They walk in sideways. Like a crab you know. Their eyes are shifty. Very very shifty. A species I dread more than wood-kewers and dry-rot. When their eyes finally have finished their survey of your precious "in-case-I-need-it" piles, they raise their eyes to yours with the pleading of a puppy at a table-side. "Het jy nie vir my scrap hout nie?" "Do you have some scrap wood for me?"

Perhaps I am feeling cranky, perhaps I have seen too many of them. Perhaps I am generalising. So what?! Some people are racist, others are sexist, me, me, I am emotional about wood. A person who truly has limited resources is welcome to come and collect pieces of wood and such. Damn, I'll even give them scrap glue. Come to think of it, I'll even give them scrap tools. But this species drive big cars and have jewellery that would get De Beers at an auction. Get my drift? Their is no such thing as scrap wood. Period. In its last breath in my shop it is a form of heat by which time it started off as a piece of workshop furniture, was then promoted in a parallel fashion to a jig, was then cut into a tool-holder and then an address book. After this it became a wedge then a missile to throw at the neighbours dog-who-pisses-on-my wheel. After recovery it goes into a box mentally marked "I might need it". Then and only then can it possibly be defined as a renewable fuel-source. By the way, at this stage I am speaking of sheets of chipboard and the odd pine scrap. I am not going to get onto indigenous timbers and my precious exotics. And they call woman menopausal?!
I need something cool, I feel a definite flush.

Anyone have some scrap money for me?

The farm next door used to belong to Oom Helgaard. One day he got tired of the fight, sold the place and became a truck driver for Transand. Some time ago, Oom Helgaard walked into my shop with his .22 rifle, the butt broken in two. At some point someone had tried fixing it with tin and screws, a real Boer maak a plan job. I wanted to ask him exactly how the break came about but thought I might not like the answer, so I stayed quiet.
Oom Helgaard had a nice piece of dark Blackwood with him and could I please make a new butt and how much would it cost. Well, I knew he couldn’t or wouldn’t pay my rates but I still wanted to help him. I lit my pipe and he lit his pipe and we struck a deal. I would band saw the blank and machine the bull nose groove for the barrel; my price a bottle of Tannie Jossie’s green fig jam. He must cut the mortises and do the shaping and finishing. Oom Helgaard had his doubts about the second part of the deal (so had I but I didn’t say it!) but I eventually convinced him he could do it. I made him promise to go and buy a 12mm chisel AND bring it to the shop so I could sharpen it for him.
Next day he dutifully arrived with a brand new Stanley chisel and pronounced it sharp already. I put an edge on the chisel without a word and handed it back to him. “Jislaaik Boetie, ek kan dan skeer met die ding!” With some instructions on first drilling out most of the waste on the mortises, I sent him on his way, hoping for the best and waiting for my fig jam.
A few weeks later, a beaming Oom Helgaard walked in the door to come and show of his handiwork. I was impressed. For someone who last did woodwork when he was at school (and that must be at least 50 years ago!) he had done a stunning job. Sure, there were a few flaws and scratches if you looked closely but the rifle looked great. We talked a little about final finishing and oiling. He was so proud of what he had done and it made me feel good as well.
Oom Helgaard’s parting words to me:” Ou Divvie, daars is eintlik min wat ons nie kan doen nie, maar daar is baie wat ons net nie wil doen nie” (there is very little we can’t do but there is much we just don’t want to do.)

I got my jam, he got his rifle, good vibes were exchanged, all was well.

1. Flattening oilstones.
With time we all end up with a sharpening stone that has a hollow in the middle. How to get it flat again? There are 2 ways to go about it. If you have more than one stone, both stones can be flattened by rubbing them against each other, using paraffin as a lubricating agent. Keep at it until the hollow in the middle is worked away. An alternative way is to work the stone on a flat piece of glass, using valve grinding compound as a cutting agent. Although I’ve never tried it myself, I believe 150 grit wet-or-dry sandpaper will also work. Either way, with a bit of sweat your stones will be nice and flat again. Got to keep those edges keen!

2. Sharpening stone lubricants.
While it is pretty obvious that Japanese water stones need water as a lubricant, what about the other so called oilstones? They need oil right? Well, yes and no. The man made stones like the cheaper grey ones you find in every hardware store certainly needs oil. A stone like the Norton Fine India also does well with oil. Those expensive Arkansas natural stones are another story. They are beautiful stones and I have used oil on them for years. Then, recently I discovered that water works a whole lot better on them. I confirmed this with technical support at Woodcraft in the States.
If you thin your oil with paraffin, the results will be much better. The harder the stone, the thinner the oil. On a stone like my Wichita, I use almost neat paraffin.

3. Stropping
To have a properly sharpened chisel, one needs to polish that carefully honed secondary bevel by stropping it. Make a strop by gluing some thick leather onto a piece of wood with contact adhesive. The wood needs to be around 75-100mm wide by at least 200mm long. If you want to be fancy, band saw a nicely shaped handle as well. Whilst all sorts of pricey polishing compounds are available, common rubbing compound as used in the auto industry, works just as well. If you want, turn it into a powder by letting some dry out in the sun. Apply some rubbing compound to your strop and give that edge a few polishing strokes. Any one for a shave?

