The case of the angry billet.
Warning - Sunday twiddle of no significance following.
There are times, brief moments in life, during which ‘harmony and happiness’ combine to form lasting memories; these times can provide the mind a quiet, balanced, contented state and the thought process is ‘balanced’. By that I mean there is no ‘external’ bias clouding the process. No one can think rationally about ‘traffic’ when stuck in a snarl up, at dark o’clock, in the rain, hungry, tired and wanting simply to get home and sit a spell with a cold beer. Same-same in flight, the externals can and do make you forget why you love the trade so much. Well, it is a ramble.
Just coming up on sunset; in the workshop, the birds are settling down, dogs spread about the floor enjoying the smells of sawdust and shavings; I’ve just put the finishing touches on the thing I made, from scratch and although it is not perfect; and, I can see the mistakes, it pleases me greatly. So, there I sit happy, enjoying a well earned beer, just for a nonce, before the inevitable clean up begins. Tools away, bench brushed off and with the trusty broom I set about the floor. But the off-cuts pile is first; I get the stove going for the small pieces which I cannot keep and start sorting. It is a fairly large pile and toward the middle there are two pieces of timber; one a beautifully cut end off a compound joint; that joint went together almost to perfection, the grain and the inherent nature of that piece assisting my efforts. Then right next to it sits ‘that bastard bit’, aptly named. I knew. The moment I touched it, I knew – trouble; despite my misgivings and not wanting to waste stock I took it on. I won the tussle in the end, but it cost a little blood, a little sweat and a little lost temper. The off-cut bears the marks of a botched attempt, caused by the rogue grain and an inherent resistance. I shall have no regrets putting the piece into the stove. I did say this is a ramble.
Anyway – I kept that bit for last, parked it on the bench, the workshop tidy, tools away, fresh ale, sun setting, wood smoke on the light breeze – I sat and looked at the errant piece for a moment; the words ‘its just like folk’ popped into my head, words from a master of his craft and wise old gentleman. How true those first words of the statement ring now; then, ‘you just have to learn to how best to deal with it’. What he meant was I had options; I could ignore the ‘bad bit’ cut it out and use the rest; leave it all behind for someone else to deal with; or, I could tackle it, make the mistakes and learn from them.
I expect this all started with the work Fiona Nash and McCormack have been doing in Dubbo, Parkes and so on. Good solid timber, a workable grain, few knots and a good finish provide a billet which is useful and if handled correctly, becomes part of a larger creation of benefit. I can reach out and touch the satin smooth finish on the joint I cut from the ‘good wood’, it is a satisfying, happy thing.
Then I look at this poor thing on my bench; there is nothing that I can do with it which will make it of either use or ornament, I certainly cannot meld it seamlessly into anything I could make. It reminds me of ATSB, ASA and CASA. If they were wood they would be useless to task; too twisted, too knotted; too contrary and by nature, impossible to change. It is the way they have grown, from root to bough. Like my angry billet, the best thing I can do for the rest of the project is cut the bad bit out and perhaps use what’s left to get a ‘proper’ job done.
I believe I shall keep my ‘angry billet’; as a reminder, and for an occasional smile at my own folly. It can live on the ‘healing shelf’ where I put things not to be discarded; in the vain hope that one day, I shall find a use for them.
Enough; Sunday is for second coffee and muffins. Closes stable door, whistles up dogs, ambles off in search of goodies.
Toot – toot.
Warning - Sunday twiddle of no significance following.
There are times, brief moments in life, during which ‘harmony and happiness’ combine to form lasting memories; these times can provide the mind a quiet, balanced, contented state and the thought process is ‘balanced’. By that I mean there is no ‘external’ bias clouding the process. No one can think rationally about ‘traffic’ when stuck in a snarl up, at dark o’clock, in the rain, hungry, tired and wanting simply to get home and sit a spell with a cold beer. Same-same in flight, the externals can and do make you forget why you love the trade so much. Well, it is a ramble.
Just coming up on sunset; in the workshop, the birds are settling down, dogs spread about the floor enjoying the smells of sawdust and shavings; I’ve just put the finishing touches on the thing I made, from scratch and although it is not perfect; and, I can see the mistakes, it pleases me greatly. So, there I sit happy, enjoying a well earned beer, just for a nonce, before the inevitable clean up begins. Tools away, bench brushed off and with the trusty broom I set about the floor. But the off-cuts pile is first; I get the stove going for the small pieces which I cannot keep and start sorting. It is a fairly large pile and toward the middle there are two pieces of timber; one a beautifully cut end off a compound joint; that joint went together almost to perfection, the grain and the inherent nature of that piece assisting my efforts. Then right next to it sits ‘that bastard bit’, aptly named. I knew. The moment I touched it, I knew – trouble; despite my misgivings and not wanting to waste stock I took it on. I won the tussle in the end, but it cost a little blood, a little sweat and a little lost temper. The off-cut bears the marks of a botched attempt, caused by the rogue grain and an inherent resistance. I shall have no regrets putting the piece into the stove. I did say this is a ramble.
Anyway – I kept that bit for last, parked it on the bench, the workshop tidy, tools away, fresh ale, sun setting, wood smoke on the light breeze – I sat and looked at the errant piece for a moment; the words ‘its just like folk’ popped into my head, words from a master of his craft and wise old gentleman. How true those first words of the statement ring now; then, ‘you just have to learn to how best to deal with it’. What he meant was I had options; I could ignore the ‘bad bit’ cut it out and use the rest; leave it all behind for someone else to deal with; or, I could tackle it, make the mistakes and learn from them.
I expect this all started with the work Fiona Nash and McCormack have been doing in Dubbo, Parkes and so on. Good solid timber, a workable grain, few knots and a good finish provide a billet which is useful and if handled correctly, becomes part of a larger creation of benefit. I can reach out and touch the satin smooth finish on the joint I cut from the ‘good wood’, it is a satisfying, happy thing.
Then I look at this poor thing on my bench; there is nothing that I can do with it which will make it of either use or ornament, I certainly cannot meld it seamlessly into anything I could make. It reminds me of ATSB, ASA and CASA. If they were wood they would be useless to task; too twisted, too knotted; too contrary and by nature, impossible to change. It is the way they have grown, from root to bough. Like my angry billet, the best thing I can do for the rest of the project is cut the bad bit out and perhaps use what’s left to get a ‘proper’ job done.
I believe I shall keep my ‘angry billet’; as a reminder, and for an occasional smile at my own folly. It can live on the ‘healing shelf’ where I put things not to be discarded; in the vain hope that one day, I shall find a use for them.
Enough; Sunday is for second coffee and muffins. Closes stable door, whistles up dogs, ambles off in search of goodies.
Toot – toot.