Fall

I have a love/hate relationship with fall. I absolutely love the weather, when it is almost cool enough that jackets are required at the beginning and end of the day but not all of it, and I can still wear open toed shoes without much concern that my toes might fall off. Also, I love cooking, and in my opinion, fall is one of the best cooking seasons. Butternut squash, pumpkins, cranberries, rosemary, thyme...hearty soups....I am getting off track. But the downside to fall is that winter hides behind the bright fall leaves ready to pop out when they finish falling from their branches. And then I have to wear socks. And that socks. (hehe, get it? Well, I thought it was clever anyway.)

Exploded Touch-Me-Not seed pod.

One thing I love about fall is that it is the season when touch-me-nots bloom. (Actually, it is Jewelweed, and I bet I have a lecture from Bob Gale about it's invasive properties coming to me after he reads how I love it (but maybe not, because Josh Kelly just told me that it is native to our area. We will see. They are both the smartest ecology-minded people I know)). Anyway, these bright green bushes, highlighted with small, orange blooms fill my heart with excitement every time I see them. When I was young, my dad and I used to take walks in the woods, and keeping an eye out for those orange blooms was a favorite pastime. It didn't occur to me that it only happened once per year until recently, but who's keeping track of my observational skills? Along with the little orange buds, there would often be seed pockets growing alongside them. The exciting thing about these seed pockets is that when you touch them, their coats recoil, spilling seeds over the ground. It is kind of like a jack-in-the-box, waiting in anticipation for the pod to explode under the lightest touch. My dad would always pick the biggest pods from high on the bush and hold them gingerly until I could grab them. My cousin Leah also told me a couple of weeks ago that the seeds are edible, a statement I am not confident is true after I collected a mouthful and went to town on them, only to have a horrid taste spread through my mouth and last for the rest of the day.


Fall is also a time for transition. Summer is kind of lazy (definitely the opposite in my case this year) but fall is when school starts, and you are ready to turn over a new leaf, if you will, and get down to business. Even though I had a pretty strenuous summer, I still experienced that September rush to be productive and get projects moving. I am so happy to say that due to this excitement, I have finished the body of a Koa cutaway guitar, totally finished a soprano ukulele, and am in the process of making a tenor sized uke as well.

Pearl binding on a Koa Cutaway OM.

So far no major hiccups in the progress of the cutaway OM, which is exciting, as those tend to get the better of us sometimes due to their extra, asymmetrical part that constantly needs dealing with. I did set a little bit if binding on fire if we are being totally honest, but you know, sometimes that is unavoidable when you are trying to perfectly fit a piece of ivoroid into the spot where the sides meet on the bottom of a guitar. Since it has to match the space routed for it just right, lots of trips to the sander were made, and a couple of them ended in frantic stomping of sparks and jumping out of the way of their wrath. Not an ideal situation in a wood shop, so that is just another reason I prefer wood binding. This will be the second guitar of mine that does not have wood binding, and it is due to the cutaway shape. The thin strips of curly maple I tend to prefer would likely have difficulty withstanding the extra contraption mounted to the side bender to add the extra bend and therefore would likely create a raging headache. Though now that I think about it, I am not sure which  would have produced a lesster one, things catching on fire and filling the shop with the smell of  a charred Vick's VapoRub tub, or a few broken bent wood bits...hm...

Anyway, I am off to finish cutting the pearl for the fingerboard and headstock of the cutaway. I am extra excited to debut my new headstock design, but I am going to wait to show it to you until the guitar is further along. Just start preparing to see something pretty neat, and in the meantime, enjoy the fall and the extra productivity that the cooler weather, touch-me-nots, and changing leaves bring!

Finished soprano uke! Full body Koa, curly maple binding, ebony bridge. 

Final note: if you are on Facebook, please like my new EJ Henderson Guitars and Ukuleles page!! There you can get quick updates on a instrument's progress, see more pictures of the process of building, as well as finished products!

