The steel inside

Posted on 2 May 2017

Overkill is our strong suite, but in the case of the newel posts on an outside stair, I think our approach is pretty justifiable. The connection between the post and the stair stringer is often the first point of failure on a deck. Typically a 4×4 gets bolted (or, mercy!, nailed) to the side of the stair stringer, and as people pull on the post going up or down the stair, the short grain of the stringer starts to fail and the post gets wobbly.

We’ve developed a system where we fabricate a steel sub-post on a thick plate, and then we bolt the plate to the concrete pad at the bottom of the stair. The finished newel box gets installed over the steel with big-assed tek screws. On a recent job, the geometry of the steel post was a little more complicated because we were using 3½” thick engineered beams for the outside stringers, but the general idea is the same. We also had intermediate newel posts on this stair because of the long run.

And some images of the finished newel posts:

Categories: Details, Structural work, trade secrets

Tagged: deck, engineered beam, newel post, Stair, steel, stringer, welding

Overkill

Posted on 5 August 2015

The quirky little projects we get are some of my favorites. They fall outside the typical reach of woodworking, and most folks wouldn’t want to be bothered. And while they are rarely lucrative, there are other kinds of compensation.

Two years ago (I couldn’t believe it when I checked the email thread!), a regular client asked if we could fabricate the missing wooden handle for an heirloom pistol he had. I of course said yes, before even seeing the project. I know nothing of guns or gunsmithing, but weird old stuff excites me, and the transgressive allure of a firearm made the project irresistible. Up close, the pistol was even more interesting than I had imagined, unlike anything I had ever seen.

Underhammer percussion pistol

: Underhammer percussion pistol, closer view

My client told me that the pistol originally belonged to his great-great-great grandfather, who lived in the western part of Virginia from 1816 – 1877. I was very curious to learn more about this artifact, and to get a sense of what the original (presumably) wooden handle might have looked like. With the magic of Google, I discovered that this was a kind of underhammer percussion pistol, sometimes known as a boot pistol. They were often sold in pairs as tools for self-defense, giving their owner two chances at an accurate shot. From the photos I found, it seemed that our example had an unusually long barrel, perhaps a custom modification to accommodate the boot fashions of 1830s Virginia.

Example of Bacon underhammer pistols

The photos I found from an auction site also clearly showed the original walnut handles and the hardware used to attached them to the frame of the pistol. We had plenty of handsome walnut in the shop, and the tools to carve nicely rounded handles, but the attachment hardware was a bit more of a puzzle. There was some kind of cup washer supporting the head of a screw, and a round, seemingly reeded, nut on the back side; all three pieces were made of the same unfinished steel as the pistol itself. I wasn’t able to find commercially-available parts anything like these, and I was striking out on having them fabricated. My usual machinist said they were too small for him to deal with, and I couldn’t find a jeweler who was willing to work with steel. I was feeling stuck.

A number of months went by, and an untrained observer might have concluded that I had given up on the project: there was no discernible progress or activity. But I’m an optimist, and I believe in hopeful waiting. And several months further on, optimism delivered us Steve Reichert, a remarkable machinist and industrial designer who also happens to be a neighbor. He came riding by my shop on a very unusual motorized bicycle, and when he noticed my staring, he came over to let me take a closer look.

Steve Reichert and his amazing motorized bike

Steve Reichert’s bike motor

I was out in front of the shop with my truck mechanic doing something or other to keep the box truck alive, and we were both captivated by the almost-silent gasoline-powered motor Steve had integrated into his mountain bike. As we looked more closely, it became clear that every last bit of the elegant conversion had been custom designed and fabricated; I realized that I was in the presence of an unusually gifted man. If I hadn’t been so desperate to get the pistol project back on track, I would have been embarrassed to ask a machinist of Steve’s skill about it, but exigency won out, and I broached the topic.

