Shot some proper photos today of the carved boxes I made recently, before they’re out of my hands this week. These ain’t oak – they’re butternut with pine tops & bottoms.

I’m not a terribly organized person but sometimes I wish I was. Lately I’ve been trying to organize/catalog the furniture I’ve made. I’ve made some headway with the carved boxes – the two here are #s 103 and 104 of boxes I have photographs of – I know there’s easily two dozen that “got away” without photos. Maybe more. Every now & then I think “Oh, yea, I made so & so a box…” – I used to be called on to make them as presentations at the museum where I used to work.

Mostly I make them up – by that I mean I’m not copying an existing box but using techniques and designs from the period pieces I have studied over the years. Most New England ones, with a few exceptions, are not carved on the sides. Seems such a waste, I almost always carve mine there. Mine are glued and pegged at the rabbeted corners, most, but not all, period ones are nailed. When I’m copying an existing box, I use what that box used – nails, pegs, hinges, etc.

I almost always make a wooden “pintle” hinge. I learned that hinge from studying some old boxes, but I’ve only seen it on a few period boxes. Most have iron hinges I call “gimmals” – usually now called snipe-bill hinges. Here they are on a chest https://pfollansbee.wordpress.com/2011/12/14/setting-gimmals-you-might-know-them-as-snipe-bills/

here’s the companion to the box above –

And its till, the lid of which was a leftover practice piece.

And just for the completists, the end

Here’s an example from about 4 or 5 years ago of copying an existing box as best I can – some construction, decoration, etc. But I told you I’m not terribly organized – I made two versions of this – but only have notes of one going to a customer. But they’re both gone. Time to go sifting through my records some more…

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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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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 –

Dead Time

“Why not get some horses?”

Comes over the water,

From a 30-foot lobster boat

With 300 horses,

To my 20-foot canoe with

A one-man cedar engine

It’s a two-mile paddle to haul supplies

By rock-bound shore and gnarled spruce.

Osprey “float” above with sharp cries.

A startled heron croaks displeasure

Waiting for the tide to drop.

If lucky – there may be otter kits

Playing in the shallows

At the tide rips.

An eagle perches on a snag,

Loon laughter lilts over the bay,

A seal looks me over.

A motor would take half the time –

But, what with mounting it,

Feeding it, and keeping it in tune,

Would there really be a gain in time?

True – I could go when the wind is

Too strong to paddle

But that is a non-problem.

The racket, the stench, the poisons –

There is the problem.

Oh – I could still see (most of) the birds

But not hear them

And the otters – they’d be gone.

The paddle – lovely yellow cedar –

Carved on a beach in the San Juans,

Has served me well these thirty years.

While paddling the brain does delightful things,

Each moment a surprise – a treasure.

Motoring puts all that on hold,

Thieving those precious minutes –

My brain turned off:

Dead time.