Penland

Wow, it has been a long time since we have visited with eachother! I am very excited to be able to be typing this right now as it means that this incredibly busy summer is coming to a close! One reason it has been so hectic is that I have been planning and then executing my wedding. Turns out getting married kind of takes it out of you. We are finally settling back into regular life here in Asheville, and yesterday I headed back up to Rugby to get back to work on some new and exciting projects!

The second reason is that my dad has been traveling all over the country this summer to teach his fingerpicking style at music camps, attend festivals, play concerts, and demonstrate guitar building to a lucky few students. Because of my dad's busy schedule I have been finishing guitars and ukuleles for him, and trying my hand at making instruments without any supervision, but that journey is just beginning and I figured writing about finishing instruments (sanding, spraying, repeat) would not be the most interesting thing for you to read. And I want you to get your money's worth you know.

Beginning to look like my dad's shop...

Last week I visited my dad at the Penland School of Crafts where he was in his second, and final, week of teaching guitar building to six very eager and excited students. The school is a nationally known center for craft education. They have classes ranging from glass blowing to paper and printmaking to guitar building. I visited the wood shop where my dad was teaching his guitar building techniques.

I thought it quite ambitious for anyone to be able to make a guitar in two weeks, but I saw it with my very own eyes! When I arrived everyone had just begun spraying finish on their constructed guitars. I was impressed that there was an actual guitar sitting on each work station, rather than a pile of glue and wood that could easily have happened had I been in such a class when I was first learning.

As I meandered through the vast, very clean, and well stocked shop I noticed that my dad had brought some stuff to make himself feel more at home. Along with the necessities such as planks of mahogany, the side bender, squares of sandpaper, copious bottles of Titebond, and a jug that looked suspiciously like a whiskey bottle labeled "Guitar Stain" in big sharpie letters, lay a hooey stick, various magic trick paraphernalia, and of course the fart machine. My heart went out to a poor student who, while  waiting for his guitar's coat of finish to dry, he hopelessly attempted to fit six blocks of wood together into the correct crisscross shape. (See picture below. It is a difficult puzzle.)

And of course the shop wouldn't be complete without the hooey stick and wood puzzle...

Corey working on his bowl.

It was great to see everyone having such a good time learning from my dad. One of his students, Corey, is a talented wood worker already, making beautiful lathe-turned bowls. He tried to teach me, but it didn't work out too well. I guess I should stick to what I know...sort of.

Learning to turn a bowl!

After lunch I visited several of the other studios nestled between the hills on the lovely Penland property. We walked through the metals shop, jewelry, printmaking, glassblowing. Everyone was happy to display what they were working on and explain the processes they used. The talent surging those workshops was almost tangible.

Wayne Henderson poses with his students at Penland 2012

On Thursday Nick and I drove back up to the school (as it is only about an hour from Asheville) with a couple of friends to attend the session-end auction. It was incredible to peruse the gallery, seeing the goods that were put up for auction, all proceeds going to Penland's scholarship program. Even though I lost out on some amazing whiskey glasses made by a very talented glass blower (Ben Dombey - look him up) I still enjoyed my first auction experience. I wanted to bid on everything! There are some truly gifted people making some amazing things in this world. I so appreciate a place that respects and nurtures such creativity. Next year I plan to enroll and learn to make some sweet glasses of my own!

Epilogue:

If you were wondering what happened after I lost out on the amazing glasses once the bid exceeded $200, I will tell you. One of my dad's students was the winner and the next day she brought them up to the guitar shop and offered to give them to me after she heard how badly I had wanted them.  As generous and thoughtful as that gesture was, I had made a contingency plan. Following the auction, I ran around like a crazy person until I found someone who would introduce me to Ben, the glass blower who had made the glasses. He happened to have two more glasses cooling in the kiln at that moment that he offered to sell me. He dropped them off with my dad the next morning and they were waiting for me on the coffee table when I arrived here yesterday! That is what we call a win win win situation. :-)

Hand blown whiskey glasses made by Ben Dombey.