Steve turns out to have a fondness for oddball firearms, and the long-barreled pistol caught his fancy. I showed him some of the photos of intact pistols, and he said that it would be easy for him to make the parts we needed to fasten the handle. He showed up at the shop early the next morning with the completed parts and refused to accept any payment. I was grateful and relieved, and after a few false starts, we were able to finish work on the pistol.

Walnut handles and pattern

Underhammer percussion pistol, complete

Closer view of new handle

Closer view of new handle, back side

I continued to see Steve regularly riding his creation around the neighborhood, and each time I wanted to invent a reason to visit his shop. When we recently got a request to build a pair of gates requiring custom latching hardware, I invited myself over to his place to review the drawings.

I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting. Steve had mentioned that he did prototyping work for medical device companies, so I knew he was more than a weekend tinkerer. But he also told me that the shop was in the basement of his parents’ suburban ranch house… I went down the bulkhead steps and into the workspace, and tried to take it all in. The first room was crowded with the usual components of a machine shop – lathe and milling machines – but also filled with other more exotic implements.

Wire saw

When I asked about a device that looked like a baby bandsaw, hanging on the wall behind a milling machine, Steve explained that it was a wire saw he invented. It’s designed to cut very small, very precise channels. The saw cuts with a stainless steel wire that he charges with a bit of diamond paste, and can cut grooves as small as .004″ — the diameter of a human hair. He uses it to manufacture clamping blocks used in the fabrication of angioplasty wires. In the next room, I saw another completely unfamiliar machine:

Wire coil machine

This device, invented by Steve’s father and refined by him, is designed to manufacture guide wire coils, of the sort that are used in angioplasties and catheterization procedures. He had recently finished the machine and was testing it before delivering it to his client, a medical-device manufacturer. The machine can produce thousands of feet of wire coils automatically, using wire as thin as .004″

Guide wire coils

I was now feeling more than a little sheepish about asking Steve to make a nut and washer for my little pistol restoration. The sophistication of his work was more suited to a national lab than a suburban neighborhood. But I was extremely pleased that he’d let me in on the secret, and the possibilities for future collaborations were already spinning in my head. I also realized that the quirky little project had already paid off handsomely.

Categories: History, trade secrets

Tagged: boot pistol, machinist, pistol, Rikert Engineering, Steve Reichert, underhammer percussion pistol, walnut

Practice

Posted on 6 July 2015

We rebuild a lot of porches, but our current project is more rewarding than most. Though the house was built in 1880, and the front porch had adopted a pronounced rightward lean, the important bits were still there. Benign neglect is often our ally, and in this case enough of the original architectural details were still present that we’ll be able to recreate this porch almost exactly.

The deck and floor framing had rotted to almost nothing, so we removed them, along with the masonry steps, to leave us with the parts we planned to restore.

Front porch, partly disassembled

Closer view of carving

The carved panels, in particular, were pretty well preserved, even though the framing inside the half wall was almost non-existent. We disassembled the panels and the columns above so we could re-support the roof, with the intention of repairing and reusing the decorative pieces.

Carved panels with Luc for scale

The plain panel is from the back of the half-wall. The bonus came when Dan checked the other side of the plain panel:

Visible and hidden carvings, with Musti

It seems that someone on the original work crew had done some practice carving. Over lunch, we were imagining a scene where the young apprentice proudly shows the work to his boss. The boss pats him on the head and assures him that his scroll will find its way into the finished porch…

Closer view of hidden carving

Categories: Found, trade secrets, victorian

Tagged: Canton, carving, front porch, hidden work, Massachusetts, restoration

Ain’t no window big enough

Posted on 18 March 2015

We are working on a master suite renovation, and one of the key features of the project is a large (really large) soaking tub. About halfway through the planning for the project, someone raised the issue of actually getting the tub into the house and up to the second floor. Tape measures came out, and we quickly determined that a tight turn on the main stair would not allow passage of the tub in any orientation. And though the house is large, the second floor windows are rather petite.

When the clients confirmed that the tub was indeed very important to them, we offered that we could always cut a hole in the side of the house and hire a crane. With some clients, this would lead back to a conversation about smaller tubs, but in this case, we got the thumbs-up.

