putzblock
New Member
It was just a normal day in cabinet-making class. We were learning the Fox-tenon joint, an immovable joint once it is put together, when I noticed her across the room.
It was her Pine I first noticed, fully treated, smooth-grained, perfectly square. My set-square and bradawl jumped to attention as she bent down and I got a front-on view of the fully dressed timber. It was smooth enough to be a table-top, obviously cabinet scraped. I just had to meet this girl -
and her pine.
She moved over to the bandsaw, so I grabbed my dowel firmly and followed. Mentally I dressed her clean pine edges. Her 3-1-1 grip was perfect!
"Hi there" I said stepping past her to run my dowel through the endless blade. Again and again I ran my dowel through the bandsaw until I could could take no more - I'd just cut the end of my thumb off.
As I sat in the first aid room, wimpering, my thoughts turned back to the wood I had just seen. Mentally, I composed a poem to it.
"Oh Pine! Oh Pine
How I wish you were mine
For some other bloke,
The ideal is Oak,
But I need your grain
To help ease my pain"
I had to have it - I needed it - Now; and maybe again at 2 in the morning. I closed my eyes and all I could see was the girl and her wood. Actually, I couldn't even remember the girl, just the smooth curves of the grain and how they moved to it's hot centre, the knot.
I remembered the long nights in my lonely bed as a child, reading carpentry manuals and five-finger-shuffling. I used to hide the books under my mattress for fear that my parents would find them and punish me - I couldn't help myself.
Of course it was just a passing phase, paper just wasn't enough to satisfy me, I had to have more. I used to sneak things back to the house, maybe an offcut of Beech, a wooden spoon; but soon it got too much, I had to have more.
Of course the parents found out, when they found the French Polished Welsh Dresser in bed with me, they knew something was up. The lies and allegations that followed were horrific. But I knew I couldn't stop. I left home and walked the streets looking for an old packing crate. It wasn't much, but what the hell, I loved it for it's sole. Then they took it away, how I cried.
But it was all different now. I'd won the lottery in '87 and built my own wooden house signed up for woodwork class, and I was happy. Well, I thought I was happy - till I saw that pine. I waited in the darkness till the girl emerged then I slunk back inside and took some of her sawdust and shavings and
held them to my nose. Oh! What a smell - Beeswax sealing, Mmmemmememem
I had to have it.
I ducked into the project room, and saw it immediately. I swaggered over to the wood slowly, not wanting to scare it. I started with some smalltalk, just flattering the cambium layer of pine, saying how I always loved it for it's nutrients, etc. Secretly, I was counting it's growth rings. 47! I loved a mature wood, they could teach you so much!
Now that I had it's confidence, I touched it a couple of times, just on the edge, in a non-threatening way. It responded by just laying there, like a good wood.
Now, I'm not a woodist, I respect wood for what it is, not simply for it's feel, but everything in it's manner was just saying "Come and get it". So I did. Rougly I dragged off it's cover sheet and laid it down. I licked it's sides energetically, not a splinter at all!
Oh it was heaven!
It was her Pine I first noticed, fully treated, smooth-grained, perfectly square. My set-square and bradawl jumped to attention as she bent down and I got a front-on view of the fully dressed timber. It was smooth enough to be a table-top, obviously cabinet scraped. I just had to meet this girl -
and her pine.
She moved over to the bandsaw, so I grabbed my dowel firmly and followed. Mentally I dressed her clean pine edges. Her 3-1-1 grip was perfect!
"Hi there" I said stepping past her to run my dowel through the endless blade. Again and again I ran my dowel through the bandsaw until I could could take no more - I'd just cut the end of my thumb off.
As I sat in the first aid room, wimpering, my thoughts turned back to the wood I had just seen. Mentally, I composed a poem to it.
"Oh Pine! Oh Pine
How I wish you were mine
For some other bloke,
The ideal is Oak,
But I need your grain
To help ease my pain"
I had to have it - I needed it - Now; and maybe again at 2 in the morning. I closed my eyes and all I could see was the girl and her wood. Actually, I couldn't even remember the girl, just the smooth curves of the grain and how they moved to it's hot centre, the knot.
I remembered the long nights in my lonely bed as a child, reading carpentry manuals and five-finger-shuffling. I used to hide the books under my mattress for fear that my parents would find them and punish me - I couldn't help myself.
Of course it was just a passing phase, paper just wasn't enough to satisfy me, I had to have more. I used to sneak things back to the house, maybe an offcut of Beech, a wooden spoon; but soon it got too much, I had to have more.
Of course the parents found out, when they found the French Polished Welsh Dresser in bed with me, they knew something was up. The lies and allegations that followed were horrific. But I knew I couldn't stop. I left home and walked the streets looking for an old packing crate. It wasn't much, but what the hell, I loved it for it's sole. Then they took it away, how I cried.
But it was all different now. I'd won the lottery in '87 and built my own wooden house signed up for woodwork class, and I was happy. Well, I thought I was happy - till I saw that pine. I waited in the darkness till the girl emerged then I slunk back inside and took some of her sawdust and shavings and
held them to my nose. Oh! What a smell - Beeswax sealing, Mmmemmememem
I had to have it.
I ducked into the project room, and saw it immediately. I swaggered over to the wood slowly, not wanting to scare it. I started with some smalltalk, just flattering the cambium layer of pine, saying how I always loved it for it's nutrients, etc. Secretly, I was counting it's growth rings. 47! I loved a mature wood, they could teach you so much!
Now that I had it's confidence, I touched it a couple of times, just on the edge, in a non-threatening way. It responded by just laying there, like a good wood.
Now, I'm not a woodist, I respect wood for what it is, not simply for it's feel, but everything in it's manner was just saying "Come and get it". So I did. Rougly I dragged off it's cover sheet and laid it down. I licked it's sides energetically, not a splinter at all!
Oh it was heaven!
