Never having attempted an historic reproduction before, I approached the project with an increased level of curiosity and a degree of caution. The Shakers designed their furniture to be ultra-functional and soundly built but with an eye to being efficient with the wood (a concept common to woodworking today). They regularly used solid material that was resawn to 1/2″ to 5/8″ thickness, rather than our default 3/4″ thickness. Simplicity was a key element of beauty in their philosophy. Although lightly built, the fact that many of their pieces remain functional over a hundred years from their construction speaks to the strength of the joinery. And all of this was intentional. Once, when I was talking to woodworker Norm Abram about finding inspiration from projects of the past, he observed how folks who build Shaker projects these days often substitute thicker stock for the original dimensions and how negatively that small change affects the look of the pieces.

As I was getting started, I remembered that conversation and decided to be as true to the original piece as I could regarding the various component sizes. But when it came to the material I used, I decided to veer about as far from the original as I could and still remain on the planet.

It was impossible to determine from the black and white photo what species or combination of woods the original was built from. No doubt it was locally harvested and cured (another concept that is coming back into vogue). What I could see was that it was painted, and so for that reason the type of wood was not aesthetically important. For my tables, I decided to find some exceptionally beautiful wood and incorporate it into the simple Shaker design. I used highly figured flame maple for the legs, aprons and drawer fronts and, after a good deal of calling around, found some stunning maple in a clouded (or “bubble”) pattern for the tops.

Building from the Ground Up

I began by creating a Material List from the old measured drawings. Even though these drawings were exceedingly helpful, they left a couple of details out. First, how was the top attached to the underframe, and second, how was the drawer supported and guided? These two details ended up being interconnected, but I was unaware of that until later.

As I indicated earlier, I extended a significant amount of effort locating maple with very dramatic grain patterns. I also brought the stock into my shop and let it adjust to the environment for several days. I had decided in advance that I would use the tables on either side of my bed, so I selected sufficient wood to make two of them.

I started by making the legs (pieces 1) from flame maple stock. Although the final squared-up dimension of each leg is 1-3/16″, the heavy lumber I located was almost 1-3/4″ thick as I began. After carefully inspecting the material to get the best looking grain from the stock at hand, I rough cut pieces to about 30″ long and about 3″ wide. To create turning blanks for the legs, I started out on the jointer. I face-jointed the stock to get a perfectly flat plane on the wide face, then I jointed an adjacent edge so that it was straight and a perfect 90° to the first face. (Be sure you mark each piece so that you don’t confuse which two faces are trued up to one another.)

With the table saw blade set accurately to 90° to the table, I adjusted the fence to a distance of 1-3/16″ plus a bit — less than a 32nd of an inch strong — this extra dimension would be removed while I was sanding the legs later. I made the first cut on my roughed-out blank with the flat face down and the squared edge on the fence and then made the next cut in the remaining blank in the same fashion. Then I lowered the blade a bit and, with the squared faces once again on the table and against the fence, finished cutting out my leg turning blanks. While you could choose to mark out your mortises and chop them out now, I proceeded to the lathe first. My thought was if I messed something up while turning, or the leg decided it wanted to distort in some way after I removed material, I could discard it without having invested the time and effort of chopping the mortises.

I must confess to being more of an enthusiastic turner than an expert one. And what skill I have is as a result of the bowls that I turn. So, with a bit of research and some practice, I learned a few things about spindle turning while making these tables. As you can see from the Drawings, the legs have a 6″ long rectilinear section at their top but are cylindrical for most of their length with a gentle taper that starts 4″ from the bottom. They are not at all tricky to make, but if you are not experienced in spindle turning, I recommend turning a test leg from scrap stock to get things started. As I completed each leg, I sanded the turned section right up through 400-grit sandpaper. It was my plan from the get-go to put a silky smooth finish on the table, and surface preparation is key to that aim.

When I was done with the turned portion of the legs, I grabbed the lot of them and moved to my mortising machine. I laid out the mortise locations (you can find them on the Drawings) and set up the machine to chop out the material. The tenons will be 3/4″ long, so the mortises must be that, plus 1/16″. Don’t be surprised that the apron mortises intersect a bit on the back legs, it is just fine.

Once the mortises were done, it was time to sand the rectilinear sections of the leg up through the grits (once again I conclude with 400-grit, but I only machine sanded through 220-grit and finish sanded by hand later, after the underframe subassembly was put together). To keep the parts square while doing all the machine sanding, I clamped them together in quadruples. Once I completed the machine sanding, I cut them to length and set them aside. I was ready to move on to the aprons and stretcher.