The morning of the move became slightly complicated when we realized that the geometry of the crane wouldn’t work, but an off-road forklift (with a very skilled operator!) came to the rescue.

Before we made the hole

The hole

Moving the forks into place under the tub

Starting to lift

Clearing the garage

Getting closer

Lined up with opening

Coming through the opening

And in (whew)

And the tub’s temporary home until we’re ready to install it

Categories: Structural work, victorian

Tagged: bathtub, flying bathtub, forklift, Jacuzzi, Lull, victorian

Just part of the job, Ma’am

Posted on 3 September 2014

No one warned me about cats. There was nothing in the curriculum at North Bennett, and none of my early employers mentioned anything. But it turns out that cats play a crucial role in our daily work: keeping the indoor cats in, the outdoor cats out, making sure there’s litter box access for everyone who needs it. And sometimes it gets more interesting.

Our current job is in a very feline-friendly neighborhood, so we didn’t pay much attention to the persistent meowing coming from the front of the house. But around mid day, our client realized that her very shy cat Mika was not merely hiding but actually missing. Then we looked up:

It seems that she made her way out of a (barred) window in the attic, across two window hoods, and onto the roof return. Dan and Ralph saved the day.

Categories: Found

Tagged: cat, Mika, rescue, roof

Proof of principle

Posted on 17 May 2014

I think most working carpenters are familiar with copper’s ability to discourage fungal growth. It’s the main additive to pressure treated lumber, imbuing the fast-grown southern pine with the ability to resist wood rot, i.e. fungal attack. A smaller subset of tradespeople are probably familiar with copper’s use to keep roofs from turning green. Roofs in damp locations, especially if they’re facing north, tend to develop a covering of algae, lichen, or even moss. I believe there’s some legitimate difference of opinion about whether the green growths can actually damage the underlying roofing material, but many homeowner’s object to nature’s intrusion on their building. An old roofer’s trick is to install a course of copper flashing high up on a susceptible roof; rainwater washes some of the copper down over the roof shingles and prevents growth of objectionable organisms.

In this context, it should have been immediately obvious to me what was going on with this odd-looking marble gravestone.

marble gravestone with copper spike retarding growth of lichen

But I’ve been walking my pups in Mt. Hope Cemetery for years, passing this stone five times a week, and feeling puzzled about why it looked so strange. I assumed that the darkening of the marble in this and all the other old stones in the cemetery was a function of pollution; that there was some kind of inorganic grime accumulating. I’d noticed that there was a copper spike, green with accumulated copper sulfate, on top of the stone.

Copper spike at top of marble gravestone

But I was puzzled by how the leaching copper might counteract the effect of city soot. I’d distract myself from cold winter winds trying to imagine a reaction between copper sulfate and inorganic carbon that could leave the marble clean and white.

Recently, and sheepishly, I took a closer look at the stone and realized that the answer was much more straightforward.

Close-up of lichen growing on eroded marble gravestone

The darkened areas weren’t dirty, they were hosting a thriving community of lichens. Some were easily visible (once I looked…), like the foliose lichen in the upper picture, and others became apparent with a little magnification. Now it was clear that the copper leaching down from the spike was creating a sterile zone where lichens — symbionts composed of fungus and algae — couldn’t grow.

Categories: Building science

Tagged: algicide, copper, fungicide, gravestone, marble, Mt. Hope Cemetery

Five out of ten

Posted on 30 April 2014

It was a fairly common call. A repeat client wanted me to look at a section of his barn where the corner board was showing signs of rot. When we went to look at the job, it was clear that the corner board, and everything behind it, had decayed considerably.

Carpenter burying his pry bar into a rotten corner post

Greg’s flat bar is buried all the way into the 4×6 corner post; there was indeed a problem.

The barn was built in about 1915 to house the limousine for the estate, and the concrete shed attached to the back of the barn held a (coal?) stove to keep the limousine warm. The current owner’s sense is that the shed was built at the same time as the barn.

