Marc Hills
09-02-2003, 9:34 PM
This workbench took so long to complete, I came to refer to it as 'My Nemesis'. The project is a study in compromise, but I'm pleased with how it turned out. It came out more or less as planned and now I have a work surface that is solid and sturdy.
The bench top was a curbside find during our city's large item clean up drive, and is what really launched this long-planned project. It started life as a hideous, dark-stained coffee table made of glued up 3" lumber. Judging from its weight, color and grain structure, I think it may be southern yellow pine. I like to think it has been put to a higher use.
The trestle frame is Douglas Fir except for the arched stretchers, which are construction grade 2x6s. Is there some sort of knock against using Fir? It doesn't seem to get talked about much, but I found it to be affordable, straight-grained and it sure makes the pine 2x6 seem like balsa wood in comparison.
The front vise is one of those infamous $30 Record 52ED deals from Big Lots and the "end vise" is an even cheaper Harbor Freight model. Combined with a set of bench dogs I made, I think they'll serve my needs just fine.
In building this workbench, I had something of an epiphany. Using mostly hand tools has meant that I could do much of the work at odd hours without disturbing anyone. I'm a morning person with a demanding family life (lotta territory there), so one fine summer dawn found me and my coffee in the side yard astride my Workmate and a fir 4x4 marked for mortises.
I was using a brace and bit to rough out the mortises when I encountered a knot about a third of the way through. The knot slowed down the bit's progress and the shavings changed to a deep russet color.
Now I'm not a poet, so I can't adequately describe the aroma that issued forth from the wood at that moment, or the effect it had. I can say that the shavings were warm from friction and moist with resin. The sun was just beginning the dry the dew and the neighborhood was still cool and quiet in the gathering light. I paused to smell the shavings and when I closed my eyes, I might as well have been in a stand of Douglas Fir.
It was like the timber revealed a memory of the forest from whence it came, held inside since the day it was hewn from a living tree, just felled in the wood. I felt an immense sense of connectedness to both the material and the tools I was using right then. It seemed like all the reasons why I worked wood came together that morning.
The bench top was a curbside find during our city's large item clean up drive, and is what really launched this long-planned project. It started life as a hideous, dark-stained coffee table made of glued up 3" lumber. Judging from its weight, color and grain structure, I think it may be southern yellow pine. I like to think it has been put to a higher use.
The trestle frame is Douglas Fir except for the arched stretchers, which are construction grade 2x6s. Is there some sort of knock against using Fir? It doesn't seem to get talked about much, but I found it to be affordable, straight-grained and it sure makes the pine 2x6 seem like balsa wood in comparison.
The front vise is one of those infamous $30 Record 52ED deals from Big Lots and the "end vise" is an even cheaper Harbor Freight model. Combined with a set of bench dogs I made, I think they'll serve my needs just fine.
In building this workbench, I had something of an epiphany. Using mostly hand tools has meant that I could do much of the work at odd hours without disturbing anyone. I'm a morning person with a demanding family life (lotta territory there), so one fine summer dawn found me and my coffee in the side yard astride my Workmate and a fir 4x4 marked for mortises.
I was using a brace and bit to rough out the mortises when I encountered a knot about a third of the way through. The knot slowed down the bit's progress and the shavings changed to a deep russet color.
Now I'm not a poet, so I can't adequately describe the aroma that issued forth from the wood at that moment, or the effect it had. I can say that the shavings were warm from friction and moist with resin. The sun was just beginning the dry the dew and the neighborhood was still cool and quiet in the gathering light. I paused to smell the shavings and when I closed my eyes, I might as well have been in a stand of Douglas Fir.
It was like the timber revealed a memory of the forest from whence it came, held inside since the day it was hewn from a living tree, just felled in the wood. I felt an immense sense of connectedness to both the material and the tools I was using right then. It seemed like all the reasons why I worked wood came together that morning.