Machining the Aprons and Stretcher

Once again, it’s important to harvest parts with grain pattern and color as the primary goal. The aprons and the stretcher (pieces 2, 3 and 4) all have tenons raised on their ends. One face of each of these pieces is flush to the outside faces of the legs. I used a shop-made tenoning jig on the table saw to form all of these tenons (although you can use the method of your choice). I took my time here, marking them out carefully, noting which face would be the “show” face. The construction details are shown in the Drawings. Note that on the tenons inserted into the back legs, the ends are mitered (because of those intersecting mortises).

A Mid-course Correction

Once the tenons were formed, it was time to dry-assemble the underframes. There was a bit of adjustment to be made and, when I looked at the clamped-up units, I knew that I needed to add drawer supports (pieces 5) for the drawers to rest on as they slide. I made the supports and glued them in place, aligned with the stretcher. I also made the decision to attach the tops to the underframe with metal tabletop fasteners. This turned out to be a big mistake: unfortunately, when I looked closely at the dry-fit subassembly, I could see that the fasteners would be in the way of the drawers. The solution? Tabletop cleats (pieces 6) that run the length of each side apron. I drilled elongated holes in the cleats (see the Drawings) and glued them 1/16″ below the top edge of the aprons. They also had the added benefit of guiding the drawers accurately within the drawer cavity. I wish I could say that I had reasoned this out from the beginning, but that is not the case. Although I can’t be certain, the simplicity and elegance of these solutions cause me to think that they were likely a part of the original table’s construction.

With the dry-fitting and additional details completed, it was time to glue up the underframe. I used a brace in the drawer opening to help keep the parts square and true during this process. Once they were in clamps, I set them aside and moved onto the tabletops (piece 7).

The remarkable figure in the lumber was both beautiful and challenging to work with. I would need to laminate the tops using butt joints, so selecting and arranging the various pieces to look their best was fairly involved. The tops have a finished thickness of 1/2″, but my material was 3/4″ thick. I had intended to resaw the pieces to save some thin slices of the wood, but after face-jointing them, I felt there was simply not enough material remaining — so I ended up just planing them to thickness. It was frustrating to turn such lovely wood into chips!

After I glued up each top (slightly oversized in length and width), I used my old 4 x 24 belt sander to flatten each piece by sanding on diagonals until all of the glue joints were level with the face of the top. At that point, I cut the tops down to their exact size and then routed the soft bullnose on their edges. Because the grain was so wild, I shaped the end grain first, using a climb cut to avoid tearout. After routing, I hand-sanded the edges from 80-grit all the way through to 400-grit. Then I resumed sanding the tops up through 400-grit paper. When they were done, I took the underframes out of their clamps and, after taking a few minutes to lay out, drill and insert the tenon pins (pieces 8), I got busy sanding on the aprons. Just as an aside, the sanding effort on these tables, to get the results I was after, was measured in hours, not minutes.

Dovetailed Drawers and the Finish

The drawers, in true Shaker fashion, are both simple and sophisticated, with half-lap dovetails at the front and through dovetails at the back. There is nothing out of the ordinary about these drawers other than, once again, I used some really lovely wood for the fronts. I chose to make the dovetails by hand, but jig-cut dovetails would look just fine. After I had cut out and machined the drawer parts (pieces 9 through 13), I dry-fit them and then moved on to assembly. Once the glue cured, the drawers needed little fitting and, with the exception of the tabletop hardware false start, everything went really well. (Oh … did I mention that I sanded the dickens out of them?)

As indicated earlier, I had the finish well conceived before I started the project. But a challenge arose when it became clear that, even though all the various parts of the table were made from soft maple, there were distinct color differences in the legs, aprons and the tops. By putting a finish on scrap wood pieces from the various parts, I found that the tops, with a clear finish applied, presented a rich honey color. The legs, on the other hand, had a slight grey cast to them. The aprons, drawer fronts and stretchers had a pure, paper-white hue. It is my personal preference in most cases to simply let the natural colors of the wood come through, and if there is a range of colors, so be it. But in this case, I found the difference to be too extreme, so I worked to at least reduce the range of variation. I tried an oil stain alone on the underframe stock, but the result looked blotchy. I tried it again with a wash coat of shellac thinned 50 percent … better, but I was still unhappy with the results. In the end, I applied a coat of Natural Watco® Oil to the underframe and allowed it to cure. Then I applied a coat of amber shellac, thinned 25 percent with denatured alcohol. I followed with three spray coats of lacquer, de-nibbing with 0000 steel wool between coats. On the tops, I applied three coats of sprayed-on shellac (again de-nibbing between coats) and then a final coal of lacquer. These tables were small enough that I had no problem achieving really good results using areosol spray cans to apply the finish. And, while there is still a visible difference in the color of the various parts, I think they look fine together. After allowing two weeks for the finish to fully cure, I rubbed it out with paste wax, and the job was completed.

