Tools

One day, a couple of years ago, I was working in my dad's shop and spied something shiny. As with most things that sparkle, it called to me like his dad's newly awarded, "electric sex" leg lamp called to Ralphie. I zeroed in on the polished metal, scrubbed so thoroughly I could see my face in the bronze cap. This small gold violin plane, when tested, fit perfectly in my hand, effortlessly shaved curls from the edges of my guitar rims snugly wedged into their form. When I asked my dad where this glorious tool had come from he said, "Oh my friend Jerry Tinney in California sent it. I don't remember who made it but I think he said it was made in the US. You can ask him if you want, his card is on a set of wood in the pile over there." (....k thanks I'll get right on that. Digging through the exorbitant stack of backs and sides sent by hopeful clients is definitely an excellent use of my time..) My dad seems to have an uncanny sense of where things are in his overly cluttered, hoarder's paradise of a shop. The card was right where he said it would be, taped to a dusty set of wood wedged in with all the others hoping to be sanded and bent into a Henderson guitar. I called Jerry and told him how much I enjoyed using the plane and wanted to know where I could get one for myself. He told me it was made by a company called Lie-Nielsen, and they make all of their tools in Maine. A few days later, before I was able to order one for myself, a box arrived from Jerry. Inside, enveloped in a roll of packing paper was my very own, even shinier, violin plane.

Since that first rake across those guitar rims, I have found reason to purchase several more tools from Lie-Nielsen, enjoying each as much as that first little plane. The care that is obviously put into each tool they have sent me is obviously not a fluke, so I felt connected to this company, feeling like the people who make these tools understand that when you put your soul into something you make, great joy comes to the people who use it.

If you have read this blog in its entirety you should remember reading about my cousin, Lauren. She and her sister Leah are two of my closest, most important family members, as I think more of them as siblings than whatever amount of removed cousin we actually are. Our summers spent together in Rugby are absolutely among my most cherished memories. So, when Lauren asked me if I wanted to visit her while she was working through a pharmacy school rotation in Portland, Maine this past January, I wasn't so much concerned with blizzards, or freezing temperatures, or winter flight delays. My only question was, "If I come up there, would you be willing to drive me 45 minutes north to a little down named Warren so I can visit this tool company that makes my favorite things for my job?." She agreed, so I booked my flight.

As I knew, heading to Maine in January is a bit of gamble. What if, like when I lived in Vermont, the air freezes my nose hairs upon inhalation? What if it was so dry inside that the skin of my hands would crack, then burn when I applied lotion? Given that the temperatures in North Carolina weren't too far off, and those things were already happing here, and Delta traded me a first class ticket in exchange for some credit card points, I figured I couldn't really lose. I packed my Sorel boots, my fattest down jacket, and a fuzzy hat and off I went to the land of the great white north. Turned out while I was there the weather was kind, only hurting a little bit when the wind whipped against my skin. Surprisingly similar, if not warmer, than Asheville's January.

Old streets. Portland, ME

Lauren and her fiancé Drew went to great effort to share with me the ultimate Maine experience. We went to their favorite fish market, picking oysters from several nearby bays and rivers, we (Drew) boiled lobsters and steamed fresh mussels. We walked the worn cobblestoned streets of Portland, we hiked the snowy trails winding among city neighborhoods, and slid along frozen sidewalks to pick up snacks and rent movies from a nearby, real life DVD rental place. It doubles, or triples if you will, as an ice cream parlor and the local post office.

The air was full of flurries the last full day I was in town. Lauren and I set off to find Warren, and Lie-Nielsen Toolworks. Google suggested we take the freeway at least half of the way there, but we decided to drive up Interstate 1 for the majority of the ride, figuring we were in no rush, and we could see more of Maine's small towns. We drove over lattice girder-braced, one lane bridges, likely built by a handful of locals a few generations past, past Cape Cod type houses painted bright, happy colors, and through town centers offering small quaint shops. One of my all time favorite things to do when I am visiting new places is sit on the rim, quiet and invisible while I watch people simply go about their business. Not the fake, touristy type of a show that you're supposed to see when you visit somewhere, but peek behind the storefront facade and see what is really back there, no matter how simple or 'ugly' it may seem. As we wound our way north, each coastal town we passed was brimming with people just getting by, stopping at their little cheap diner before work to gossip with friends, buying groceries at the one store that offers fresh produce, rushing to make it to work on time or drop off their kids at school. Perhaps it is odd, but show me how people really live in a real town, as mundane as it may seem, I think it is where the beauty in humanity truly lies.

We took a walk outside and found a frozen ocean. We weren't cold at all.

