Wood is a friendly and warm surface to touch and look at in a home, and it finds special places in the kitchen. Over a lifetime of woodworking, I have done many projects for kitchens including coasters, trivets, cheese boards, cutting boards, and now Charcuterie boards.
After all the wood repair was complete, and the holes filled with new wood and epoxy to last another generation, I called Scott at Lake Effect Marina to see if we should just paint the back end because the corners were not in good shape. He said that the owner was really hopeful that the same Mahogany look could be retained.
I asked about the corners and the bottom, and finally Scott said, “Dave, I have seen your boat. Just do this the way you would do it for yourself and I am sure it will be good.” Well, that settled it and made it clear how to proceed. it was time to add the pretty Mahogany layer.
Last summer when I took my wood boat for spring fire to Lake Effect Marina in Union, Michigan, the service tech Todd, asked me if I would some transom repair on an old wooden boat they were rebuilding. I thought about it a bit, and then said something like, “Um, well, I don’t know.” Todd took that for a yes, and escorted me to the storage building where it sat in sad circumstances.
I looked at it and mentally compared it to the size of my walkout basement shop. It still did not register yes. I said that I work pretty slow, so if he has another option, he should probably take it. Todd said that he had no other options, and that in the next couple of weeks he would clear the transom for me to rework.
A few weeks went by, then a couple of months, and relief was starting to settle in. Then, in October, I took my wood boat back to the marina for winter maintenance. The topic came up again, and this time Scott, the service manager, also talked about the 1962 Thompson.
This time I said I was about ready to start a boat of my own, so that them in a hustle to get first in line. Around November 15, Jay from the big office, brought it out to my house, and expertly backed it toward the garage door. The windshield would not clear the header, until we figured out that the canopy support frame was in the way. We rotated it down and then we backed her in with an inch to spare.
It filled up my shop, so I figured the only solution was to get to work. I picked up a 4 x 8 sheet of Okume Marine plywood, and some epoxy supplies at Johnson’s Workbench in South Bend, Indiana. The Mahogany came from Nisley and Sons east of Goshen.
The first task was adding an inch of thickness to the transom, on the inside of the boat. The existing framework required that the pieces be cut so I staggered the joints for the best strength. Each piece was glued in place and held with screws until the epoxy set up. The the screws were removed so there is no metal in the way of the future installation,, and each hole injected with epoxy.
With furniture old and new, occasionally a screw breaks off under the surface and hides contentedly. The most common fix is to drill another hole beside it and put a new screw in there. The problem is that either the new screw will pull the hinge out of square, or more likely, the screw will go in at an angle. Then the screw head usually sticks up, which can interfere with the easy closing of the hinges.
This time, I decided to fix it right and remove the half screw. I first drilled a 1/2” hole with a Forstner bit close the the metal shaft. Then, several 1/16” holes were drilled around the screw.
A little picking around it with a needle nose plier gave a purchase point, and I reversed the screw out of the hole. Voila!
After drilling more deeply into the hole with the same 1/2” bit, I cut a 1/2” plug from a section of walnut that matched fairly well, and glued it into place.
A little clean up with a sharp chisel, and a touch of finish makes as good as new, and ready for a new screw hole to be drilled. It’s just another one of those things buried into the construction of a furniture piece, that should never to be seen again. Sometimes the toughest test of craftsmanship is recovering from the inevitable and unexpected detours.
A recent project was a sofa cabinet which needed to be 8’ long. For the reasons of the long span, and the hope of it meeting the “hundred year warranty,” uncommon strength was necessary. The angled braces at the bottom give visual support, like the arch of a bridge, but they also stiffen the ends of the lower face frame, and make a wider connection to the leg.
For the best strength, wood joints need physical wood crossover. The traditional mortise and tenon joint is a thing of beauty and enduring function, when perfectly executed. But I chose the underrated dowel for most of the joints, which can imitate or exceed the function of the mortise and tenon in several ways:
Spiral fluted dowels
Below are two pieces of face frame, with the holes drilled and dowels just glued in. The good fit shows a small amount of glue pressing up and is cleaned off before it sets up. By the way, the knot was not going to show, but it seemed worthy of replacing with a solid plug. Maybe some day when it is moved, it may be noticed on the inside of the bottom face.
For drilling the holes, the best helper tool I have found is the Dowelmax. It is adjusted by adding washers to move the dowels farther from the edge, and I also use spacer sticks like the one shown on top of the walnut leg. This allows very accurate repeat positioning for each part of the process.