These tables were my first effort at historic reproductions and I have to say that I truly enjoyed the experience. And, while the tables may not be 100 percent as the Shakers would have built them, I think they evoke their spirit very well indeed.

Click Here to Download the Drawings and Materials List.

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This project not only serves all the important tasks of a typical screen door, but does it with a degree of style that will make any woodworker proud and their loved ones happy. That’s because it is a true woodworking project. With classic mortise and tenon joinery, it is within the skill level of most woodworkers … but this door is not exactly a weekend project. It will keep you in the shop for a few days — but it’s well worth the effort.

The Arts & Crafts style of the door would work well with white oak lumber, a good exterior-use wood species, but we thought that a mahogany look would be perfect. So to play the part of mahogany, we chose Lyptus®, a plantation-grown hardwood. Rockler.com sells it in 1-1/8″ thickness, perfect for our screen door.

Here are a couple of other important points as you consider building a door for your house. While door openings are pretty standard these days, take the time to carefully measure yours. Our door is 36″ wide as we built it. Don’t buy your glass pieces until you have built your door and measured its openings. Also, our art glass was provided to us by the nice folks at Gaytee Glass in Minneapolis, Minnesota. It’s a standard Kokomo glass that you can purchase from most any quality stained glass company. There are many hues to choose from, but ours are classic Arts & Crafts colors. Some local building codes may require a safety film made by 3M to be applied to the glass. Check your local codes.

Building from the Outside In

Think of this project as a series of frames constructed from mortise and tenon and half-lap joinery. Although there are some really fine door-making router sets on the market (which I highly recommend), as I often do, I decided to go “old school” on this project.

Start by cutting out the large door stiles and the bottom, middle and top large rails (pieces 1 through 4). You can find the Material List. These pieces form the main “superstructure” of the door to which all the other parts are attached. My old school intentions had me reaching for my mortise chisel to chop out the through mortises on the large door stiles, but my first test mortise taught me a couple of things: first, Lyptus is really, really hard and second, if I was going to get this project done in time to use it this year, I was going to need to use my mortising machine. (Hey, if William Morris had had a mortising machine, he would have used it!) Look to the Drawings for the mortise and groove locations on the stiles. I always form my mortises first and then cut the tenons to fit. After I completed all the mortises (large and small) in the large door stiles and rails, I stepped over to the router table to plow the stopped grooves for the raised panel (piece 5). As long as you have it set up, go ahead and slice the corresponding grooves on the lower and middle rails.

Raising the tenons on the large rails was the next step on the agenda. I used a shop-made tenoning jig on my table saw for this task and finished up on the band saw, but you could use a router table or any other means that you prefer. Take the time to fit these joints well. A door puts a good deal of stress on its joinery.

Somewhere in this time frame, you should glue up the blank for the raised panel, and this brings up an important point. A screen door is an outdoor project and is subjected to the weather year after year. For that reason, I recommend using a highly water-resistant glue, such as Titebond® III or a polyurethane glue of some sort. Once you have the panel in clamps, set it aside and let the glue cure.

The narrow stiles and rails (pieces 6 and 7) are next up on the machining agenda. Rip these four pieces to size on the table saw, cut them to length, and then go ahead and raise the tenons on their ends. These narrow stiles and rails have half-lap joints that must be marked out and cut. The way I marked out the joints was to dry-fit all the door parts together except the narrow rails. After checking that everything was square and true, I put the narrow rails directly over their mortises, then I marked the joint locations right on the stiles and rails. Again, how you form these half laps is up to you, but I chose to do it on my router table using a miter gauge to push the stock across the bit.

At first blush, you might think that you were done machining these narrow stiles and rails … but you would be wrong. First, I used my router table and a straight bit to start the rabbets that hold the art glass. Second, the inside section of the narrow stiles needs to be reduced to 1/2″ in thickness to accommodate the screen panel. I did this with a handheld router guided by a jig that controlled the cutting depth. Once that material is removed, you can return to your clamped-up raised panel blank.

Take the blank out of the clamps and scrape off any excess glue. I ran the piece through my planer to skin it down and get two parallel faces. Next, I cut it to size and stepped to my router table to raise the panel.