The shed was almost certainly the cause of the rotting corner — the intersection of the shed’s roof with the sidewall of the barn was poorly flashed, allowing water into the wall assembly from the shed down, and the concrete against the wood was keeping the barn wall from drying to the outside. The shed was also dramatically complicating the repair, as it was covering much of the area that needed attention. In consultation with the client, we decided that the only reasonable way forward was to remove the shed.

As readers of this weblog know, we are wood guys, and the demolition of a 99-year-old concrete building is well outside our competency. In situations like this, I call Steve Sullivan of Celtic Landscaping, an uncommonly careful guy with lots of big machines.

The first steps were to take down the chimney and create some temporary supports.

Temporary shoring post for a rotten corner post

Steve was a bit concerned about how to safely demolish the small shed. The roof seemed like it was made up of 8 inches of solid concrete, and the strength of the terra-cotta block walls was uncertain. Further complicating things, we needed to leave the stair to the second floor in place while we were taking down the shed. He decided that the best approach was to temporarily support the roof with an off-road fork-lift while taking down the walls, to eliminate the possibility of the roof coming down unexpectedly. This is the sort of solution that would never occur to me, and a good example of why I like to work with Steve.

The first step was to make access holes for the forks in the face of the shed.

Man using concrete-cutting saw to make access hole in concrete wall

Man using sledgehammer to make access hole in concrete wall

And then time to set the machine.

Followed by demolition of the upper portion of the walls.

Demolishing concrete and terra-cotta block wall

And then, (gently) bringing down the roof.

The rest of the walls came down easily, and the final step was to break and remove the shed’s foundation.

Using a hydraulic hammer to break apart concrete slab and foundation

Steve is typically a very cool character, desirable, I suppose, in someone operating heavy machinery. As the shed demolition proceeded, and especially as the heavy roof was balancing on the forks, he seemed edgier than I’d noticed before. Once the structure was down and he was more at ease, I asked him how hairy this project was compared to others he’d done. “Oh, about a five.”

Categories: Structural work, trade secrets

Tagged: barn, Celtic Landscaping, Concrete shed, demolition, Lull, Steve Sullivan, structural repair

Trying to stay out of the picture

Posted on 4 April 2014

For almost 25 years I’ve been drawn to photography. I had resisted it before that, out of some prescient suspicion that it would take over my life,* but during a trip to Europe in 1990, a friend put an ancient Nikon (maybe an F Photomic, though I don’t remember for sure) in my hands, and my fate was sealed. Making photographs has not led me to spend time in jail, nor yet to bankruptcy, but it has been a steady, sometimes-overtaking presence in my life since that summer trip. I made some effort early on to earn a living through photographs, but discovered that I didn’t have the creativity for fine-art photography, the nerve to shoot weddings, or the intestinal fortitude for commercial work.

There are many things I love about my work as a carpenter and woodworker, and this weblog is largely a chronicle of those things. And the fact that my paid work affords me the opportunity to make photographs is no mean fringe benefit! One of my favorite intersections between my vocation and my avocation is the formal documentation of our finished projects. Architectural photography, as this sub-field is called, is the refuge of obsessives. The conventions of the genre require strict control of perspective (so that vertical lines do not converge), carefully-lit scenes, and usually extreme depth of focus. The work is slow and fussy, requires lots of specialized equipment and techniques, and great patience — a productive day might yield only two or three usable images. I should be embarrassed to admit it, but this work suits me perfectly.

Nikon D800E digital camera with Shen Hao PTB 45 large format film camera

For years, I used a view camera, like the one on the right in the photo, above, for architectural photography. It uses single sheets of film (4″ x 5″ in this case), provides lots of control and resolution, and is capable of causing profound anxiety. As I suggested above, it can take hours to set up a single image, and with a film camera, you never really know if you’ve gotten everything right until you see the developed film a day or more later. Every architectural photographer who has shot film has a story about missed focus on a critical shot, or worse yet, finding out that they’d inadvertently photographed themselves as part of the scene.

