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The Maker Movement on Instagram


I completed this chair a few weeks ago. If this is the first picture you’ve seen of it, then this post is for you!

Although I don’t write on this blog very frequently, I have been really busy in my workshop! Each day, I share snapshots of my current projects via the photo sharing app called Instagram. If you’re a friend or family member who wants to follow my woodworking projects, Instagram is the best way.

Haven’t heard of it before? Don’t be intimidated. I’ll try to explain it clean and simple.

Instagram is a “social networking” site focused on photographs rather than words. Although it started as a cell phone “app” eight years ago, it is now also available online via any sized computer.

If you only want to view my project photos, you can simply bookmark the URL

But I suggest you create an Instagram account, because there are hundreds of other makers who also post daily updates on life in their workshops. Four of my favorite photo “feeds” are those of my friends Anne, Jim, Kieran, and Jason.

To start using Instagram:

  • Sign up here.
    • Alternatively, you can login to Instagram by using your existing Facebook credentials. (It is a subsidiary of Facebook.) If you don’t want to share any photos of your own, choose the “private” account option.
  • If you have a smartphone, download the Instagram app. It works equally well on Droid and iPhone platforms.
  • Start finding photos of objects or activities that you’re passionate about.
    • (Think of yourself as “old” or lowtech? No worries — You’ll be amazed how many birding and classic car enthusiasts are on Instagram!)
  • As you get more comfortable, start trying out the application’s internal lingo. Like Twitter, communicating on Instagram revolves around the # and @ characters. You can also comment anywhere within Instagram in plain English. But you’ll get more out of the experience if you learn how to use the hastag # and handle @ symbols.
  • The at symbol (@)  creates a link to a user profile, which is also called a handle.
    • On Instagram, your user name is your handle. My handle is @thewoodprof
      • If you want to get my attention on Instagram, you can type @thewoodprof anywhere within the app. (Within your account, within my account, within a complete stranger’s account, etc. Anywhere!)
      • For example, maybe you see a cool photograph of a dining room table and you’d like to strike up a digital conversation with me about the design. In that case, you’d comment beneath the photo “Hey @thewoodprof, what do you think of this table?”
      • Or you can use it to alert friends to the fact that you’ve created an account. For example, if you post your first photo please caption it or comment “Hey @thewoodprof, look – I’m on Instagram now too!”
  • The hashtag symbol (#) creates a link to a topical thread of photographs. (Yes, your eyesight is fine — the hashtag (#) is identical to the keyboard and telephone character that everyone called a “pound sign” before 2010.)
    • By linking together photos on the same topic, hashtags curate vast numbers of photographs posted by other users about a single topic. (These are also called “threads”).
      • One way to use the hashtag (#) is to search for threads rather than for specific users. For example, if you’re interested in Thomas Jefferson, you might want to check out the #thomasjefferson and the #monticello and the #hamilton feeds.
      • Another way to use the hahtag is to tether your own photographs into these threads. For example, if you post a photograph of your granddaughter you might include hashtags like these in the caption space beneath your photo: #grandaughters OR #family or #cutekids


This post is probably long overdue. Over the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize just how many readers and friends are not already aware of Instagram.  And its not entirely a generational thing — I took a quick poll at a BBQ we went to last weekend, and was shocked that 18 of the 21 young parents there had never used Instagram.

Like most “free” applications, of course, this social media app is also a way for Facebook Inc. to sell advertisements and make money off of us. So if you don’t sign up, I’ll admire you for that too.

In either case, some big changes are coming to, including a new name, new URL, and a formal gallery of my work. I’ll be writing more on these changes over the coming weeks.

Thanks for reading!

Factory Furniture By Hand


For the second time in eight months, I’ve been commissioned to reproduce a piece of contemporary factory furniture. Like the prior big-box-reproduction, this commission pays well. Really well. So why am I totally bummed out about it?

Let’s start from the beginning. In September, a friend-of-a-friend asked me if I could build her a pair of armoires. After a few confusing conversations about style and size, it seemed to me like she wasn’t all that familiar with furniture lingo. So I suggested that we meet at a coffee shop to iron out some design perimeters.

With latte and a warm croissant in hand,  the client finally felt comfortable enough to admit that what she really wanted was two armoires that looked just like this one that she’d seen at Restoration Hardware. Why didn’t she just buy that one, I asked?  Because it felt like too much money to pay for factory furniture, she said.