Hi Div,
Posted a couple of photos on the gallery,taking a chance letting a dodgy aussie get an account eh! Thanks.Would like to come check out the progress on the house.Karl

I’ll tell you one thing, this is no baby elephant. It is not even one of those Indian circus elephants. It is one motherfucker African elephant! Which makes me think of something else. Why is it that they write f@#k? The writer thinks it and says it. The reader thinks it and says it. So if everyone is thinking and saying it, you might as well just write fuck. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the big elephant. Parts of it are really tough and I’ve had to chew my mouthful long and slowly and well. Off course, the hot weather has not really been conducive to developing a large appetite.
I’ve had to move the crane affair 4 times to get all the ridge beams up. The contraption has been working so well, I’ve also used it to get the 90 x 200 x 4.8 rafters in place. All 40 of them! It is been quite a tiring business and I have some new pains in places I never knew existed. I now suffer from permanent hammer elbow but the heavy framing is finally finished! Hallefuckinglujah!! My next party trick will be to get that pile of shutter ply on top of the rafters. I don’t know how yet and I’d rather not think about it right now…

I started a habit of lunchtime siestas – powernaps and don’t feel too guilty. Start work at 7 in the morning and finish around the same time at night. After supper and dishes and looking at the kids’ drawings and throwing a stick for the dog and telling the wife she’s pretty, I normally find a second breath and go spend an hour or 2 in the workshop. Blame it on the fact that I don’t have TV plus the missus disappears into her studio to paint. So what the hell else am I supposed to do!

Tell you another thing. If you complain of not having enough time to spend behind the bench, sell the TV. You’ll have some money to buy timber with and a lot more time in which to be creative. Amen.

As an apprentice blacksmith my only interest in wood thus far was purely its burn strength. After spending the past few weeks helping my dear friend Jan I have an all new love and respect for this unforgiving material. If you make a mistake with metal you can fix it with a big hammer, not so with wood. Last week I picked up a beautiful piece of rough Christmas pear and used it to eradicate Jan’s mouse problem. Only after cleaning the gore off of the piece of wood and vowing only to use a designated piece of pine in the future was I forgiven!!

Jan, I can only hope that one day I will love wood as much as you do.

While pondering how to get the ridge beam 4m into the sky, I lit my pipe and then started wondering why any sane person would want to ponder something like that. Why would one man want to build a complete wooden house by himself? Not just the house, also the doors, the windows, the furniture, everything. To top it all off, why would he also want to sawmill every single plank and beam from trees that he harvested himself?

Obsession, a lack of money, the feeling of self sufficiency, the urge to create something unique, some primeval instinct for shelter, a quest for achievement, a strange desire to be in total control, a dissatisfaction with the work ethics of others. It is probably a combination of all these that turns me into a masochist and workaholic. There is probably a whole list of things I can’t think of right know. My wife reckons it is a strange kind of vanity – that I think the work of others is simply not good enough. I might agree with her. I know some true craftsmen but I can’t afford them.

To have a dream and vision is of course very important. It is also the easy part. It needs to be followed by hard work, more hard work, determination and all the other big words. We’ve all read them. The phrase I like is “One must do whatever it takes.” That is a real important one if you want to realize that vision. I always try to snap out of all the deep thinking while the going is still good. Too much thinking can become dangerous and then nothing will get done. Safer to ponder practical challenges….

So how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time! The ridge beam is 120mm x 300mm by 4.8m solid Pine, quite a hefty piece of wood. I could hardly lift on end off the ground, what you mean get it 4m into the sky on top of two notched posts. I dragged that mother with my trusty rusty Ford bakkie up the hill, then levered and rolled it into position next to the posts. One bite at a time. I borrowed some of the future rafter beams and spent pretty much the rest of the day building and rigging a crane with two sets of pulleys. As they say in the classics, in the dying light of the day, I finally hoisted that beam into place, one bite at a time. It dropped into the notches with a very satisfying kethunk! Sweet satisfaction of a challenge overcome and a job well done! Hey, maybe that’s why I do it….

P.S. I think the wifey took a picture of the whole crane affair. I’ll see if I can get it to post in the photo gallery.

Surely...surely the bench is the heart of the workshop. Amidst my labours and curses I thought "I have to have my bench in here." It stood all lonely against the wall, dirty and unminded for the last few years and served as a packing space for all manner of junk.

The preacher married Shana and I at that bench, he said it was appropriate as marriage entailed hard work. Truly funny fellow he was.

So she stood against the wall....my bench you guttermind...and her surface was dirty and scarred. At this stage I feel the need to say I feel very emotional about my work, my space and my tools. 'Twas like wiping a slate clean, a fresh start. Sanding that reclaimed pineto a silky finish and her waiting, gleaming already, almost smiling at me. The Danish oil, the smell..the stickiness and then her smile from painted lips of deepest grain, shimmering happily.

How do I find the right adjectives to describe what I feel? My chapel is nearly there and my soul is feeling lighter already. Against the wall some of the old tools are hanging with that quiet calm tehy so easily convey to me. They encourage me when I want to rush, as if the old cratsmen are watching over me, my gaurdian angels in warm steel and hand-polished wood.

My gorgeous one has carried in the hand-tools from my cupboard, something she enjoys immensely....my tools...he he. She takes the same pleasure I do in that feeling, that beauty. The cupboard needs hanging now, so till another time.....

Take care my friends.