk of one of my tenons back together when half of it peeled right off. Be careful with this stuff.

There are a few things I would do differently. First off, I’m glad that I went all-in with the hand-cutting of all of that joinery. It was good practice. I was in a weird headspace the whole time though. I chose fencing materials since I could get stock in sizes that were close to what I need. This material is cut to size, but warps and bows quite a bit. So while intending to do this precise joinery, that little voice kept saying: “It’s just fencing, and it’s just a planter, so I won’t bother planing this…” In the end my joinery was a bit less precise than I had wanted, partially because redwood compresses so much that even with a good fit, it won’t be a good fit for long if you’re not very careful.

My angles were slightly off due to slight warping in various pieces, but with slightly rounded edges on the fence stock, I couldn’t plane down much. I used the softness of the wood to my advantage and coaxed things into place when necessary. It all came together though, at about 4mm off square. My wife is excited, and that’s half the battle.

One thing that I was particularly cautious about was guarding against water pooling and wicking. For the tongue and groove joints I angled the shoulders of the tongues down slightly to encourage water to run out. I sealed the ends of the tenon shoulders with glue so they wouldn’t absorb so much water. Those shoulders are partially exposed to the elements due to rounding of the stock. I also applied some thinned glue as a sizing to the bottom of the feet, then a coat of full-strength glue over that while it was still wet. The intention here is to get some glue soaked into the fibers where the feet will be in constant contact with the ground.

This project also served as a testbed for some theories about building outdoor furniture. I’ll revisit this in a few years and see what’s still intact. I think having done it all with waterproof glue, mortise and tenons, floating panels, and liberal amounts of sealing should mean that this thing will be around longer than me.

Once the glue dries I’ll put mountains of soil into it and start planting things in our new mini herb farm. It’s Dogfish Head time.

Also, major carnage…

In honor of Woodworker’s Safety Week, it’s time for a heart-to-heart. Let’s talk about the magical safety unicorn that is protecting hand tool users from harm.

First off, yes, a big machine with whirling knives is more dangerous than a hand plane. Table saws are very hungry for fingers. Kickbacks can send you racing off to SpleenMart. “Router flour” can cake your lungs in seconds flat. In comparison, a discussion of the dangers of hand tool woodworking might seem like comparing freeway driving at high speeds with a romp in a bumper car with flames painted on the side. Bear with me.

Conventional wisdom recommends occasionally walking away from the big metal beasts and picking up a hand saw for a pleasant vacation in HappyLand. This is definitely “safer” in comparison; that doesn’t mean that it’s “safe.” With hand tools our guard is lowered, and we get sloppy.

When I saw and plane in my office/not-shop, I leave some amount of a very fine dust on everything within a 5 foot radius. Early on, I noticed that dust was being sucked into my wind tunnel of a computer, and it was constantly spewing small amounts back into the environment of my office. I had inadvertently created a dust collection and dispersal box. I would also find dust in my nose, which means that it’s getting into my lungs as well. These things showed me how much dust I was generating, just using hand tools.

I consider the risk of dust exposure to be greater than the risk of mangling a digit. Surely, cutting yourself (or losing a finger) is a horrible thing. But those sweet-smelling clouds of wood aid in the formation of various cancers, and other lung issues. It’s not only the volume of dust that’s a concern, it’s the size of the particles and the amount of exposure. Fineness determines how deeply into the lungs the particles go. The finest particles can settle into lower portions of your lungs, and it’s much more difficult for your body to get rid of them. ”Woodworker’s Lung” was around long before we learned to harness electricity. Some species of wood are directly associated with cancer, and you don’t want any amount of that in your body.

In a power tool shop you might switch on the dust collection system and wear a mask, because you expect it. For hand tools, many people skip lung protection entirely. While it is sometimes reasonable, and currently fashionable, to overlook something as simple as a dust mask, you might be surprised at how much dust can be generated using a hand saw and a plane.

Rip sawing turns each cut into a fine powder, which can easily be seen drifting around, waiting to lodge itself in your lungs.

Planing can also generate some nasty dust clouds. It is not usually associated with dust because you’re aiming for shavings, but a very thin shaving is not like a stable sheet of paper, it’s more like a tight web. Some of that is going to generate dust. As well, some species of wood (generally softer woods) generate more dust than others since the fibers tend to crush before being cut.

At times I feel like I’m an overzealous planer, almost like I’m channeling the Tasmanian Devil. The instructional and demo videos of plane usage on the web are usually meant to show form and technique, at a snail’s pace. This is not how it goes in real life. To really get somewhere (especially if you’re thicknessing a bunch of stock at once) you have to generate a rhythm, and since you have a lot of ground to cover by hand, you tend to do it rather quickly.

When the dust clears, it’s either on horizontal surfaces, in your lungs, or stuck to the mask that you should have been wearing when you first noticed it floating around.

Until next time, may the safety unicorn smile upon you.

Behold, the formerly vast expanses of my desk.

It’s pretty cool to sit here, toiling away, and glance over at my planes, thinking of what I’d much rather be doing. It’s a bit torturous at times, but it’s better than carefully stuffing my beautiful toys into a box. I consider it character. My wife doesn’t agree.

I’ve bought and made a lot of stuff. I am on the verge of having too much stuff, partially because of my space limitations. While I’m not naive enough to think that there won’t be more stuff in the future, I’m not… you know… on the prowl anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I likes the tools. I want one of each kind of hand plane that I could stand to maintain. I want at least one more size of combo square. I want every chisel that Lie-Nielsen makes. I want a lot more clamps. I want a spill plane in case I’m ever lost in a cave without any batteries for my flashlight—and happen to have one in my backpack, along with some scrap wood.

I’ve spent a lot of time perusing catalogs. I’ve seen lots of funky and interesting one-off tools, and jigs a-plenty. For a while now, it has been a constant barrage of Stuff. So many options, so many colors—I must leave here with something.

But I really don’t need any of it.

Maybe my enthusiasm is on hiatus because I’m so busy. I like to think it’s because my space limitations have helped me to think in terms of compactness and multi-purpose-ness, to plan ahead, and to set my stuff limit much lower than most. As it stands, I have a decent, yet humble, arsenal. Everything else just increases efficiency.

Then again, maybe I just ran out of space and my subconscious is taking the high road.

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