You Can Spoon

 

This week I ’ave been mainly carving wooden spoons.  With 11 acres of woodlands green woodworking has long been on my list of things to learn about but, like so many things in our busy smallholding lives, it has remained in the ‘in tray’. 

The Jan/Feb edition of Living Woods Magazine (link) carried an article on ‘spoon evangelist’ and licensed pedlar, Barn the Spoon.  Through his blog I found Ben and Lois Orford’s carving knives and bought a ‘flatter small’ right-handed spoon knife for £27.  Then, taking account of the huge prices of his beautiful craft knives was happy to take Lois’s recommendation and bought a Mora Clipper CompanionKnife from The Bushcraft Store for just £10.95.  I already had a Gränsfors wildlife hatchet: a sweet little axe with a blade sharp enough to shave with.

 

I also wanted a book, of course, and the spoon carving bible seems to be Swedish Carving Techniques by Wille Sundquist.  It’s now out of print and is much sought after secondhand and at a price.  Wille’s son, Jögge, has however produced a DVD, Carving Swedish Woodenware, so I settled for that.

He’s very muscular, with flowing blond hair strapped back into a pony tail as he throws axes and wields fiercely sharp knives, all the while being terribly serious as he tells us how to “smoothen the wood”.  What is most important, and possibly where a DVD can improve over a book, is to show us the all important holds and cutting actions.

The basic rule seems to be: think what will happen to the blade if you slip.  Jögge shows us how to position our hands and manipulate the carving tools in a way that we should end up with a spoon or dough bowl without being rushed to the nearest casualty department carrying a finger in a polythene bag full of ice cubes.  I only half jest: beware these tools have fiercely sharp blades and the wood can take a fair bit of effort to cut.

I split a sycamore log with my froe to obtain a suitable ‘blank’, then drew on a spoon shape.  Purists may call my next move a cheat but I have a fine craft band saw (given to me years ago by a friend who had no further use for it) and I cut round the outline with that.  I used the axe a bit to cut off the bigger lumps, then used the knives.  Concentrating on not removing body parts and rewarded by this lump of tree looking recognisably more and more like a spoon, I found it curiously addictive.

 

When I felt I’d gone as far as I could, I put this wet-to-the-touch spoon in a dustbin of sawdust to allow it to dry slow enough to avoid cracking.  Two weeks later, I retrieved it and started work with some sandpaper.  Contrary to most things I try, my first attempt actually turned out rather well, the resulting spoon is deeply satisfying.  My second spoon (from a thin, twisted branch of ash) split as I was finishing but the third spoon (more sycamore) is drying and I have a wild cherry blank ready to go, just as soon as I finish uploading this blog.

Happy spooning !

Author-ity

Feline muse

This week I ’ave been mainly writing magazine articles.  I’ve a couple of articles appearing in a French gardening magazine in May and that involves some correction of my hesitant attempts at written French by some friends.

Gabrielle and I have come to understand is that, never mind that French grammar is difficult for us Angles, it stretches the capabilities of the most educated of Frenchies.  I had Bruno and Mélanie (both educated to university level) at each shoulder, advising different things: “there’s an 's' there”, “no there isn’t”.  “It agrees with the subject”, “no, it agrees with the indirect object”. “So, there’s an 's'!” “No!” And so it goes on.

There’s also the problem of the person-correcting rising to the occasion a bit too much and starting to impose their own style.  It needs me to discern what’s grammatically important and then—waiting ’till they’ve left the building—change a few things back to how they were.

My second article passed, via Bruno and Mél, to Julie (friend and assistant editor of an eco-building magazine) and then (having rescued a bit of my own style) to the editor of the gardening magazine.  There was a rare old tug-o’-war over the fruits of my quill but it just about remains recognisably what I’d originally penned and they’re actually paying me, whatever they actually print.  Enough for a new, carbon-fibre fly-fishing rod: Thanks!

I’ve updated this blog, moving my magazine articles to their own page, from the menu on the right to a tab at the top.  Click on “Magazine Articles” to be taken to a new page.  When you click on the article title, the articles will open or download (depending how you’ve configured your ’pooter) as a PDF file. If you click on the magazine cover picture, it'll take you to the magazine's own website.

I’ve added my latest successes, an article about the fun we had putting duck eggs under a broody hen, and the first of a two part story on how we treat our sewage—Bonne lecture !