By patiently laying out the joints, and positioning the jig carefully in place, very accurate results can be gained. Then, there is the important sequence of gluing, so that all of one face is completed before adding sides. I always dry fit each joint to make sure it goes together as planned.
The last glue up step is the most nerve racking, as the second entire end must be clamped to front and back face pieces. The length of the cabinet required use of two clamps hooked together in a couple of places.
As I remember it, the sharp, shiny steel and black pocket knife showed up at our house on Myers Avenue when I was about 8 years old. To this day, I am confused about where it came from, but my Dad showed it to me around my birthday and said it would be mine to keep when I turned 12.
Photo of my present Pocket Knife
My dad never went hunting or fishing, so I didn’t think the knife was directly from him. The main tools he had were for gardening or some house remodeling. Once, he let me help build a dog house for our new puppy.
Photo of dog house, my sisters Margaret and Mary, and Brother Joe and our new puppy, Murphy..
Most likely, the pocket knife came from a sale when my Liechty Grandparents moved off the farm to Brussels St. in Archbold, Ohio. In any case, it was a great reminder of him, because with around 45 Liechty first cousins, I didn’t get to know him real well. He always seemed bigger than life, and then he passed away when I was 7.
Unfortunately, having seen the knife and knowing it was forbidden fruit, caused me to poke around for it on occasion, when my dad was at work. Voila, one day I found it in the back of Dad’s dresser drawer, in a fine little cardboard box, wrapped up with tissue inside.
I didn’t see any harm in carefully taking it out and admiring it, but before long, I wanted to see how it worked. We lived beside the woods along Yellow Creek, and so I took it along exploring, practicing carving as I went. The spear point went well, but the sling shot required a special pull stroke.
Since this had been an unauthorized, private adventure, I did not get the basic education in carving, especially Rule No. 1: Never, never, never carve toward yourself. The knife slipped and cut to the bone at the base of my right index finger, which produced an impressive amount of blood.
I had to hustle in to the house to show mom. She bandaged it and mentioned that Dad would be coming home soon. The pain of the injury was exceeded by the spanking, but I still love pocket knives.
My father, David Gideon Lehman, was born January 25, 1926 to Joseph L. and Stella Lehman in Kenmare, North Dakota and joined their adventure. He was not quite three years old when his father died, which left little direct memory and no personal relationship with his dad. However, the sense of his mother’s grief and the weight of the load she had to carry, did leave a powerful impression, contributing to a lifetime habit of responsibility and sensitivity to people in need.
Here is Dad with all of us children, Anne, Margaret, Jane, Mary, Joe and myself by the pump handle on the home place.
During the late twenties and early thirties, the shadow of the great depression hung over the country, and farming in North Dakota was getting even more difficult. Fortunately, Grandma Stella knew that true wealth was not about having lots of stuff, but having a Good Father, who she trusted to care for the fatherless and widows. Much kindness was expressed by the local Christian community, and she taught her children to have thankful hearts. And for a bonus, there was the one Christmas when some friends brought presents…
Dad’s older sister Mary remembers that her mother often read to the children, and played a variety of games, many of them being homemade. Grandma Stella often used scripture text calendars, teaching the children a new verse every day. Mary also said that Uncle Levi C. and Aunt Becca Kauffman helped them buy a small house, and move it to their farm where they could have a garden plot and a cow in the barn. As a young boy, Dad remembers being responsible to ride out on the pony and keep the cattle out of the corn. Here he is doing a show and tell about the farm where he lived for the first eight years of his life.
When it was time to go to school, Dad walked one half mile down to the one room school house. His first teacher, Miss Anderson, got sick and died in the middle of the year, and she was replaced by Miss Coffee from Minneapolis. She had a harsh attitude and a pointing stick, used to correct wrong answers by hitting the student’s hands or heads. He does not remember her fondly. Below is inside of that school house where Dad went 85 years ago.
In the early 1930’s, farms were experiencing crop failure from drought, dust storms, and grasshoppers and the gardens produced little. For awhile, Grandma received a Widow’s Pension from the State, but it had been reduced. Many people were leaving North Dakota, and Stella wrote a letter in November 1934, to her sister, Aunt Lina Zook in Fairview, Michigan asking for help. Her husband, Uncle Chauncey Zook took the letter to the Fairview Mennonite Church and a vote was taken to invite Stella and her children to come.