Custom vanity cabinet with camera and photographer visible in background

Especially with architectural interiors, the spaces are often tight, the lenses I use have very wide fields of view, and mirrors pop up in the damnedest places. In the image above, I managed to catch both myself and the reflection of my camera. But now that I’ve started using a digital camera for this work, I can immediately review the photo to see if there’s a problem. In this case, I knew that I was planning to crop the final image, so the intruding photographer wouldn’t blemish the result.

Custom-made vanity cabinet in modernist style

You can see the full set of the photographs from this day of shooting on the Trimitsis Woodworking website.

* I have assiduously, and so far successfully, avoided all contact with sailboats for similar reasons.

Categories: Architectural photography

Tagged: architectural photography, bathroom, custom cabinetry, Horst-Buchanan Architects, modern, vanity cabinet

Rescue!

Posted on 13 February 2014

Unless something goes terribly wrong,* carpentry is not usually not about adrenaline rush. Firefighters burst into burning buildings to save puppies, while we shave another few thousands off a piece of crown miolding to make a perfectly coped joint. Slow and steady tends to suit my constitution, but a bit of urgency now and then can be nice, too. So I was excited to get the call from Lex, a repeat client of ours: “There’s an oak library in a house in JP, and they’re about to gut the building. We can have it if we can pull it out tomorrow; otherwise, it’s landfill-bound.” We jumped into action, though our shop is not equipped with any slidey fire-poles.

Nineteenth-century mansion in Jamaica Plain Ma in need of repair

The house was substantial and tired. The story I heard is that the last owners, formerly wealthly, divorced each other into penury, each living in a wing of the house while the battle wound on, burning chairs in the fireplaces to stay warm. A developer had finally gotten control of the property, with plans to gut, fluff, polish, and condo-ize.

We set to work.

Carpenter preparing to dismantle oak library cabinets

two carpenters dismantling oak library cabinets

We found concealed compartments in the top of the crown assembly, but no gold bars…

Large crown section of oak library cabinets

Moving salvaged cabinet parts out of old house

Loading salvaged library cabinets into box truck

And cleaning up:

Cleanup after removing oak library cabinets from old house

Of course, we couldn’t leave without exploring a bit to see what other tasty bits the house might have to show us. The room with the library also had a lovely oak mantel with a secret compartment, unfortunately empty like the ones on top of the bookcases.

Oak mantel and fireplace from late 19th century

hidden compartment in paneled oak mantel from 19th century

There was also a Darwin-inspired spiral stair to the third floor:

Metal spiral stair in 19th century house

A call box, of course:

And a truly fanciful dormer arrangement:

Unusual arrangement of dormers on Victorian house

_____________________________

*We were recently working on a house when another tradesman (not working for me, thankfully!) cut a gas pipe. The house, the carpenters, and the resident cats all survived unscathed, and I got an adrenaline fix to last me for many years.

Categories: History, Seen, victorian, vintage

Tagged: Jamaica Plain, library, oak, salvage, victorian

Luc on beam

Posted on 17 January 2014

We were at Longleaf Lumber in Cambridge this afternoon picking up some engineered cork flooring for a project. Longleaf’s primary business is finding, milling, and selling old-growth wood of the sort that can no longer be harvested in the wild (though they also sell new cork and bamboo flooring). They typically find material in old barns or mill buildings that are being torn down, but they are open to any and all sources of old, interesting wood. I’ve seen live oak timbers in their yard salvaged from the maintenance facility of the Constitution. Most of the old wood they salvage gets milled into flooring, like the pumpkin pine we used a recent project. But one of the great joys of visiting their yard is seeing the weird, random stuff they bring in. Today’s discovery was a pair of giant pine beams (with full-grown border collie for scale) from an mill they were involved in dismantling.

Border collie sitting on large old-growth heart-pine beam

Categories: Seen, vintage

Tagged: border collie, heart pine, Longleaf Lumber, longleaf pine, Luc, old-growth lumber, reclaimed lumber, southern yellow pine