Scouting for firewood isn’t the only reason I scan the forest canopy for leafless limbs. Around the cabin, I look for potential hazards — widowmakers, that is, anything that could cause injury or damage if it falls.
I’ve already taken care of most of what I found this spring. The exceptions both are on the lower level, out of reach of my pole saw but also where they couldn’t hurt anything.
One is a red oak at the south end. Two fair-sized limbs haven’t produced greenery this year — it’s pretty obvious that they’re rotting in place, though the rest of the tree looks fine.
The other is a white oak, one of three trees that wasn’t felled when the septic system was put in. It isn’t just a limb or two, however. The whole tree is a goner.
On one hand, I could see it as a source of fuel. There are enough BTUs in that tree to heat the cabin for weeks. Thing is, I can’t drop it north (or west, probably) without hitting a power line. Bringing it down to the south or east almost certainly would take out other mature trees, and I don’t want to do that.
And so it’s gonna stay. Eventually it’ll shed its high limbs in a big blow, harmlessly. The trunk will become a snag, I suspect, and a home to wildlife.
I’m good with all that.
. . .
If you realize that all things change, there is nothing you will try to hold on to.
Lao Tzu, The Tao Te Ching, #74 (4 BC)
If you aren’t afraid of dying, there is nothing you can’t achieve.
Trying to control the future is like trying to take the master carpenter’s place.
When you handle the master carpenter’s tools, chances are that you’ll cut your hand.
. . .
Once I’d finished yesterday morning’s routine and a few chores — breakfast, shower, laundry, vacuuming — I brought out the cleaver and prepared to re-attach the handle slabs.
I wiped down the tang thoroughly with rubbing alcohol to get rid of skin oils and sanding dust. Then I mixed up a batch of J-B Weld two-part epoxy and applied it to the mating surfaces. Carefully, by feel, I registered the slabs on the tang and applied two large spring clamps.
Those two bolts you see inserted through the handle served as temporary locating pins. They held the wood in proper alignment while I put everything together and clamped it, and they stayed in place while the epoxy set up.
I gave it four hours, then removed the clamps and bolts. I scraped and picked and sanded away glue that had squeezed out, including a glob blocking the center rivet hole.
At that point, I saw no reason not to keep going and finish the project.
I inserted and set three new brass rivets. The wood got sanded with 400, 800 and 1500 grit, and I polished the steel with 800, 1500 and 3000 grit. I treated the handle with beeswax and the blade with food-safe mineral oil.
And then it was done. How’d it turn out?
First, let’s look at where we’ve been. I took this picture two years ago, the day I brought the cleaver home:
Last week, after disassembly, this was what I had to work with:
I figure I invested a total of 12 hours in it. Here’s what that effort produced:
Neither the tool nor my work is perfect. It was, for me, an exercise in “firsts” — much of this I’d never done before, and I feel like I learned a bunch. If I ever do something similar again (and I’m not sure I will), I’d make a few changes.
Among the readers of this blog, by the way, are actual knifemakers — true craftsmen, genuine artists. If I want perfect, I’ll go to them. This I did for myself, for the experience.
And I had a ball.
So now a hundred-year-old (at least) meat cleaver, possibly made by the L. & I. J. White Company (there’s no maker’s mark), adorns my kitchen wall. The applewood handles glow. The carbon steel shines. The scars tell stories.
Yeah, I’m pretty happy with it.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable