Gracious and Gentle Galoots,

I was looking at an article in old Fine Woodworking collection, "Fine
Woodworking on Planes and Chisels", last night, and I would like to share a
paragraph that spoke to me. It was written by Harry Moos:

"Just a few more strokes on the oilstone and the blade is finished. I look at
its edge against the light and there is no reflection. I reassemble the plane
and run it over a long piece of pine. The first shaving is too thick. Another
adjustment, and then a paper-thin shaving curls away down the length of the
board. I make another half-dozen passes before I blow away the bits of wood
clinging to the blade, wipe away the fingerprints with an oily cloth, and place
the plane on the shelf that I have reserved for it. This once dirty, dull, and
rusted piece of iron from a flea market has become a polished, sharpened beauty,
ready to take its place among my other old tools. At times like this, I honestly
don't know if I love the tools because they enable me to work wood, of if I work
with wood because it gives me a good reason to collect these fine old tools."

I thought some of the rest of you might also enjoy reading these words.

Chuck Taylor
north of Seattle