I used a Freud large dimension bit to raise the panel because it has a back cutting function. It sized my panel lip and provided a nice shadow line around the back of the panel, all in one operation. With that done, it was time to dry-fit all of the parts together, and, for me, a pleasant surprise: everything fit exceptionally well on the first try. Hey, sometimes you get lucky!

The final step before I put the main door section together was to stain the raised panel. After the stain was dry, I went ahead and assembled this main door section, using Titebond III. I clamped it together, checked it for square, and left it overnight.

Screening It Off

Once I removed the clamps, there was a bit more machining to do on the main door section. With a router and a bearing-guided bit, finish routing the rabbets on the glass openings. You will need to square up the corners with a sharp chisel. When that task is done, get yourself a straightedge and chuck a straight bit into your router, so you can form all the rabbets on the edges of the screen panel area (see Drawings). Once again, there will be some squaring up to do with your chisel. Now you are ready to make the screen panel.

The screen panel is made up of two outer stiles, two inner stiles (pieces 8 and 9) and two rails (pieces 10). All these pieces are made from 1/2″ stock. Go ahead and cut them to length and width and then step over to the mortising machine again to chop the mortises on the rails. When that is done, I move to the table saw to form tenons on the ends of the inner stiles and the screen rails. Finally, shape the open mortises on the ends of the outer stiles. See the Drawing for all of these construction details. When everything is fitting well, you’re ready to glue up the subassembly. While the glue cured, I went back to the main door section and chopped hinge mortises. (Have your hinges in hand before you do this!) I also installed the door handle and lockset (piece 11). Once it fit well, I took it off and set it aside until later.

I went back to the screen door panel and took it out of the clamps. After a bit of cleanup with a scraper and a hand plane, I grabbed a 1/2″ Forstner bit and drilled little round mortises on the inside face of the panel. (See the Drawing for locations.) Then I drilled 5/16″ holes through the stock at the center of those little mortises. With the panel subassembly complete, I was ready to test fit it in the main door (I suggest using a block plane to help with the fit), and mark the locations for the threaded inserts (pieces 12).

Taking the screen panel to my work table, I secured it with blocks on its inside corners. Then, with a straight bit and an edge guide mounted to my router, I cut a groove around the perimeter of the panel for the screen retaining cord.

At this point, I needed to mount the threaded inserts. So I drilled a pilot hole for them and used a special little tool to drive them home. Be careful drilling the holes for these inserts (don’t drill through!): the inserts must sit just a little proud of the wood.

I needed to grind down the brass knurled knobs (pieces 13) to the proper length, and I was ready to try to put the whole door together. Well, as you can imagine, there were a couple of minor tweaks to do, and then it was time to sand, stain and finish the door parts. I used three coats of spar varnish for the top coat.

When that was completed, all I had left to do was mount the screen with its retainer strips (pieces 14 and 15) and install the art glass and its retainer strips (pieces 16, 17 and 18) — plus a bead of clear silicone adhesive. The door was now ready to be hung on its hinges, and the strike plate installed.

Final Thoughts

For those of you who, like me, live in a climate that needs a storm door panel in addition to a screen panel, here’s what you will need to do. Cut out the parts for a second screen panel. Once you have all the mortises and tenons formed, take the two inner stiles to your planer and take 1/8″ off of one face. Then assemble the panel. Proceed as you did on the screen door panel, but instead of routing out a groove for the screen, form a 1/8″ deep x 3/8″ wide rabbet all around the inner edge of the frame. Square out the corners and measure for your 1/8″-thick safety glass. When you have ordered and picked up that glass panel, mount it in the frame with clear silicone adhesive. Now you will be ready when the weather begins to cool.

Well, that is it. Now all you have to do is get busy mowing that lawn you have been ignoring while you built the screen door … well, you knew it had to happen!

Click Here to Download the Drawings and Materials List.

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“I played this really fun lawn game this weekend … it’s called Kubb — it was invented by the Vikings,” said Larry.

“Coop?”

“No, Kubb…”

“Coot? Never heard of it…”

“NO, Kubb, k-u-b-b, Kubb.”

“Cub? Huh?”

Anyway, once we got the name straightened out, the discussion switched to the game’s heritage and why Larry liked it so much. While Kubb’s origins are obscured by the passing of years — a lot of years — it seems most likely it was invented in Scandinavia more than a thousand years ago. Because the Vikings were such, um … “travelers,” it spread throughout much of northern Europe. Originally the playing pieces were likely firewood. As with many such folk traditions, the rules varied with the region and the period of time. It can be played with anywhere from one to six on a team.