I agreed. In fact, I was ecstatic about the sticker price. Restoration Hardware’s quality and style commands a premium over most other big-box brands. As a result, it is one of the few showroom stores that I can compete with.

After some quick calculations for lumber, materials, and labor, I offered a quote that would actually cost less than what she would have paid at the store. The woman (now more of a friend than a friend-of-a-friend) committed on the spot, and she promptly wrote me a check for the downpayment. She would get an even higher quality pair of armoires, made locally by a hand tool craftsmen. I would get a sizeable paycheck. It felt great.

But as I worked on the piece, my enthusiasm dwindled. My cost quote was better than most I’ve done so far — I didn’t loose money, nor was my labor estimate that far off. I even started to dig the aesthetic — especially the Lee Vally hardware that I chose for the drawers. So why wasn’t I enjoying the build?

I consoled myself by buying some nice tools with the profits, and by drinking good draughts at the end of each work day. That took the bad taste out of my mouth.

Until last week. The bad taste returned as a began designing my interpretation of another Restoration Hardware piece — the “Weathered Teak Belgian Trestle Table with Concrete Top.”

I haven’t tried to mask the bad breath with beer altoids this time. Instead, I’ve embraced this build as an opportunity to ruminate on the dillemas of reproducing factory furniture by hand.  Here’s where my thoughts are as of today:

  1. Factory furniture isn’t very fun to build by hand because it wasn’t designed by hand tool craftsmen. (Duh.) Every inch of the piece has been guided by a single rule: profit. The dimensions, the joinery, the finishes — all these too were influenced by the desire to produce the greatest quantity for the lowest cost.
  2. Part of the joy of being a craftsman/craftswoman is building pieces that you have designed yourself. Inspiration is everywhere. True originality is rare. (And perhaps not even desireable.) But it is fundamentally different to draft a design brief by starting with the dimensions listed in a big-box catalog, rather than sitting down with a stack of classic furniture texts and combining elements from — say — four of your favorite arts and crafts style tables.
  3. In the world of factory furniture, quality materials command a premium. On the surface, this would seem to be an entirely praiseworthy correlation. But look again at the design for this “Belgian” trestle table — it uses at least 60% more lumber than is required for the strength and functionality of an outdoor dining table. While I’m no prude, it doesn’t feel great to use so much wood on superfluous and redundant “X” legs and “V” trestle supports.
  4. Commissions like these often come from people who care about me as a person. They want to help out my budding business, and they (rightly) recognize that I’ll say yes to just about anything right now. So they choose something they like at a store that’s really expensive, and they offer to pay me a comparable price for a comparable piece. The problem here is that these people care about me, but they don’t necessarily care about the craft. Emotionally, I’d feel better loosing money making them a classic windsor chair.


I chose this line of work to pursue the art of craft. I never imagined that that I could build furniture whose cost competes with a factory store. It turns out I can. But should I?

My First Year as an Anarchist or: How I Stopped Worrying and Love the Hand Plane

I know fellow woodworkers will have already seen this. But to my family and friends, I recommend this excellent guest post over at Lost Art Press. Jim has been a good digital friend, and mentor.

Lost Art Press

mcconnell_chest“Who do you suppose has it easier? Ones with religion or just taking it straight? It comforts them very much but we know there is no thing to fear.”

— Ernest Hemingway, “For Whom the Bell Tolls” (1940)

When you tell people you’re into hand tool woodworking they look at you like you’re in a cult. From an objective stance, they’re not completely off base. The dominant religious belief in woodworking is still fueled by electrons coming from the wall and, the dominant faith tradition in our society is still consumerism. The hand tool woodworker is a weird duck. An outsider. A glitch in the matrix.

I’ve always had more books than shelves on which to store them because words and ideas are important to me. We are all storied creatures. We live, move and have our being in the great narrative of time where the right word at the…

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Scaling Campaign Stools


My favorite two so far. At left, a fat shorty with a 22″ seat and 18″ legs, resulting in a seated height of just 6-1/2″. The seat is dark brown bridle leather from Wicket and Craig; the legs are pauduk; the hardware is from Lee Valley.   At right, the “standard” height in white oak and burgundy bridle leather, with contrast saddle stitching and a hand-tooled border.