Gone Fishing

I remember when I was little, I told my dad and my Granny that I hated trout. My dad loved eating it, but I refused to have anything to do with it. I don't really know why, as I had never tried it, it just seemed like a strange thing to eat. Since my mom raised me and we ate primarily vegetables, I tended to shy away from most foods that had eyeballs in its heyday. I was scared of chicken because I had watched a news article once that warned against e-coli, and beef was definitely something to stay away from after I learned about mad cow disease. Ironically, I did eat a hamburger when I was visiting England.....perhaps I am not the most careful listener...

Today I am so proud to announce that I have gotten over my apprehension and LOVE trout! The other day Leah came over and we decided to try our hand at fishing. Well, she is quite adept at fishing, I was trying my hand if we are going to be specific. Anyway, Harper and I clambered into the car, Harper only a little more eager than I, and we headed off to the creek. I later learned that inviting a dog on our fishing trip might not have been the best idea in the world, but she sure had fun and I can't help but want to make her happy so Harper Lee joined us on our fishing expedition.

As we approached the fishing hole, tiptoeing over braches and small bunches of leaves that vaguely resembled poison ivy, Harper tore through the woods and splashed head first into the water. She then proceeded to run laps as fast as her legs could carry her, around and around, up the bank and back into the water, jumping over rocks and limbs and splashing into the creek and back out of it.

Crouched on the bank, Leah plucked a fat worm from the plastic cup she brought and wound him around the hook hanging from my fishing line. She then did the same to hers. I like to keep it humane so that is as graphic as I plan to get. Leah dug up the worms herself from a patch of moist dirt in her yard. I was impressed. I tossed my hook into the gurgling water flowing swiftly over a few boulders in its way. Suddenly (really, much sooner than I ever expected) there was a little yank on my line. !! I cranked and cranked and reeled in a trout that measured maybe 2 inches in length, having a diameter of maybe a quarter of an inch. Leah showed me how to remove the hook and very ambitious snack from its mouth and gently place him back in the river, making sure to let him re-acclimate himself to the temperature of the chilly water.

The fish Leah caught!

Thunder rumbled above us as we kept casting our lines into the river. I became a little anxious that wielding bits of metal over a body of water in the middle of a thunderstorm might not be the best idea and was hoping to pack it up pretty soon. As I was thinking that, Leah caught a fish almost large enough to keep. Amazingly enough Harper had not managed to scare off all of the fish from the hole with her lap running or snag herself on an errant hook lying on the bank. She stopped just long enough though to dump over the tub of worms and investigate the contents. Just as a huge crack of thunder sounded overhead Leah caught a fish that looked underwater to be maybe significant enough to take home. As it emerged from the creek we saw that it was perhaps a foot long, its brown spots gleaming in the light.

So proud :-)

I am skipping over the part where we killed the fish, though I will say that the ordeal left Leah and I both spotted with blood, scrubbing our hands in the creek to avoid looking like guilty murderers. The fish did not suffer though, which I think is important. We proudly took it home (slipped in an empty Salt and Cracked Pepper Kettle Chips bag) and filleted it as we had seen our dads and tv characters do. We might not have done it quite right, but it seems all of the parts that are not suitable for consuming were sufficiently removed.

The final product.

 I played Chopped and found a couple of ingredients in the fridge and cupboard that would accompany a fillet of trout. We baked the fish, stuffing it with cilantro and lime (because that is what we had) and packing it in a blanket of damp salt. It emerged from the oven beautifully, the salt brick flaking off effortlessly and the pink flesh was bright and moist. I piled the the fish on top of a heap of risotto with a hint of truffle oil and citrusy steamed spinach. It may not have been a perfect pairing, but we thought it was the best dinner ever. To be able to catch and totally make our own dinner felt empowering and exciting. I know it shouldn't be such a novelty to do such a thing as our ancestors always did that, and my grandparents even traded store bought items for eggs from their farm but I have always been afforded the novelty of a supermarket. During this process I thought of my Granny, growing her own vegetables, butchering chickens who lived on her farm, and frying the fish my dad and grandfather caught from the very same creek.

