My great-grandfather Hite was a cabinet maker. He was truly masterful in his ability to work with wood. While I as a young child had heard of his skills, the only remaining piece of his making is a small lift top desk, which was in our home for many years. That desk was my work surface when I was in high school and college. When my family’s household items were distributed following my mother’s death, the desk came to me. Later, as Carol and I distributed our share of those belongings, the desk went to Leslie, and it stands in her home today. It is of black walnut, one of the most difficult of woods with which to work. Walnut is a beautiful dark, dense wood that improves with age. It needs no varnish, nor shellac, nor other finishes: only oil — boiled linseed oil rubbed in lovingly with rottenstone powder. You pour a small amount of warm linseed oil on the wood, then sprinkle rottenstone on it and proceed to rub it into the wood. The finish is remarkable: smooth, lustrous, water resistant. The more you rub it in the more lustrous it becomes.
And, of course, great-grandfather Hite was a latecomer. Woodworkers have been around for thousands of years, and when he came along, artisans had been at work for centuries at creating wonderful structures from wood.
You can bet that no modern wood is treated thusly, except by those few who remain dedicated to the handcraft-artisan breed. In my family, Dad and Paul made three walnut tables for us in 1959. At this date Patrick possesses the one remaining table. Made from black walnut, Dad gave them to us in unfinished form; they had been crafted and sanded. It was up to me to finish them. According to Dad’s instructions, I warmed the linseed oil, sprinkled on the rottenstone, and rubbed and rubbed, and rubbed some more. I was amazed at the result. And after 50 years of wear and tear, that table looks like new.
Such is working with wood. Dad was a self-taught, master craftsman at woodworking. He could replace veneer on an antique piece so expertly you could not — could not — find where the original stopped and his work began. In addition to a true love for wood — its touch, its feel, its smell — he had the skill to cut, shape, sand, fit, sand and fit again, so that the finished product was timeless and perfect.
What was the secret to his talent? Well, as I said before: he had the skill to cut, shape, sand, fit, etc. And his love for the essence of wood. Then came the true secret: patience. He would take weeks on a project, waiting endlessly between steps, with small touches of sandpaper or talc as the piece emerged from throwaway scrap to polished beauty. If you were to ask Mother, his patience was sometimes maddening. But, she would admit, it was his gift.
As a young kid, I watched without interest as he worked with wood. My thoughts were elsewhere, and to tell the truth, it seemed to me he was making it more a chore than a hobby. So my enthusiasm for woodworking was very low until Carol and I started housekeeping. Then it hit. Small projects came up, like building a shelf unit. I found that I could measure and cut pretty well, and little by little my skills improved as I encountered new challenges. It was inevitable that I “join the club.” Over the years, I have built many items with wood, including a few pieces of casework furniture for use in the house. While I never became a master, able to construct with the use of advanced joinery, or make full use of tools such as the router (I own one and can perform basic tasks with it), I can still take on a project which involves techniques I’ve never used.
Many of my works are gone: given away, donated, worn out and discarded; the usual end results. My most involved project was a three-piece entertainment center, built as a corner unit intended to hold a 32” TV set of the old-fashioned CRT type. We used it until the flat panel TVs became available. A 40” flat TV wouldn’t work with my cabinet, so I sold it.
I have enjoyed my power tools: table saw, drills, router, chop saw, jigsaw. They are very useful for most woodwork. And I know good woodworkers who simply like their power tools — the tools themselves, I mean. And I understand that. But I have enjoyed even more the hand tools: saw, hammer, chisel, knife, coping saw, hand drill. I know I’m one of countless people who simply find wood to be joyously attractive, and who take enjoyment in working very directly with it. By hand. Using hand tools and sandpaper and other media that aren’t operated by electricity or motors. To get the real feel of wood, it’s best to make that cut with a hand saw, or to carve with a knife, or to shape with a chisel. And to take sawdust between your fingers and smell it, and feel the smoothness of a piece ready to be rubbed with rottenstone. And finished with oil or other natural products.
To me, it’s not necessarily the product that satisfies as much as the wood itself: the grain, the color, the density, the smell and more. A piece of wood, well-seasoned, brings forth the senses in a way that is altogether pleasing. Learn to touch, feel, smell, see wood for what it is. Then you learn to admire — and respect — this beautiful stuff — the most important raw material on Earth. And then you feel you know a little more about people like great-grandfather Hite.
My time with wood has been one of my true pleasures.