My teaching and travel schedule left only two days in the shop this week. Not wanting to waste those days but too trepid to start on my next commission (a large Danish Modern dining room table), I looked through a few of the books on our coffee table in search of a short project. Perhaps because I had just returned from the opening of the new Lost Art Press headquarters, I landed on the campaign furniture stool from Christopher Schwarz’s epinonymous 2011 volume.

If you’ve been considering building one of these stools in your own shop, there are three things you should know:

  1. If ever there were a perfect weekend project, this is it.
  2. The height of the chair and the size of the seat are easy to customize. (And in this post I’ll give you some dimensions and guidelines for doing so.)
  3. The leatherwork is straightforward, especially if you follow the approach Chris demonstrates in his free video tutorial.  But if you’re still intimidated by the process, if don’t want to buy a full cowhide, or if you simply want to skip this step,  I’d be happy to make a seat for you. (In 10 oz. English bridle leather, in any of the sizes below, hand sewn, for $100 with free shipping.)

A close-up of the sweet-a** hardware from Lee Valley. Expensive? Yes. Worth it? Yes.

This week I’ve been able to complete three sets of legs and four leather seats. I started with the standard size Chris suggests, laying out a 17″ equilateral triangle and sketching a mustache-shaped leg pocket template to match. I also made the first set of legs more or less to  Chris’s specs (24″ long, tapered from 1.75 to 7/8″ and about 1  1/4″ dia. in the center, with a 1.5″ x 3/4″ foot).

As I started to cut into the bridle leather hides, I was really worried about how small the seat would be. Over the past few years, a lot of Chris’s fans have complained/speculated that his design is too small for their butts. On this front, my opinion is mixed. Yes, it is small. And yet I still suggest you should try it before cutting a different size.

Two things surprised me about this “default” seat size. First, it was small but pretty comfortable. With my legs straddling one corner of the seat, my butt fit fine. The oak legs propping up the rear two corners actually felt supportive — rather than intrusive — in the way they hugged my hip bones. Secondly, the stool ended up a lot taller than I’d anticipated (about 21″ to the tops of the legs; 18.5″ to the part of the seat your butt sits in). Given that I wanted the stool to match the Kaare Klint Safari Chairs I’m also building, I knew immediately that I wanted to experiment with a shorter frame. (I’m basing my Safari dimensions on the Roorkee thats also in Schwarz’s text, and its seat is only about 13.5″ off the ground.)

So I went way wider with the second seat, basing it off a 24.5″ equilateral triangle. The change lowered the effective height of the seat considerably. But the seat itself was way too big — even for my frame.

By this point, I was hooked on the process of making these chairs and playing around with their dimensions. (Did I mention yet how fun this project was?) So I turned two more sets of legs on the lathe — one at 18.5″ and the other at just 12″ long.  And I created patterns for two more seat sizes.

In the end, I came up with a very pleasing range of options. The table below ascribes dimensions to the sizes I’ve tried, as well as my best guess on how these seat sizes might correspond to the user’s weight. There are many problems with correlating weight to butt size — particularly without knowing the user’s height — but nevertheless I hope this chart will be helpful to you if you want to try this project in your own shop. (Or if you would like me to make a seat for you.)

 Campaign Stool Sizes
Seat Pocket (“Mustache”)
Equilateral Triangle “Size” Approx. Weight Width Height
17.5″ Medium 120 – 190 lbs  8.25″  3″
19.5″ Large 190 – 250 lbs  10″  3.25″
22.0″ XLarge 250 – 300 lbs  11″  4″
24.5″ XXL 300 – 350 lbs 12″  4.5″



The “Mustache” shaped template from which you cut the three underside leg pockets for each seat. As its oriented in this photo, I measured the height on the vertical (x) axis and the width along the verticle (y) axis.


Getting to Know… Brian Clites

Kieran Binnie — a British luthier whose work I greatly admire — conducted an interview with me this past weekend. The full transcript is below, but you should really follow/bookmark Kieran’s blog for yourself. Its one of my favorites.

Over the Wireless

In the “getting to know” hot seat this month is a maker thoroughly committed to resisting the “IKEA-ification” of household furniture. Brian Clites is a fellow Anarchist Tool Chest user, acadmic turned professional furniture maker, and as as you would expect, thoroughly interesting chap.

As always it’s an honour to feature other makers on the blog. So let’s get to know… Brian.

untitled shoot-1. You successfully defended your PhD dissertation last year. What was your PhD on, and how did you make the decision to move from academia to a furniture building career?