Stay tuned for part two, the story of my second fishing adventure, this time with my dad, and cooking a more traditional trout dinner.

Ukulele Summer

Ah, summertime....I just want to sit outside, reclined in an Adirondack chair with nothing but the view to concern myself with. In order to keep this dream alive, I have been making summer appropriate instruments as well. This has been a ukulele summer, having completed 5, and currently working on #6 right now.

Photo courtesy of Kevin Lee Smith 

The last uke I sent off to a new home was a little soprano (the only style I have made so far) made from the left over boards of white oak that I used for Doc's guitar. As with each of my instruments, I reluctantly released the tension on the strings, carefully packed the case into a cardboard box, and trustingly handed it over to the postal professionals to deliver it still in one piece to a satisfied customer.

It is extremely important to me that this creation that I have put my heart and soul into ends up in happy home full of strumming and jam parties and vain show-off sessions. I am so glad to report that my number 5 uke, aptly named Lil' Doc, has gone to a truly awesome home. Lil Doc's new owner, Kevin, is exactly the type of person I want my instruments to go to. He proudly displays pictures on his Facebook page and tells me how much he enjoys playing it and sharing its music with others. I really love that, and it makes my heart swell to see that the ukulele, especially this one, went to such a great person who truly loves it.

Photo courtesy Kevin Lee Smith

I too would like to have one of my instruments to play and show off and be proud of. Yes, I have Doc's guitar, but it is not really mine, I made it for someone else. And, right now at least, it breaks my heart to look at it, much less play it. I am really proud of the workmanship and wish so much Doc had been able to play it just for a few minutes, but all is not lost, as 'Big Doc' got a lot of great playtime at the festival and now hangs proudly on my dad's wall next to his #400.

A few weeks ago, I began working on a ukulele for myself, made from koa wood with curly maple binding. So far, I have encountered only a couple of messes that I have managed to work my way out of. For some reason I have trouble remembering that I have to cut the slot for the neck to fit into the body before I glue the back onto the bent sides. Several times now my dad stops by my work table and asks, "Are you sure you are ready to glue that back on?" And after I say yes, he reminds me that if I were to do that, it would ensure a gaping hole in the back of my uke, left in the band saw's wake. Of course, since no one happened to be around when I was gluing my latest ukulele, I glued the entire body together without cutting the slot. After a few expletives were uttered, I figured out a new procedure for cutting the slot that does not require using the band saw. Securing the body between my knees, and constructing an unfortunate looking jig, I used the large router bit to cut a space into the neck block that ended before I cut through the back. Crisis averted! I look forward to seeing what other puzzles are to come my way as I work on this ukulele! I'll do my best to take some pictures along the way! Every time I make a mistake and manage to fix it it feels as though I am actually learning and perhaps I will make it as a luthier yet!

Pool Bus

Do you ever wish you can rewind to a specific place and time in your life? For me, a lot of times I wish I were back in Juneau on this certain day several years ago, but even more often, it is just a random day in my childhood. Like a summer day in Rugby riding the pool bus.

Every summer Lauren and Leah's mom Martha drove the pool bus. The bus, parked in a bus-sized gravel spot just below Lauren and Leah's house, right up the road from my Granny's, was covered in chipping white paint and had the words ACTIVITY BUS blocked across the sides and back. It always felt like a special or exciting day when I rode the pool bus with my cousins. They went just about every day in the summer, but I was a less frequent passenger so it was always full of anticipation of something fun and different. I would either walk up the hill from my Granny's house, or my dad would drop me off at about 8 AM and would hand me a crisp ten dollar bill. Man I felt like I was so rich. Think of the Slushies I could buy with that!

