Trebuchet
Way back in June, The Boy came to me and asked if we could build a trebuchet together; sort of a father/son bonding moment or something similarly dopey.
Don is a proud Yukoner and avid woodworker with a keen sense of humour.
Way back in June, The Boy came to me and asked if we could build a trebuchet together; sort of a father/son bonding moment or something similarly dopey.
Within the next two weeks, my dear wife will be heading off to the wilds of deepest, darkest Manitoba to help our Number One Daughter deliver our Number Four Grand-kidlet.
So I got this e-mail from my editor requesting an article about seats. I thought this was a little weird but what the heck, I’ve owned one for a number of years now and if my wife is to be believed, it’s a pretty good one.
I have three children. I don’t suppose I should refer to them as children anymore since I now have four grandkids who are older than they ever were. While it may be true that I like them dearly, like all woodworkers who are blessed with a houseful of children (or cursed, depending on your particular viewpoint), I was constantly being bothered to build one thing or another for the wee beasties.
It is the first day of February as I write this, which means the most wonderful day of the year is fast approaching. No, of course I don’t mean Valentine’s Day; that’s the most stupid day of the year. And I don’t mean Groundhog Day either, but at least it isn’t as dumb as Valentine’s Day. No, I am referring to my 29th or possibly 36th anniversary. (It also happens to be my wife’s anniversary, but she’s less inclined to celebrate it than I am. Can’t figure that out.)
For the past few decades, the fruit growing people of the Okanagan have been busily cutting down their apple, peach and kumquat orchards and replacing them with housing developments. Oh no, wait! That’s what they do in Ontario. No, here they turn their farmland into vineyards, which are a lot better to look at and presumably much tastier.
If you began reading at the beginning of the magazine like normal people do, you should have realized that this issue is primarily concerned with texture. The editor's letter and table of contents may also have clued you in. Those of you who just can't wait to read my column probably began reading at the back page and haven't a clue what I am talking about. Unfortunately, neither do I.
Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach. The rest become politicians. —George Bernard Shaw (with apologies.)
Since moving to B.C. last year, my situation has changed somewhat from the happy-go-lucky woodworker I used to be. I’m a slumlord now!
Those of you who pay any kind of attention to what you read may have noticed that this issue is dedicated to the “small shop”.
Man has been on this planet for several years now and from his very first day, as he stood around his cave staring at the walls and bored out of his mind, all he has wanted is somewhere to sit so he could comfortably watch television.
Renovation: n /rénna váy shun/ (heavy accent on shun, as in: stay away from). A “suggestion” or idea postulated by one’s spouse to drive the other insane or to divorce (either option is usually fine).
Renovate /rénna vayt/ vt 1 To destroy part or all of one’s home in an attempt (usually failed) to improve said dwelling. 2 A bad idea usually perpetrated and/or instigated by one’s spouse.
I recently received a letter from one of my many fans. No, it wasn’t from my wife or my Mom … this time.
By the time you read this column, it is quite likely that Easter will have passed. Probably by a couple of months. But in my defense, I do have a good explanation for being so late … I forgot!
How many of you reading this column either have your own workshop or want to have one but you can’t because your wife thinks your kids need the bedroom more than you do? Everybody put your hands up! That’s what I thought.
If there is one tool in the average workshop that has done more damage to more people than any other tool, it is the tablesaw.
Another couple months have gone by and I still haven’t told you how I became the Yukon’s Number One turner extraordinaire.
When I left you last issue I was hiding out in my shop, more afraid of facing my wife than I was of facing my lathe.
When it comes to purchasing large scale woodworking equipment, most people begin with a table saw. As you may have realized by this point, I’m not like most people. I purchased a lathe.
There really is something to be said about trial and error as a method of learning.
In a previous article I left you anxiously awaiting the astonishing revelation of how I came to be such a phenomenal woodworker. Well, sorry, but you’re not going to find out in this edition.
Many times over the course of my woodworking career I have been asked how I got into woodworking. My usual answer was, “Uh ... no idea.”
The year is finally wrapping up and with it ends the seemingly unending saga of my woodcarving. Since this is the Christmas issue I thought it appropriate to write a Christmas carving tale.