Here's the frozen ocean.

Fish market!! 

I got to be in charge of mussels night. I made two sauces. 

When we pulled up to the red roofed building housing Lie-Nielsen Toolworks, a light snow was falling, but the salted roads were still clear so we decided to go in and ask if we could get a tour. We walked into the wood paneled show room lined with glittering planes, saws and chisels. Jared, a tall, red haired guy in plaid greeted us from behind his desk. He said he would be glad to give is a tour of the company, so off we went through the factory door.

I learned that Tom Lie-Nielsen started this company because he wanted to ensure that woodworkers were provided with the option of high end, US made tools back when there were few options available for such things. He worked for the tool company Garret Wade in the early 80s, but when they stopped making their #95 bronze edge block plane, Tom took it upon himself to try to make one of his own, similar in design to the original Stanley planes which he felt needed little adjustment to the classic, ergonomic design, but with the highest attention to quality and aesthetic. The company began as a one room operation so to speak, just making the one type of plane, but eventually expanded to hone and design many types of 'old school' planes, chisels, hand saws, and other hand tools.

Jared handed us a couple of hardhats and some protective eye ware. While Lauren's looked similar to those aerodynamic cyclist sunglasses making her look like she might set a speed record for a factory tour, in my case it meant a swath of oversized plexiglass clamped to my face to accommodate my glasses, which are necessary were I in the mood to see things. I distinctly remember my grandfather sporting the yellow-tinted version for when he drove his Lincoln Towncar twice a week to the country club. Once properly attired, we ventured with Jared into the bustling factory.

The first room we were led into was the saw making room. There was only one man in there, and he stood at his workbench painstakingly inspecting the saw blades before attaching their curly maple handles.The saw blades were being run through a clunky looking but surprisingly smooth working machines using simple belt technology to cut perfect notches into the saw blades. Jared proudly explained to us that those machines were manufactured in the 1940s and, since irreplaceable, were handled with such care they rarely needed servicing except for regular checkups. They reminded me of my dad's old heavy Black and Decker router, the first tool he bought with the $500 he was paid by the moonshiner for his #7 D45. That thing has had bits, switches and bearings replaced, but is still one of the most cherished tools in my dad's shop.

It was amazing to see the attention to detail as we wound our way through the rooms of folks working on various steps of the tool's progress. We were shuffled through the plane assembly and inspection room where we were told each plane comes with a blade hand sharpened by an employee before it is shipped out so as to ensure that each blade is able to hold an edge and demonstrate that each tool has been inspected to the fullest. As we stood watching guys run hunks of raw metal through various machines, Jared explained that while the CNC machines positioned in the center of the room shaped things perfectly, if someone were to mess up the programming, multiple products would be ruined, whereas these human led machines produce fewer mistakes since a person is at the helm of the ship allowing for adjustments if necessary after just one tool. As we were watching the progress, an apron clad man with a white beard approached us and handed Jared the base of a block plane, pointing to a tiny blemish in the metal barely the size of a pinhead. I had to squint through my plexiglass to see it. "Yep, that'll go back to be melted down and recast," Jared told us. "We would rather take the time and effort to redo something like that, even though it has nothing to do with the function of the tool rather than sell it as a second because we don't want anything less than perfect on the market, even if it is a secondary market. It came from here so we want nothing less than the most perfect tools out there with our name on them"

Sharpening.

One of my favorite things that I observed during the tour was the care that each person took on their specific job. It reminded me so much of Cane Creek Cycling Components, the company where Nick works as a purchasing manager. Lie-Nielsen, like Cane Creek, employs local folks who show up and work to do a good job, not only young. transplanted whippersnappers who want to make bike parts in Asheville or the quintessential old man woodworkers (no offense) who want a good discount. It heartens me that everyone who works here might not be the utmost expert on tool handling and woodworking. No matter their background, these folks obviously take great pride in their respective positions within the company, and choose to work there not just for the woodworking perks but because it is a great company in general.

I am extremely thankful to for having had the opportunity to visit this great company and see how the tools I find so beautiful are in fact, beautifully and thoughtfully made as well. While observing their process, I couldn't help but feel a bit of a kindred spirit. Knowing that they put as much time and effort into making something that allows me to do the same with my work is the best reason I can think of to support this awesome company. I think of my dad's friend Jerry each time I use one of my tools from Lie-Nielsen and am extremely thankful for each one I have. My job is never just about making a guitar, and Tom Lie-Nielsen's isn't just about making a block plane.

Polished and awaiting a blade before shipping.

Shaved bronze to be remelted to make more things!

All the beautiful chisels.