that’s where your responsibility ends. You show him the place, and either he finds more or he doesn’t, but he’s the one who has to take the next step.”
“Fine. I’d be happy not to worry about it. So, how are you today? How’s Donald’s project going? How’s your mother?”
“I’m fine, she’s fine, the world’s a great place. Donald is less than one hundred percent happy because he wants everything done yesterday, but I calmed him down. And you’re going to get to see how our ancestors cut the wood that went into building our houses.”
“That part I’m looking forward to.”
It didn’t take long to reach the sawmill, and as Meg stepped out of the car she inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood. Could someone who handled different woods regularly learn to distinguish each by scent? She could tell the odor of pine from most other woods, but her expertise stopped there. But why was the smell so appealing?
Jonas came out to greet them. “Hey, Seth, Meg. Seth, you’re still looking for wood for Donald, right? I set aside some boards for you—you can take a look.”
“Thanks. Donald’s been on my back about getting started. And if you have time, I promised that Meg could see how a real sawmill works.”
Jonas smiled. “Of course. We’re really proud of the place.”
“Good,” Meg said. “You can start by telling me how different this is from the way it used to be done.”
“Actually, not very, and that’s been our choice. We get school groups coming by a few times a year, so they can see how it was done in the old days. Our machines are power driven, but there are people managing them all, not computers. Most mills are a lot more automated than this, but it makes no sense for an operation of this size.” Jonas smiled again. “I love to show this one off.”
“And I’d love to see it, Jonas,” Meg said. “Lead me to it.”
“All right!” Jonas pointed to a stack of logs at one end of the long building. “Here’s where we start. Those are mixed hardwoods, and they come from a variety of sites. They’re scaled and graded—you want the details?”
“No, I think the general outline is enough for me,” Meg replied.
“Got it. From there we strip the bark off and move the logs to the mill. First they go through the headsaw, which makes the round log into a square. The result is called the ‘cant.’” The stuff that’s cut away goes to a chipper, and the cants go to the cant deck, where they’re run through the resaw—that’s what actually cuts the boards.”
Meg stared, fascinated. It was a noisy, messy process, but the basics were simple: logs went in one end and came out as boards on the other, all within one building—depositing coarse sawdust like snowdrifts on every surface.
Jonas was still talking. “One reason I’ve got real people running things is because there are decisions about individual cants that a computer just can’t make, or not as well.” They walked farther down the line. “So, next is the edger, then the grader. The USDA has grading rules for logs, but at our end we have a trained grader who inspects the boards. He has to grade each board and decide whether it needs more trimming or edging. Only when he’s approved it does it go to the dry kilns. You have to dry the boards under controlled conditions for temperature, moisture, and air circulation. Had enough yet?”
Meg smiled at him. “I’m overwhelmed. Is there more you have to do, before you can actually use the wood?”
“That’s where I come in,” Seth said. “Depending on how I want to use it, I may need to surface-plane it, to smooth it off. And I do some of my own trimming, particularly for these old houses, where what’s there may be out of true, so I have to match up the boards. Speaking of which, let’s take a look at those boards. You coming, Meg?”
“No, I think I’ll stay here and admire this process awhile longer. You won’t be long, will you?”
“Fifteen
“Fine. I’d be happy not to worry about it. So, how are you today? How’s Donald’s project going? How’s your mother?”
“I’m fine, she’s fine, the world’s a great place. Donald is less than one hundred percent happy because he wants everything done yesterday, but I calmed him down. And you’re going to get to see how our ancestors cut the wood that went into building our houses.”
“That part I’m looking forward to.”
It didn’t take long to reach the sawmill, and as Meg stepped out of the car she inhaled the scent of freshly cut wood. Could someone who handled different woods regularly learn to distinguish each by scent? She could tell the odor of pine from most other woods, but her expertise stopped there. But why was the smell so appealing?
Jonas came out to greet them. “Hey, Seth, Meg. Seth, you’re still looking for wood for Donald, right? I set aside some boards for you—you can take a look.”
“Thanks. Donald’s been on my back about getting started. And if you have time, I promised that Meg could see how a real sawmill works.”
Jonas smiled. “Of course. We’re really proud of the place.”
“Good,” Meg said. “You can start by telling me how different this is from the way it used to be done.”
“Actually, not very, and that’s been our choice. We get school groups coming by a few times a year, so they can see how it was done in the old days. Our machines are power driven, but there are people managing them all, not computers. Most mills are a lot more automated than this, but it makes no sense for an operation of this size.” Jonas smiled again. “I love to show this one off.”
“And I’d love to see it, Jonas,” Meg said. “Lead me to it.”
“All right!” Jonas pointed to a stack of logs at one end of the long building. “Here’s where we start. Those are mixed hardwoods, and they come from a variety of sites. They’re scaled and graded—you want the details?”
“No, I think the general outline is enough for me,” Meg replied.
“Got it. From there we strip the bark off and move the logs to the mill. First they go through the headsaw, which makes the round log into a square. The result is called the ‘cant.’” The stuff that’s cut away goes to a chipper, and the cants go to the cant deck, where they’re run through the resaw—that’s what actually cuts the boards.”
Meg stared, fascinated. It was a noisy, messy process, but the basics were simple: logs went in one end and came out as boards on the other, all within one building—depositing coarse sawdust like snowdrifts on every surface.
Jonas was still talking. “One reason I’ve got real people running things is because there are decisions about individual cants that a computer just can’t make, or not as well.” They walked farther down the line. “So, next is the edger, then the grader. The USDA has grading rules for logs, but at our end we have a trained grader who inspects the boards. He has to grade each board and decide whether it needs more trimming or edging. Only when he’s approved it does it go to the dry kilns. You have to dry the boards under controlled conditions for temperature, moisture, and air circulation. Had enough yet?”
Meg smiled at him. “I’m overwhelmed. Is there more you have to do, before you can actually use the wood?”
“That’s where I come in,” Seth said. “Depending on how I want to use it, I may need to surface-plane it, to smooth it off. And I do some of my own trimming, particularly for these old houses, where what’s there may be out of true, so I have to match up the boards. Speaking of which, let’s take a look at those boards. You coming, Meg?”
“No, I think I’ll stay here and admire this process awhile longer. You won’t be long, will you?”
“Fifteen
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