In early December, Grandma Stella took the letter of invitation to the North Dakota welfare board. They stipulated that if she would stay off welfare for two years, they would provide one-way train tickets to Michigan. Grandma quickly arranged for a sale, and they boarded the train with only a few clothes, linen bedding, a trunk of dishes, books and a few photos. This was right after Christmas 1934, and they arrived in Fairview with a new sense of optimism and faith.
The refugee family was welcomed with open arms, and the whole church showered them with furniture, food and clothing until they were able to fend for themselves. Uncle Chauncey and Aunt Lina provided a small house for the family rent-free, and gave them milk, firewood, and helped in so may ways. Uncle Chauncey was a godfather in the most true representation of our Heavenly Father and is thought of kindly whenever the story is told. Below are Chauncey and Lina’s children, Delbert and Ruth, who grew up with Dad.
They wasted no time that January 1935, settling in and finding their place. At a family gathering with the Zooks, daughters Vera, Vesta, and Ruth quizzed Dad on his reading. Vera said to give Dad the Bay City News, and the Gospel Herald to read out loud. He read well, and joined most of his church friends who were in 3rd grade.
The Fairview chapter of life was satisfying in so many ways and left its mark on Dad for the rest of his life. Opportunity was knocking, and he answered its call with preparation and persuasive diligence. When heart and soul are wound tightly together, with a dash of good fortune and a heavy dose of adrenalin, the memories made can last beyond the time when you can no longer remember your phone number.
So it was for Dad. Life was simpler then, with daily work around home, baseball in the summer, and basketball in the winter. School was done by Memorial Day, and summer kicked off with swimming at Smith Lake or the gravel pit, for those with no internal thermostats. The last swim was on Labor Day, and then back to school.
In 5th grade, Dad found an old discarded baseball glove with most of the seams gone. He restitched it with string and began practicing, throwing the ball up in the air and running to catch it. Sometimes, he could persuade Josephine to hit ground balls for him to practice.
By junior high, Dad was splitting poplar and birch firewood with an axe for heating their home. This added muscular strength to his mental will to prepare. In the fall of 9th grade, Clyde Knepp was moving from shortstop to pitcher, and Coach Johnson was looking to replace him. After hitting grounders to half a dozen contenders, Dad was invited to step in.
In the next few years of baseball, there were quite a few double plays from Dad to Bob Shantz at second, who threw to first. One day over at Harrisville High School, a shallow blooper was hit over third base with bases loaded, and the runners took off. Dad sprinted back in the grass toward the ball, and with a leap at the end, caught the ball on the fly. He turned quickly and threw to Bob at second, who threw it to first, to complete an extremely rare triple play. Here is Dad standing by third base at Harrisville, some seventy plus years later.
One spring day, the Fairview baseball team was down 4-1 against rival Alpena High. Dad came up late in the game with two outs, and hit a ball into deep right center with bases loaded. As he rounded third, and saw that the throw was inadequate, he came home to win the game 5-4.
As he started his senior year, a chance came to go to school at Hesston Academy in Kansas. His school day ended around 3:30 and he started using his time to practice basketball, including the revolutionary one hand push shot. The money ran out at the end of the semester, and Dad returned to Fairview. He managed to find his place once again on the basketball team, thanks in part to an encouragement from Coach Armitage.
In the first game of the district tournament, Fairview played Gaylord St. Mary’s and won 32-26, with Dad scoring 16 points. Next, they faced Gaylord High and were down 23-26 with a couple of minutes left. Richard Kaufman shot a long one, that Dad fielded and put back for two. With just seconds left, Gibbs was fouled and missed his free throw. Dad had positioned on the lane where he anticipated the ball coming off, caught the rebound in the air and simultaneously tipped in in the bucket for the win, 27-26.
In the Regionals at Petosky, Fairview first overcame McBain High in a squeaker, 27-25. Then they prevailed over Frankfort, before playing Bear Lake in the final.
Dad got to play on the team that became legendary, winning the district, and regional tournament in 1944 for the only time in Fairview history. He stands below with Dick Handrich, captain of that team.
Fairview provided the opportunity for the children to begin to work and gain independence of their own. Below is Dad in front of the 1/4 acre field where he planted and harvested nearly 100 bushels of potatoes.
It also gave a chance for them to go to high school. All seven of the children, Reuel, Mary, Ruth, Genevieve, Dad, Ethyl and Josephine, graduated from high school at Fairview, four from Goshen College, two from La Junta School of Nursing and Dad from IU Dental School.
Following high school, Dad went to work on a turkey farm near Detroit, and also on a boat taking horses to Poland after the war. Then he enrolled at Goshen College and diligently pursued a science degree, leading toward dental school. During this time, he married Doris Liechty, and started the family which eventually included Anne, Margaret, Jane, Mary, Joe and me.