Barn renovation update

work in progress (tea break not withstanding)

This week I ’ave been mainly freezing my n**s off renovating our barn.  It’s a slow process because there’s only me working on this building site but then that is keeping the costs down and it also means that I won’t run out of news to blog about anytime soon.  The walls start off in stone (une soubassement en pierre) and then turn into cob.  They’re over 60 cm (2 ft) wide at the bottom and taper, ever so gently, towards the top.  The door and windows are held in place by an apparently earthquake-and-hurricane-proof double frame of solid oak that spans the width of the wall.

 

I’m doing it ‘à l'ancienne’ and these ‘double carrés en bois’ consume an awful lot of oak.  Now there’s a couple of problems here:  a.) that’s going to be expensive and b.) the oak available to buy is green (soft, new, fresh from the forest) and, although it’s easier to work (chop mortises out of, for example) it’ll twist and bend and move as it dries.  I needed old, stable oak … and for as little as possible!

I looked at the pile of oak floor joists that I replaced with engineered wooden I-beams; was there some good wood left in the heart of these aged beams?  After four days spent on my knees with various power tools, many cups of tea and equal measures of patience and frustration, followed by a couple of days in friend Jim’s workshop, I can affirm in the positive.  

The downside of using old oak is that it’s as unwelcoming to woodworking tools as a lump of granite.  It took a long time to plane up the roughed out wood and then chop the mortises, the latter accompanied by a fair degree of acrid smoke, however slowly I descended the cutting bit.  I’m sure I left my generous friend Jim with a set of blunt tools at the end.

I’m currently making sure that the gable wall is fully supported before I break out a hole large enough to insert the new, larger openings and have room around them to work.  The idea is to not have the rest of the gable end fall on my head, quickly followed by the new roof!  Neighbour Serge, who’s ‘in-the-trade’, is supervising this important stage and will check what I’ve done before I remove anything substantial.

Surveying our Forest Garden

This week, I ’ave been mainly planting trees!  On our Christmas visit to visit family in England, we collected this year’s order from Martin Crawford at the Agroforestry Research Trust.  We’ve also sourced trees at local pépinières (nurseries) but they don’t do such arcane arbres as the blue bean (Decaisnea fargesii) hence sourcing trees from afar as well as locally. 

It’s a real pleasure to convert long hours of reading, decision making and plan drawing into digging holes: from coloured circles on the forest garden map into tangible trees.  We are starting to imagine what it might look like in five, and then ten, year’s hence; it’s exciting.

When we returned from our seasonal travels, we quickly planted the bare-rooted trees into some soft earth in the potager.  We could’ve planted them all in the forest garden in just a couple of hours excepting that we need to construct robust tree guards to protect them from our Ouessant sheep, who’ll share the field for a few years yet. 

The sheep look fluffy, act nervous but don’t let that deceive you: they’re cunning bastards.  They’ve overcome several of my previous efforts to keep them out and even learnt to walk on two legs in order to nibble at overhanging branches.  Never mind the ring barking of trees by rabbits and squirrels, these cuddly creatures bastards would reduce our nascent forest garden to dead sticks under an hour, if it wasn’t for the pallet palisades.

Not quite in an authentic permaculture design order, as all the surveying should have been done before the design ‘proposal’, but we profited from the loan of a laser level and the annual Halloween visit of our technically-super-competent engineering friend, Kristen to create a contour map.   

The laser level was very easy to use: up-a-bit, down-a-bit, beep, beeb, beep, take the reading.  While we cooked supper, Kristen dabbled around on the computer and produced this useful contour map (see top image).  What was interesting to both Kristen and I was that we were both massively deceived by the amount of fall over the length of the field.  That’s to say that, by eye, we thought the difference no greater than our own height but ended up extending the measuring rod to its limit, well over double that.   

This information will help us in digging fish-scale swales (according to Toby Hemenway) to keep our trees watered in the dry summers evermore typical in Brittany.