My recent doctorate from Northwestern University is in American Religious History.  My dissertation, “Breaking the Silence: The Clergy Sexual Abuse Survivor Movement in Chicago, 1936 – 2011,” was an ethnographically-informed history of the way that this community has transformed their pain and suffering into an agenda of social and ecclesiological reforms. It was a very challenging…

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The One and the Many

Feb Vises


I first noticed Jason Thigpen’s saw vise in the May 2015 issue of Popular Woodworking. A cover-worthy project if ever I saw one, the vise took backseat to the more visually spectacular traveling ATC that Jameel Abraham and Christopher Schwarz collaborated on last winter. Both projects were equally irresistible to me. So I put them both on my “to do” list.

As you may recall, in my frantic excitement to finish the traveling ATC, I amputated my left pinkie with a favorite paring chisel. Walking around WIA with my Humpty-Dumpty bandages, I did everything I could to avoid thinking about the accident. I winced  each time I walked past the Lie-Nielsen booth. I had to force myself to look away from his display as I talked to Dave Jeske. And I drank too much. Way too much.

I more enjoyed my conversations with makers who were not selling chisels, particularly Kevin Glen-Drake, Chris VesperScott Meek and Chris Kuehn. Among their other accomplishments: Kevin invented the world’s best cutting gauge; Chris V. manufactures the most gorgeous tools I own; Scott handcrafts wooden planes that feel as organic as they look; and Chris K. is constantly reviving and improving tools of yesteryear.

But the real highlight of the weekend was meeting Jason Thigpen and Anne Briggs-Bohnett, two makers who have mentored me into the Instagram era and whom I now count as friends.  After seeing Jason’s vise in person, I knew I’d finish it before I’d return to the lid mortises on my traveling ATC.

And so I did. In fact, I’ve now finished nine vises Texas-Heritage style vises. Four of them are clones of Jason’s saw vise; five are Moxon-inspired dovetail vises of my own designs. All of them utilize Jason’s welded acme hardware. All of them required me to pick up that dreaded paring chisel.

Upon observing my affinity for hand crafted tools, Chris Schwarz has twice kindly suggested that perhaps I should make tools myself. Oh, if only I knew then what I know now! Foremost, I have learned that it is such a thrill to design and build just one of something. Or even two. But making many copies of something is harder for me. Much harder. Less because of the tedium than because of the patience and precision required.

In the process of duplicating Jason’s saw vises, I have found myself wanting. Not just my hand tool skills. My self. My being. My soul.

As of today, I do not know if tool making is in my future. But I do know this: Tool makers like Chris Vesper posses a level of discipline and precision that eclipses that of most cabinetmakers. And every hand crafted made-in-the-USA tool I’ve ever bought should have cost me more money.

Each of the saw vises I’ve made has taken me 12 hours of active labor to complete. So at the cabinetmaking-calculus-for-dummies’ rate of $60/hr, I should be selling these vises for $720 each.  Le question du jour: At that price, who would ever buy one?



The Daily Skep

Screenshot from 2016-01-28 13:59:32

If you were interested in any of the issues that I mentioned yesterday, you should check out today’s essay at The Daily Skep.   Jim is much more than just a fellow blogger — he’s one of the most thoughtful and prolific woodworking writers I know. His musings are lyrical, his prose very accessible, and he publishes his ideas more frequently than I ever will.

In his piece today, Jim took up a set of philosophical issues parallel to the ones I touched upon yesterday. He starts the conversation with an AA-style confession: “Hi, My name is Jim, and I own a drill press.”

From there, he moves into issues of morality, ideology, community, and semiotics (what our actions and symbols “say” without enunciating). In typical form, Jim cites folk wisdom and high philosophy alongside one another.

Sound fascinating? It is. But don’t take my word for it. Go and read the post for yourself.

Oh, and before I forget, I have two confessions of my own.

  1. My name is Brian, and I also own a drill press.
  2. Some of the floors in my house are finished with polyurethane. If I could afford to, I’d love to refinish them with oil and wax. But I’ve never lost sleep over the fact they have polyurethane on them. They are, after all, just floors.

Cry, Oh Gullible Soul

Rosenkranz und Güldenstern / Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

My high school J-Term course on Furniture Design and Philosophy wraps up today. It has gone splendedly. I love teaching. And they were a tremendous group of students. I’ll write more on the experience soon.

