I Have A Broom For ThatI have been in this house for six months, more or less. I've tried hard to keep the basement in some semblance of order, fighting off the urge to send unclassified things down those stairs to lurk in corners (see Robin Wood's The Theory of Cat Gravity for more on this). I have work cut out for me now, though, in the basement: I have been gifted with saws.
They are Japanese style pull-saws, seven blades for wood and one for metal, with three handles to take them. The teeth have strange geometry and no set, the kerf thin. The blades work under the tension of the arm drawn back, so the metal flickers and dances backwards through the wood under tension, the kerf thinner yet. They sing.
The saws are the first steps on a road, now: I need to build a bench. I must gather other tools to do the things the saws cannot. I must practice keeping the blades true; I must practice dovetails. There is much to be done, and the basement will slowly turn into a place to shape wood, clean and well-lit, perhaps with music coming from corners. I am going to go as far as I can with hand tools. There is sawdust on the floor, tonight: this is a fine start.
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