Making compost in 18 days with Geoff Lawton

Building up layers of different materials

cold composting bins

We cold compost, which is to say that we add material to our compost piles as it arrives from kitchen or vegetable plot and it moulders away, decomposing slowly.  We alternately use four adjacent boxes and when the compost is about ready, we empty that box and riddle it to remove uncomposted material, which goes back into a fresher pile.  It takes months to make compost this way but is relatively low maintenance.

if you just add water at the end, it won't soak through evenly

The alternative is hot composting, which involves creating a large pile all at once (which heats up) and then turning it regularly to maintain the heat.  We've tried it before but were inspired to have another go after watching the very specific advice from permaculture hero Geoff Lawton, on his new video, Permaculture Soils 

His informing belief is that “it’s not the soil itself, it’s the soil life that is the most important element.”  He teaches us to inoculate the soil with bacteria by using a very diverse mixture of compostable materials such as different manures (the nitrogen component) dried grass toppings, green grass clippings (providing the ‘yeasts’) along with shredded and partially rotted wood (food for fungi). 

six days in

He talks about adding activators, such as urine, comfrey, nettles, yarrow, fish or animal remains to kick start the decomposition process.  He also mentions adding charcoal for its surface area (I’ll blog about what I’ve recently learnt of biochar soon). The whole lot should be wetted (see below).  One needs enough material to create a minimum of one cubic metre in total, otherwise it won’t get up to the necessary temperature. 

Cat enjoying the warmth generated by the compost process

We gathered pig manure, chicken droppings, rabbit pellets and sheep poo.  We added wheat straw and fresh grass clippings, chipped wood and comfrey leaves and litres of wee collected from our urine-separating compost toilet.

He talks of having 25 parts nitrogen to 1 part carbon but, as I wrote in my recent article for PermacultureMagazine on our compost toilet: “The ideal carbon/nitrogen ratio of 30 : 1 is often quoted but rarely explained.  It certainly doesn’t mean 30 times as much straw as solids; in fact, both faeces and urine contain carbon and nitrogen in their chemical makeup…  Don’t bother getting the scales and tape measure out as you search for the correct amount.”  It’s a learning process and you’ll find that too much nitrogen means that the pile gets too hot and reduces in volume, losing goodness to oxidation.  Too little and your pile won’t get warm enough to kill weed seeds and break down the woody material.

8 days and the colour is beginning to change

There are two criteria to measure, that’s the moisture content and the temperature.  For the first, grab a handful and squeeze: it should just drip.  For the temperature, he tells us to shove our hand in.  TAKE CARE, as it can get really hot.  Be sensible and open up the pile a bit and get a feel before you actually touch it.  At 60ºC, you wouldn’t be able to leave your hand there.  We actually used a meat thermometer and pushed the whole thing in, probe, dial and all, leaving it for a few minutes before retrieving it and looking at the temperature.  We tried it in several positions in the pile.  Aim for a min of 50ºC max 70ºC, ideally between 55 and 65.  (Above 70ºC is beyond the limit of life for our decomposing bacteria and the process becomes anaerobic.) 

10 days

Construct your pile, cover it up with old tarps or plastic sheeting (leaving an air gap at the bottom) and leave for four days.  Then unwrap and turn the pile.  We used a pitchfork and rebuilt the pile alongside itself, trying to put the stuff that was on the outside on the inside and vice-versa (if you see what I mean!)  Wrap the rebuilt pile up again and, from then on, the pile gets turned every two days for the next fortnight, reaching its maximum temperature on the second or third turn, i.e., 6 or 8 days into the process, when it should attain the ideal of around 60ºC.  Geoff’s claim is that, if you get it right, it gets hot enough and decomposes without losing volume.

16 days and the heat has reduced but we're seeing fungal growth

The photo sequence shows our experiences with our first two batches.  We now think that the moisture content is vital and ended up adding a lot at the start to pass the squeeze test and a bit during the turning process.  We think we had proportionally too little nitrogen on the first batch, maintaining volume but not being fully composted at the end and never quite getting up to the desired temperature.  We overdid the nitrogen in the second version, getting good decomposition but losing a lot of volume.

This last photo shows our second attempt, at the end of the process.  It's much darker, has decomposed more than the first but we've lost volume.  

We can generate or get access to the necessary amount of material to build a cubic metre pile and it’s very useful to create such a quantity of compost in just 18 days or so, so we will keep trying.

