Friday, May 10, 2013

Hinges, Furr real.

OK, it's been a long time. At least, it feels like it; I can't really tell anymore. I really want to go to bed before midnight tonight (mostly so that Brinn and I can watch back to back episodes of Prison Break while we share the only time we get to ourselves); and, I'm feeling some pressure from my fans, both of them, to crank out some high quality blog material, so now I'm frazzled.

In response, I've decided to fall back on the 21st-Century adaptation of the old our-boring-neighbor-invited-us-over-to-eat-stale-cookies-and-suffer-through-an-overly-detailed-narration-of-the-400-slides-he-captured-of-his-boring-vacation routine, the photo blog, a travelogue of sorts, with captions! Calm yourself.
We drove out to the Furr's (hence the blog title) house to watch a real-life blacksmith (Chris Furr) forge some real awesome hinges (you'll see).
This is a gas forge. It gets super hot and you put stuff in it. Chris is normally working over a bellow-blown, coal-fired forge, disassembled in Ireland, imported to the USUS and reassembled at the Frontier Culture Museum, in Staunton, Va (thatched roof and all, go see it). This thing doesn't get as hot, but it shoots out sweet looking blue flames.
Chris made these hinges to match the style already in use at Mt. Airy Plantation. In the absence of randomly stumbling upon a working set of 200-year-old antique hinges, hiring someone whose 9-5 job is being an 18th century blacksmith is a pretty decent compromise.
I think he normally just reaches in there with his hands and pulls those suckers out, but he was mumbling something about OSHA regulations or something or other when he went for the tongs.
Chris makes it look easy, but I'm pretty sure he actually narrowed the width of the bar by pounding it edge wise, which I'm also pretty sure is pretty not easy.
Having an anvil chained to a wooden box in your garage gets you the coveted "permanent member" stamp on your man card.
Oh yeah, he also made nails to go with the hinges. Nails. Handmade.

I believe this is what you call a "rosehead" pattern. This is the type of stuff restorationists hone in on right off the bat, because it's one of the biggest giveaways for dating construction. When it comes to authenticity, the devil is in the details; and if that's the case, then these nails are bad to the bone.
These are pintles. The hinges sit and pivot upon them. You can call the hinges (these ones anyway), "strap hinges" because they're basically a metal strap, curved around on the end. When you use the two together, you've got "strap and pintle" hinges. Now you know.
They go on like this.
Here's the door. Half of the awesomeness is due to the fact that the wood was wet from being rained on all day, bringing out the grain and color.

These are cut nails I found at the Habitat for Humanity store. They were all random lengths, widths and shapes, like reject masonry nails or something. I snatched up everything they had and used them to make the door.

They look about like this.

You know I had to respect the door by using this ancient shingle hatchet to put it all together.
I'm looking down through the holes to make sure they're lined up, like aiming a rifle with peep sights, you want each circle to line up inside the one before it.



At this point, I'm realizing I can't set the hinges onto the pintles without opening the door all the way, and I can't open the door all the way because the side of the trailer is in the way... great. A little tinkering, a few headaches, some minor disassembling and I was on my way.
This is the butt end of what would have been a railroad tie, had it been long enough. We can buy them in town by the ton, for firewood. They're white oak and square cut, so they're basically the meanest firewood sticks you've ever seen; but they make nice flowerboxes too. I'm showing you what has to be cut off to make a piece that is "free of heart", meaning all the grain is to one side of the center of the tree. If I didn't do this, the ends would break to pieces and split like crazy, probably before I could finish making it.
This is as far as I can get with the chainsaw. Next step is the chisel.

Twinkle think took a particular interest is this flower box. I don't know why.

Givin' it a little tappy.
Tap, tap, tap-a-roo.
This is what you wind up with. A little olive oil gives it a natural luster.
And the finished product, pretty much. Mostly white oak and cherry siding, walnut trim. You can see the door looks very different dry. The nails are reacting with the oils or tannins or whatever it is in the walnut, giving off those black stains. Eventually, all the woods will develop their own shade and sheen of silvery grey. I'm tempted to rub the door down with some linseed oil or something to bring that color back out.
I kinda like it, if i do say so myself.
One last shot, for good measure.
If you want a rad looking handmade building like this, email me: fdubble@gmail.com

If you want rad looking, hand-forged iron work, email Chris Furr: musselforkforge@yahoo.com

A few things left to do yet (I'm about 2 days behind, I blame the rain) and I'm off to deliver this bad boy. An adventure, I'm sure.

-F.W.






6 comments:

  1. Abso-freakin-lutely gorgeous. Awesome job!!

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  2. Oh my goodness!!! What an entertaining and enlightening photo journal. So many priceless lines here. So much beauty. Awesomeness.

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  3. A work of art - MANLY ART that is. My favorite line: "Having an anvil chained to a wooden box in your garage gets you the coveted "permanent member" stamp on your man card."
    Brilliant. ///Darrell Elmer Rodgers

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  4. Love your work - both as word-smithy and wood-smithy. And your wife has a great eye in the photo department. Keep inspiring all of us!

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