Larry said he liked it because it requires some interesting strategy and a bit of skill, but even if you lack both of those characteristics, you can still enjoy the game fully. We think he favors it because, like horseshoes and bocce, it can be played with one hand left open for a tasty beverage.

Getting Started

We agreed that this game would make a great summer woodworking project, so we read up on dimensions and shapes and I headed for the shop to get started. Any scrap wood will work, but we felt that heavier, denser wood is a better call for a variety of reasons. We had some padauk and white oak available, both of which seemed to be good choices. You could use any hardwood that you have available locally, and I’m guessing you have enough scrap in your shop right now to build a set or two. We used the white oak for the six casting pins and the rectangular base of the king piece. The four corner stakes and the hammer handle are simple white oak dowels. I used the padauk to make the kubbs, hammer head and crown of the king.

Get your game pieces off to a quick start by gluing up blanks for the casting pins and kubbs. I sped the process along by gluing and clamping my laminations all at once between long clamps.

Making the Ripping Jig

The casting pins, kubbs and hammer head all have octagonal profiles. Since the workpieces are short, I decided that the safest way to bevel-rip them to shape was to build a ripping jig that rides along my saw’s fence. It has a toggle clamp on top that holds the wood securely against the jig base, and a stop at back to prevent workpieces from shifting backward when you push the jig through each cut. Fashion a similar jig to fit your saw’s rip fence, making sure it’s tall enough so the toggle clamp can reach over the larger kubb workpieces.

Notice that the base of the jig supports each workpiece and, when bevel-ripped, also shows you exactly where the blade will contact the wood. To set up your jig the first time, start with a rectangular base that’s wide enough to support the kubb blanks. Tilt your saw blade to 45° and adjust the rip fence so the blade trims the base to 1-15/16″ wide, measured across its top edge.

Bevel-ripping the Octagons

Now that the jig base is trimmed, you can leave the fence in this position for bevel-ripping all of the kubbs and casting pins. Bevel-rip the four corners off of each kubb to form the octagon shapes. Then set a 11/32″-thick spacer board against the jig, and you can proceed to rip the narrower casting pins. Switch to a 1/4″- thick spacer to bevel-rip the hammer head, after first drilling a 1″-diameter, 1-1/4″-deep hole for the hammer handle dowel.

Ease the sharp edges of your kubbs, casting pins and hammer head with a chamfering bit on the router table, set for a light cut.

Making the King

To make the crown for my king piece, I started with a square blank measuring 3″ x 3″. I shaped the crown by raising my saw blade to 1-1/2″ and tilting it to 22.5°. I clamped the blank to a longer scrap fence and a stop block attached to the saw’s miter gauge. Position and clamp the stop block to the scrap fence so the blade will cut into the closest face of the crown blank to a depth of 1-1/2″. I tested this setup on a scrap first to dial in my stop block and blade settings. Four cuts later, I had my crown whipped into shape. Mount the crown on its base however you like, but I suggest using dowels or biscuits to increase your glue surface area.

Wrapping Up

You’ll be able to pound your stakes into the ground more easily if you sharpen their tips. Once you’ve done that, cut the hammer handle to length and glue it into the hammer head.

Give your game pieces a thorough sanding up through the grits. You have many options for finishing outdoor woods, but I settled on General Finishes Outdoor Oil and applied three coats to protect the pieces.

Rules of Engagement

1. Define your playing field by placing the corner pins, king and kubbs. You can have from one to six players on a side. The more players there are on each side, the more time there is to drink beer while playing.

2. Play starts with players standing at their base line and the first team tossing their six casting pins, attempting to topple all five of the other team’s kubbs (underhand tosses only, with vertical, end-over-end rotation). Once that occurs, the king can be attacked and a winner declared.

3. Unless all five kubbs and the king are toppled during the first team’s first turn (an indication that they are not taking the beer drinking aspect of the game seriously enough), the opposing team takes their turn. Play alternates until one team has knocked down all the kubbs and the king. If the king is toppled prematurely, the game is over and the opposing team wins.

4. There are many variations on the game (just Google “Kubb”), featuring increasingly involved and interesting rules. For example, in one variation, when a team has successfully toppled all of the other team’s kubbs but fails to topple the king, the opposing team can bypass attacking the kubbs and go directly for the king, winning the game if they’re successful. When playing this variation, a team with only one casting pin left can choose to forfeit their toss rather than risk toppling the last kubb, which would leave the king vulnerable to their opponent’s attack.

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