A formative event in Dad’s growing up years occurred one summer at the Fairview Mennonite Church during the yearly evangelistic meetings. He was around twelve and remembers being so moved by the Holy Spirit during the hymns of invitation, that he went forward to receive Jesus Christ as his Savior. It started a lifetime of being a student of the spoken and written word.
He took us on family vacations to Little Eden, and the west coast, photographed beautiful flowers, had a passion for orthodontics, traveled the world in dental or mission trips, and enjoyed golf, reading, softball and skiing.
Dad has had to exert great effort to overcome loss over the years, and to take opportunity with faith. His youthful dreams have either been fulfilled or put aside, and the resolution of life regret and pain seems mostly complete. The chafing against the immovable past is generally over and he is more contented than ever. Dad is thankful for the little things like his children coming to visit and Jan always having enough of something healthy if he comes for dinner.
Earlier this summer we were doing our bi-annual golf outing, and I asked if there was any thing else he would rather be doing, and he said no. He also told me that it is a pretty fine boat I had built. It never hurts when a father compliments a child, and it is not likely to ever be forgotten either.
Only a couple of weeks ahead, I decided to take this afore-mentioned boat to the Les Cheneaux Boat Show in Hessel, Michigan show. On Friday, August 12, Jan and I hooked up the boat trailer to the Honda Pilot, and headed north with Jeff and Cheryl Margush.
We stayed at the Cedar Hill Lodge in St. Ignace and took the boat over to the marina early Saturday morning. After three years of mostly private building, it was an amazing time of affirmation, interacting with like-minded boat builders.
There were 162 boats there, some of which are shown below. Thanks to Jeff Margush for all of his photography and much help all along.
We were entered in the Contemporary/Replica Class and honored with first prize. At the end of the show day, we headed out to cruise the islands and sat for a few minutes with a mechanical problem of my own creation. Fortunately, we got a short tow by the Coast Guard, and a mechanic was there who had just the trick to get it fixed.
The ride from Hessel to Cedarville, around the Les Cheneaux Islands was filled with the beauty of the north. The next day, my curiosity was rewarded as we explored Lake Charlevoix, particularly one hidden water cul-de-sac. Around the corner, we encountered this 82 foot boat and house.
As we returned home and put the boat in the garage, I passed a milestone that seemed like it would never come, and then sneaked up to surprise me. Three years ago, my daughter Amanda had initiated the process of writing, with the blog she designed and has managed since then. These stories were written for my children and grandchildren, so that they might know a bit more of their family heritage. Maybe some of them will follow a dream, gain a stronger sense of commitment, and pursue Christian faith more actively from people told about here.
So with this post, I have come full circle, finishing the duty and pleasure of telling my stories and the challenges of building a boat in my basement. It is already a mix of nostalgia and the dreams of new places the experience might take me. Much gratitude and appreciation is due, especially to my wife Jan, who has tracked with me on this zig zag course and has been strong support of all my adventures.
I also give genuine thanks to anyone, from more than 100 countries, who took time to read this blog. It would be really satisfying to hear from any of you.
David Lehman
Elkhart, Indiana
As some unknown person said, “Never be afraid of doing something new. Remember, amateurs built the ark and professionals built the Titanic.”
Then came Ethel, and finally Josephine was born, on the day after her father’s funeral. He had been loading some potatoes into the cellar at night and was found dead by the windmill with a bruised head. That was October 10, 1928, and he was only 38 years old. Grandma said he must have fallen from the windmill, but many other people thought there were reasons to suspect foul play.
Doris Jane Liechty was born August 17, 1928, in Archbold, Ohio, into the Joseph and Emma Liechty family, with two sisters and six brothers. She was the eighth child of nine, which allowed her not to be a “second mother,” and so after high school, she headed off to Goshen College. She majored in Home Economics, and her adventurous spirit took her on a trip with a student group to Europe.
At college, Doris met my dad and soon began a relationship which lead to them getting married on June 16, 1951.
They moved to Indianapolis, and lived in a little post-war house at 3217 West 22nd street. During that time, mom worked as a home demonstration agent, and they went to the little Mennonite Church on Kessler Boulevard.
That is home where I lived my first few years of childhood, and the place my sister Anne and I escaped on our trikes for a long ride along Kessler Boulevard. But mom eventually found us, and did not chide us for the experience.