Helping out and being helped

our new woodland walk

I’ve spent a day helping out our local vet.  While he rushed around in his Citroën camionette dealing with poorly cows, I tamed an unruly hedge in his garden using my chainsaw, assisted by a sprightly octogenarian called Monsieur Galet.  I never got to know his first name, an etiquette of respect for his age, but neither did he get to know mine: nothing to do with etiquette but rather because he couldn’t get to grips with its un-Frenchness.  Despite repeating it several times, he never did grasp it, so, for a day, I became “eh-ho”.

we left this fallen tree in situ, there's a way past by the roots

It’s not as if we don’t have enough to do around the smallholding and, now we’re in winter, in our woodlands but this days work for Hammadi was willingly given and is another example of the many local exchanges we have going on here.  It’s also the time we host volunteers and we’ve just had two weeks of gold-star-top-drawer volunteers Sue and Andrew.  Suckers for punishment, they came for aweek in February and asked to come again for a fortnight.

Andrew built us our lovely bridge that links an existing path from the entrance, through a parcel of wild cherry, oak and goat willow, into another parcel of predominately ash, which is carpeted in bluebells in spring.  For some time, we have wanted to continue and create a complete nature walk that takes people through all the different parts of the woodland, leading them safely back to the entrance.

Two paths diverged in a yellow wood ...

One Wednesday, child-minding 10 year old Camille, we went for a tramp round the woods armed with long canes with coloured rag tied to the end.  By shouting and waving the flags, we were able to plot a path, leaving a trail of garden canes to mark it. 

During their visit, we spent four days in the woods with Andrew and Sue, hacking brambles, pulling roots, removing overhanging branches and some trees, finally rubbing our heavy-duty tripod lawnmower over the path.  It looks great; we couldn’t be more pleased with it.  I reckon that the hard work being done, it won’t take too much maintenance during the year to keep it like that.

The next job, and one to be done at the kitchen table, is to draw up a map so that holidaymakers in our gite can independently find the wood and navigate around the new path.  If they walk quietly and keep their eyes and ears open, they might see some of the wildlife along the way, such as roe deer, this fire salamander or maybe even a wild boar (we’ve got plenty of signs of visits but actually encountered one face-to-snout yet).

fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra)

Fattening pigs on acorns

Two weeks of Andrew and Sue volunteering comes to an end and another article in the post, it’s time to catch up with some blogging:

Our pig farming neighbours, Paul and Christiane, have retired this year.  Ever since we’ve kept pigs ourselves, we’ve done an exchange with them, whereby I manage the English-speaking guests in their gîte and they give us all the cereals that we need.  It’s an elegant solution.  What I give is just a small thing for me (a few minutes on the computer replying to emails, preparing contracts and cycling down to translate on their arrival) but enormously important for them (most of their rental income comes via me).  En revanche, considering the scales involved, a few bags of ground mixed cereals is nothing for them but of considerable value to us (compared to the price we’d pay at the local agricultural merchants for similar).

We overfed our first pigs, and to lesser degrees the second and even third year before we got it right.  The key point was a little bit of advice in Starting With Pigs by Andy Case, “feed pigs by eye”.  It’s good advice but requires a level of expertise that only years of experience, and a few fat pigs, can give.  In the second year, we started weighing out their food, following a regime from the breeder.  The ‘problem’ is that, as they live outdoors, they have access to a whole lot of natural nutrition and we can’t measure how much of it they eat; so one has to learn to feed by eye.  We now give our pigs about a third of the cereal ration of their barn-raised cousins … but we do still give them some cereals.

There has been lots of building work going on as the new owner brings the buildings into conformity with the latest welfare standards.  When I went round to collect the last few bags of feed, that would see our pigs through to the day they left for the abattoir, the machine couldn't be made to work and I left empty handed.  What could we do?

I was missing the oakey obvious:  When we give holiday guests the introductory tour of our permaculture smallholding, we come to the pigs, where I point out what a lovely area they have to free range in.  I explain that the pigs eat a surprising amount of grass, root around (for roots!) and benefit from excess of cherries, plums and apples as they come into season, and finally acorns from the four mature oak trees that surround the paddock.  I even tell them that in Spain, there are pigs that are fed exclusively on acorns to make the very best quality jamón ibérico.

It’s been a very good mast year and there is an abundance of acorns.  We bought a clever rolling basket device (called a nut wizard) from Martin Crawford at The Agroforestry Research Trust and started to hoover up the acorns.  We’ve also been making lots of apple juice.  So we finished our three pigs on a diet of acorns and apple pulp and they seemed very happy and suitably heavy.