But not today. Today I feel aweful.

You see, the last few times LostArtPress has posted satirical entries, they’ve flown right over my head. (Like a few weeks ago, when this post duped me into spewing out a number of comments righteously defending another LAP contributor.)

Chris likes to stir the pot. He seems to revel in the role of provocateur. Me, on the otherhand? I might just be the most gullible person in the world. I never catch satire. N-E-V-E-R.

So when I read this post late Sunday night (about Polyeurethane as the finish of choice for the flooring in his new home), I immediately chimed in. I wanted to shout to everyone – not least to myself and to Chris – “I get it this time!”

But now I’m not so sure it was a joke. And I feel awefully bad for ribbing into LAP so hard. Polyurethane is, after all, such a pragmatic and common choice. After missing LAP’s nod towards the film Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (which was likely intended to lighten the mood of indignant readers such as myself),  I gested further:

…You’re about as notorious a polyurethane hater as anyone on the interwebs. This space is special and original. Do you really want someone else to drench it in petrochemicals when you’ve so publicly prided yourself (and built your brand) on reviving historical finishes?…

I thought I was playing along. Instead I fear that I insulted the mentor who has most inspired my decision to become a furniture maker. If you’re reading this, Chris, I am sorry.

For everyone else, here’s a bit more context. Two of my favorite passages from Chris’s most recent monograph, The Anarchist’s Design Book, were his diatribes against plastics and toxicity.

For example, in Chapter 5, “Extrude This,” Schwarz persuasively argues that “We have been ruined by plastic and its inhumane smoothness” (80).

And in his appendicized love poem to Soap Finish, Chris wrote,

“Of all the things that will harm you in woodworking, finishes are at the top of that list. Take a look at the material safety data sheet (MSDS) for lacquer thinner. Now do you have the courage to spill the stuff on your skin or inhale it?

I don’t.

I’m not a safety nut. Woodworking is dangerous… But when it comes to chemicals silently building up in my body without me noticing, I’m cautious. I know people who were procfesssional finishers who walked out of a spray booth one day and dropped dead after years of inhaling volatile organic compouds” (404).

Indeed, more than anyone else, Chris has protested what I call “the Ikeafication of our world.” The Anarchist’s Design Book has two whole chapters aimed directly at Ikea, and in the text’s “Afterword” he writes,

“I’ll be damned if the pinnacle of early 21st-century furniture becomes the Billy bookcase from IKEA. Chop up that crap with an ax and send it to the landfil to rot forgotten” (382).

In these passages — and in the chapter “A Tale of Three Tables” in Schwarz’s predacessor companion volume The Anarchist’s Tool ChestI hear inspired echos of no one so much as James Krenov.

In his landmark 1976 A Cabinentmaker’s Notebook, Krenov wrote:

“Wood is so common – we have everyday things in wood all around us constantly – quite lifeless. These are the products of industry; they are part of our environment. Yet they build a curtain between us and the true possibilities of the material and its values. They keep us from seeing the practical possibilities, as well as the aeasthetic ones. These everyday market products are wood, yes, but they lack any humility toward the material, or respect, or even simple consideration. Because most often they are very poorly designed, poorly put together, created and accepted more out of habit than awareness. They simply do not last.

We go and we search for something, find what we think we want. Pay a fair price for it, take it home. And then watch it become soiled and dingy, dry and scuffed. Maybe we pay the junk man to come and get it, or we take it to the scrap heap. Then we start all over again. Go to the stores, search, buy again. And again its just paper and veneer and lacquered surfaces, bad construction and imitation style.

The buying of this kind of furniture does not make sense, aesthetically or even economically. Over a period of ten years one person may buy, let us say, three or four coffee tables, each one probably costing more than the last. This person does not object to the cost, a market price on each table. He will buy, wear, and throw away, and then go and look for the next and the next. Now suppose we make this same citizen a table out of solid wood that is oil-finished and will last fifty years or more and grow beautiful as it is being used. This table costs no more than two factory-made tables. The person in question says, “Why, Its outrageous!”

Of late I have been trying to ask the question as firmly as I can, “Outrageous on what basis; in relation to what?” (24 – 25).

Beautiful. That’s the stuff that careers are made of. The kind of craftsmanship and writing and ideology that I hope my life is made of.

But Krenov, of course, contradicted himself enormously over the years. We all do.