Then, we moved to Elkhart, Indiana. In our growing years, she took us apple, peach and berry picking, and rewarded us on those evenings with a cobbler or pie from the fruit of our labor. Then there was the pitting, snapping, and peeling of the fruits and vegetables, to can hundreds of glass jars for the winter. Here is mom in front of our house on Myers Avenue.
Mom was a great cook, and always made holidays and birthdays special, with sculptured layer cakes cut into bunnies, dolls and cars. She also sewed clothes for the children, including this matched set for my sisters.
Here is mom joining the fun skiing at Swiss Valley.
Below is the family on a trip to the west coast around 1966.
She taught me how to write backwards, and had us help with cookie decoration, gift wrapping, marzipan making, and the occasional ice cream socials for friends. Many friends and relatives came to our table, including the rather famous Elizabeth Elliot. Here are mom and grandma with five of us.
One summer day when I was twelve, we had a back yard softball game and I was pitching. Mom was a good hitter, and that time, her line drive caught me right in the forehead. It dropped me right over backwards. Later in high school, when I told her that I was not up to the pressure of running cross country in the mornings and doing football practice after school, she understood, and said it would be okay if I did just one of them.
Her adventure on this earth ended early by most measures, at 45 years old. The year of 1973 was a hard one for her, walking through the valley of the shadow of death. She gradually began losing health, weight, and energy for the tasks of life. She did not seem afraid, for the Lord was with her, but the undone responsibility of care for her family must have weighed heavily on her.
Finally, on a Sunday evening in September 1973, we were gathered around her bed, and she boiled down the meaning of her life into a short, quiet statement. “What matters most is your relationship with Jesus Christ.” It was a great legacy, and she was a good mother. She finished strong.
No disrespect is intended in the comparison of a life finished well, to finishing a boat. Actually, the boat reminds me of my mother’s creativity, and I think she would have been proud. She had done some oil paintings, and always rewarded my artistic interests. Here is the boat before paint and varnish.
I had worked very hard on the bottom paint, with less than stellar results, so this time, I had Dave’s Paint and Hot Rod Repair, in Elkhart, Indiana spray on the white side with a red stripe. Here are Dave Shank and his sidekick Kerry.
Regardless of the actual outcome, the boat is looking fast!
Varnish is the coating of choice for wood boats, for its beauty, toughness and water resistance. This does not correlate to easy, especially with no personal experience. I started with two sealer coats of thinned varnish, and had a few more coats sprayed on by Dave and Kerry. Then, I took the boat home where Jon Smucker and Jeff Margush helped me do two more brush painted coats of varnish.
Eventually, enough varnish is enough, and I decided we had enough buildup for a strong finish. The next step is buffing it out to a gleaming luster, and then completing the rigging. There is a light at the end of the tunnel that does not seem to be an oncoming train.
Around 3 years ago, I started on the 20′ speed boat, thinking it might be a one year project. I first made some models and some half hulls, before launching into the full scale parts.
The problem was that I needed to learn so much as I went along, and the mistakes from inexperience caused plenty of detours. But finally, in the spring of 2016, it became realistic that the boat was ready to move out. The basic shell was complete, along with the mahogany and maple veneer, and the wood work got a coat of thinned varnish sealer. This started waking up the color.
Once the hull had initial protection from water, Jed Long and Jeff Margush helped to beef up the stands it sat on, and brace them diagonally.
We even put in sliding castor bases that allowed it to move well across the floor and clear the sill plate at the wall.
Finally the day came for the moment of truth. We had checked off the strength and safety requirements from neighbor, Mr. Fix-it Florea (Don), who provided the heavy duty castors, plywood for bracing, strapping to hold it together, and much thought about how to make the whole move as easy as possible. Our first step was turning the hull 45 degrees. That is Don on the front left, not letting the foot cast slow him down!
Then Jeff Margush was voted as the one most capable to cut the legs off of the bottom with a Sawzall, so it would fit through the wall opening.
Then it was time to start moving the speed boat out the hole in the wall. There wasn’t much room to spare, so we moved slowly and carefully.
The system of riding on rollers turned out to work very well, and soon we were free of the house. It needed some help when it crossed the sill plate.
And then, the boat was out of the basement, temporarily covered due to some drizzle.
Soon, we carried it up the hill, and prepared a trailer for temporary transport. The strakes (spray rails) did not fit in between the bunks of the trailer so we just padded the trailer as well as we could, with a cheap mattress, some sleeping bags and some old blankets.
All’s well that ends well.
Pa Wilder
Building Redemption 