There are so many acorns, we’ve carried on collecting and will try to store them to feed to next year’s pigs before the acorns start to fall again.

Eco-construction, economics, climate change and peak oil ...

 

“The construction of Europe is an art.  It is the art of the possible.” 

Jacques Chirac.

I was looking for a suitable quote to kick-start this blog on some eco-construction stuff.  I didn’t find anything I liked for the context I wanted but, with Europe in financial chaos, I thought this ironic, coming as it does from a ex-president of France (’95 to ’07) currently on trial for corruption during his time as mayor of Paris.  The trail is taking place in his absence as the poor dear is suffering memory lapses and is too unwell to attend.

the mix ascends by tractor and bucket

I avoid political ranting on this blog, which is meant to be an easy-going chronicle of our stumbling progress on our Breton permaculture smallholding, promoting our holiday cottage for rent but it’s hard to ignore what’s going on in Europe and the rest of the world at the moment.

Didier setting out some levels

We’ve got a nascent ‘Transition Town’ group not far from us and I’ve offered to get involved, so I’ve just re-read Part One of The Transition Handbook: From Oil Dependency to Local Resilience by Rob Hopkins.  It’s reminded me that, in comparison to the twin, linked threats of peak oil and climate change, our current economic woes pale into insignificance.  However, our politicians once again fail to rise to the challenge and can only exhort us to throw away stuff that still works (such as your car) and buy morestuff, stuff we don’t really need and which consumes valuable energy and resources to manufacture and transport.

hemp and lime floor

By the by, we had a climate change activist and his son come and stay recently, on their cycling route from the port of St Malo to the south of Brittany, where they are going to start a community farm project.  With the gite booked, we had them in our house and decided not to charge: the idea of freely giving weary travellers shelter and sustenance seemed satisfyingly human.  After dinner he asked if we could watch the English TV news and I had the strangest experience of looking at John Jordan on the television  being interviewed on BBC’s Newsnight and turning to see the same head sat in our armchair watching himself.

all work and ... a large lunch !

I firmly believe that one shouldn’t rant about problems without offering helpful solutions, so my advice to European governments is to ask their peoples to start looking down the backs of their sofas to see if they can find any lost change.  It’s seems the ever-efficient Germans have been the first to do this, ‘finding’ an amazing 55 billion euros they didn’t think they had.  Start pulling those cushions out!

… and to finish off with some eco-construction : work on the barn continues (update soon) and we’ve also been helping out friends.  Bruno and Audrey have a very uneven but solid wooden floor in their attic, which will become their bedroom.  Audrey’s dad, Didier, was maitre d’œuvre for the day and Bruno and several friends and neighbours (me included) mixed and raised up by tractor and buckets, a porridge of hemp and lime for Didier to level.  This light but strong eco-‘concrete’ sets hard over a month or so and consolidates the floor, leaving a flat surface.  The beautiful old oak boards remain in place as the ceiling of the rooms below.  Why ‘eco’ ?  Lime is produced at a much lower temperature than cement (less energy) and absorbs CO2 as it dries/cures.  Hemp is a bit of a wonder plant and requires no chemicals during its cultivation.

We’ve also helped Bruno and Mélanie top off their straw bale house with a green roof.  Another convivial team effort, we planted hundreds of sedums into a substrate of earth and pouzzolane (volcanic rock).  Our influence was to tell them about famous English gardener Gertrude Jekyll’s ‘drifts’.  The idea is to plant large, smooth edged clumps of similar plants together in a satisfyingly uneven drifts.  I’ll post more pics next summer, when the plants have expanded to fill the gaps and come into flower.

Helping French friends out is always a pleasure, particularly as good food and wine is inevitably implicated along with music round the bonfire on the green roof day.

Mél and Bruno round the bonfire

We’re awaiting the arrival of the first of this season’s winter volunteers later today.  Andrew and Sue came for a week last year but have booked for two this time … we’re clearly not working them hard enough!

Quoi de neuf ?

The Tarot Brothers and friends playing jazz in a boat

What’s been happening, have I fallen off the blog?  So much to do … sometimes too much to do.  The new issue of Permaculture Magazine is out today carrying a five-page article on our compost toilet, with our web link at the end.  So, it’s high time I reconnected with the blogosphere and published our latest news.