And the more vocal and frequently an author writes, the more certain it is that their proseletizing comes back to bite them in their own butt. Why? What does anyone gain in me and other LAP readers throwing Chris’s ideology back at him, even if we think we’re participating in the same satirical joke?

So I leave you with a passage from one of the texts I made my high school students read last week.  Its astonishingly a propos here.

The passage is by 1970s homesteader Linda Tatelbaum. In this poem, “Power of Choice,” Tatelbaum agonizes over the question of whether installing solar panels would corrupt her essential values and authorial persona of living with the land:

“Hooking up to the sun would clearly be the easiest solution. But easy scared me after so much hard. I saw how suddenly I might find myself living someone else’s life… The quiet of the house and woods and garden kept whispering, Please, reconsider.

Did I value my principles so little that for cheap convenience I would turn my back on my beliefs? How could I write about change while my electric typerwriter hummed with splitting atoms? But I also saw how hard I had tried to be consistent without ever questioning “consistency.” Was it possible, or even desirable, that my actions never contradict my beliefs?” (31 – 32).

The Philosophy of Furniture


This month, in addition to teaching my two courses at Case Western, I’m leading an intensive 3-week course on the philosophy of furniture design at Cleveland’s acclaimed Montessori High School.

About a third of our time will be spent reading; another third building; and the remaining hours exploring furniture infour of the museums at University Circle.

Below are the required readings for the class. If you were teaching this subject to high schoolers, what other titles would you include?  What did I forget?

Next week, we transition to building. I’m planning to allow the students to use all of the tools in my tool chest. But, as both a practical question and a thought experiment: If I only have time to teach these students about 5 hand tools, which five tools should those be?



Crawford, Matthew B. Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry Into the Value of Work (Penguin, 2009).

Walker, George R. and Jim Tolpin. By Hound and Eye: A Plain Guide to Designing Furniture With No Further Trouble (Lost Art Press, 2014).

*Plus an in-class library of  70 coffee table books on furniture and interior design.

*And Short Excerpts From

Berry, Wendell. Selected Poems (Counterpoint, 1998).

Gruchow, Paul. Grass Roots: The Universe of Home (Milkweed, 1995).

Korn, Peter. Why We Make Things and Why It Matters: The Education of a Craftsman (Penguin, 2015).

Krenov, James. A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook (Van Noostrand Reinhold, 1976).

Nakashima, George. The Soul of a Tree (Kondansha, 1981).

Panero, Julius, et. al. Human Dimension and Interior Space: A Source Book of Design Reference Standards (Whitney, 1979).

Pirsig, Robert. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values (Harper, 1974).

Rose, Mike. The Mind at Work: Valuing the Intelligence of the American Worker (Viking, 2004).

Sennett, Richard. The Corrosion of Character: The Personal Consequences of Work in the New Capitalism (Norton, 1998).

Schwarz, Christopher. The Anarchist’s Tool Chest (Lost Art Press, 2011).

Tatelbaum, Linda. Carrying Water as a Way of Life: A Homesteader’s History (About Time, 1997).

Thoreau, Henry David. Walden (1854).


Lumber Storage and Shop Organization

LumberRackI’m a bit of a neat freak. And lumber is no exception. So you can imagine my shock – nay, horror – last year when I saw a gorgeous  pile of wide mahogany stacked on a basement floor.

When I asked why, the owner explained that he once had a store-bought lumber rack that came crashing down and nearly injured him. So now the wood sits neatly atop itself.

That’s not a bad solution, especially because the basement was fully heated. And we all know those wall-mounted racks SUCK. But there are other alternatives as well.

My method is to store my wood on cheap 2 x 4 racks. The three lumber racks I use are all facsimiles, more or less, of the modular design I used for my first closet.  They’re rock solid, lightning-fast, easily “knocked-down,” and very budget-friendly.

The lumber rack pictured above cost $59 ($44 in 2 x 4’s and $15 of hex bolts). It took less than 3 hours to build.

It easily holds 1,000 board-feet of 4/4 or 8/4 boards. Without modification, it will hold at all of your clamps. And, with a little more investment, you can also use the sides to orgnaize dozens of tools. (My furniture-making tools live in chests. My household repair tools live here.)


I’m happy to post the plans, materials and cut list, if anyone is interested.

And a very sincere THANK YOU to Mike and Shawn for humoring me by solving the trivia question last week!!!~ You guys are the best.