Each day the bus would travel throughout a different part of the county picking up kids wanting to go to the pool. The ride typically lasted several hours, arriving at the pool immediately after lunch. Lauren and I were reminiscing about those rides last night, and other than ourselves, we couldn't remember very many other kids who rode the bus with us. We typically read books while we rode, each of us taking up an entire brown vinyl seat.  We didn't interact much with the older 'cool' kids who filled the seats in the back. I remember a lot of times looking out of the window and worrying that the small curvy roads were not equipped to handle such a large vehicle swaying over them. There is still a curve near Rugby that I drive on today and can't help but think about that pool bus and wondering if we were about to tumble off the asphalt and down into the briars that covered the steep grade down into the holler.

As the bus finally rumbled through Independence, we would stop at the high school for lunch. I remember running through the gym and down the darkened halls wondering what it would be like to go to school there. What it looked like with people in it. There was a mural painted in the cafeteria, I can't recall the content, but I remember it had a lot of green and blue in it and that I thought it looked neat. We would file through the quiet lunch line, grabbing our sandwiches and choosing an apple or orange and a milk carton. The other riders and I would sit at long cafeteria tables that had flat plastic circles, much like frisbees, protruding from their undersides acting as seats. We would eat quickly, anticipating a fun day at the pool.

It cost $3 to get into the pool at the Grayson County Recreation Park. The pool was surrounded by a vast rectangular square of concrete and a tall chain link fence. There were three sections to the pool, a shallow section, complete with a separated 'kiddie' pool, a large middle section 25 meters long and marked for lanes, and a 'deep end' twelve feet deep complete with two springy, turquoise diving boards.

Choosing a spot to sit was always a very important task. Martha typically sat right in the middle, between the pool and the snack bar/juice box area. The juke box incessantly played Mmm
Bop and Cotton Eye Joe. There was light pole right in front of the juke box that Leah liked to use to help fashion a tent with her towel. Lauren, Leah, and I sat with Martha most of the time, but as we got older we tended to want to spread our towels further away to display our independence. Then came the sunscreen. Even if you had put it on during the bus ride, since you had ample time, Martha would insist on slathering your back and face with SPF 50. We weren't allowed to take another step near the pool until she was satisfied that we were sufficiently covered in sun protection. Under bathing suit straps and on our ears and our feet. She would never miss a spot and I thank her for that now.

For the next few hours we would splash and dive and reluctantly sit along the side during the fifteen minute 'adult swim' break or thunder threats. Leah tended to spend most of her time standing in the line for the diving board in order to get that 30 seconds of exhilaration from jumping off of the low springboard into the deep water. She would jump, swim to the side, and go again. And again. Another staple of a day at the pool was drinking Slushies. I preferred a plain one, just tiny round pebbles of ice covered in sugary syrup. Lauren would experiment with mixing different flavors together to achieve that perfect blend of artificial flavoring. A lot of times they came out brown, but she insisted those tasted the best. When it was time to go, we would file back on the bus for the trip back home.

Some days Martha would drop us off at the library while she finished her run to drop kids back off at their stops. Living in a small town in which the library is thirty minutes away, this was huge excitement. The library ladies didn't have the best senses of humor, and silence was required, but that smell of library books always tended to bring about an excitement for me. The anticipation of finding a perfect story within the crackling plastic lined covers to be transported into was what I always looked forward to when we stepped through those old glass doors.

I'm not sure if the ride back to Rugby was actually shorter, or if we just were so tired or engrossed in our books that we didn't notice the route as much, but when Martha finally backed the bus into it's gravel spot we were all ready for some dinner and a nap. Not necessarily in that order. Sometimes we would have enough energy to bounce on the trampoline or watch a movie at my house, but we always had a great time and were excited to do it again the next day. So, it isn't really a significant moment, or a certain day in particular, but it is just a feeling I miss. I wish all I had to do today was ride that bus, drink a Slushie, and be with my family.