We’ve been ‘permacultured’!  A few weeks ago, friends Flo Snook, husband Andy and twins Sol and Jacob came to visit us, all the way from Brighton in their venerable van.  Flo has just completed her permaculture diploma with Brighton Permaculture Trust (congratulations!) and took time out to wander around our Brittany permaculture smallholding, pen and notebook in hand.  She talked to both of us and her leaving present to us was a notebook full of her permaculture analysis and suggestions.  It's an exercise I thoroughly recommend: we found it really useful to have a fresh set of trained eyes take a long hard look.  She picked up on ‘overwhelm’ as a limiting factor to our many projects.

 

Which is one of the reasons that we’ve made special efforts to have some quality downtime recently, including a picnic on the beach and watching a jazz quartet in a narrow boat. 

For picnic fayre, we turned to Elizabeth David for inspiration and an idea that I’ve wanted to try for some time: 

Shooter’s Sandwich

Take a large, thick, excellent rump steak.  Do not season it, for that would cause the juice to run out, and in grilling it keep it markedly underdone.  Have ready a sandwich loaf one end of which has been cut off and an adequate portion of the contents of which has been removed.  Put the steak, hot from the grill, and—but only then—somewhat highly seasoned, into the loaf; add a few grilled mushrooms; replace the deleted end of the loaf; wrap the loaf in a double sheet of clean white blotting-paper, tie with twine both ways, superimpose a sheet of grease-proof paper, and more twine.  Place a moderate weight on top, and after a while add other weights.  Let the thing endure pressure for at least six hours.  Do not carve it until and as each slice is required.

Instead of the weights, I used a pair of building clamps and a couple of wooden boards, which worked a treat.  It makes a damn fine picnic sandwich.

Normal blogging to be resumed very soon, with updates on the barn conversion and other eco-building stuff; how to (almost) make hot compost the Geoff Lawton way and how to efficiently collect acorns to feed to pigs.

The definitive guide to how to sex a rabbit.

One learns a skill, doesn’t use it for 12 months and ends up having to learn it all over again (at least if you possess an age-deteriorated memory like mine).  After our recent medical emergency (see my last post) I was very aware that today was marked down as VHD vaccination day, sexing and separating; we were also childminding.

We look after our 9-year-old neighbour Camille on a Wednesday—her day off from school—as her mother has just started up a new business in a nearby town.

Rabbits quite like being stroked but they don’t like being picked up, so they make rather bad pets (and frequently suffer because of this).  Our vacant chicken tractor was converted into suitable rabbit accommodation by the addition of a mesh bottom (to prevent foxes digging in and them digging out) and we had a large dog box available too.  The idea was to take them out one at a time, vaccinate them and then sex them, males to the ‘chicken’ tractor and the females to the dog box temporarily.  Once they would have been all sorted, a quick clean of the rabbit tractor and all the females go back in.

I lift a rabbit up by the scruff of its neck , supporting its bottom, place it on the top of the dog box, then Gabrielle takes over, encircling the rabbit with her hands and forearms.  I pull a tent of skin up behind the neck and then aim backwards, inline with the rabbit, so to speak—piercing the skin to administer a subcutaneous injection of 0.5ml of Lapinject.  I learnt this technique by watching the vet treating a poorly cat of ours.  If one goes across the rabbit, there's a possibility of going into the skin and then out the other side again (as I've done, a couple of times!)

I then tuck its head between my knees and open the back legs, lightly pressing either side of its genitals to see it we have an ‘inny’ or an ‘outy’, with Camille watching on intently, eager to give her opinion.

I finished this exercise with several scratches to hands and forearms ... and some doubts: as I said in the beginning, it’s been a year since we last did this.   I popped inside for a healing and contemplative cup of tea to accompany a search around the Internet for some more clues on determining the sex of a rabbit.

This is the best and clearest advice I found.  We checked them all again and found we had made one mistake, a girl in with the boys.  The problem is that if one presses too hard, one can make an ‘inny’ appear like an ‘outy’, if you see what I mean.  What we’ve never noticed before, and this website helped us to identify, is a pair of leporine testicles (rabbity bollocks), which is really useful.

To be blogged about very soon: more eco-building stuff; French jazz in a narrow boat and how to make the best picnic sandwich using woodworking tools.