The Plane Truth

On a recent foray into back issues of my woodworking magazines I happened upon an article about a Stanley jack plane which set me to wondering if I had one in my stash of Stanley oldies. Six years after moving to Ocala most of my antique tools remain packed away. It really was not necessary (or wise) to dig them out since I have no good place to put them, but no matter. The bee was in my bonnet, and I had to know if the #5 jack was one of my "treasures." Off to the shop with a box cutter and my trusty inventory list in hand. I opened the two boxes marked antique tools and unwrapped each heavy lump so carefully packed up seven or eight years ago. I was in no way prepared for my reaction. Despite the Brandon grime and sawdust that clung to the protective grease I had put on all the metal parts, they were beautiful to me. I spent the rest of the evening wielding a toothbrush and paper towels, cleaning each tool well enough to move it into the house. And yes, I do have a jack plane! Of major significance, not really, but as a collector and user it is nice to have six of the seven planes in the numbered series. Only #1 eludes me, but that is a financial issue.  Collectors who are not users have made the market for that little gem out of reach. However, the best part of my evening was that I found several other planes that I had forgotten about.

I keep reading articles about decluttering and simplifying, and most of them use the quote, "Keep nothing you do not love or believe to be beautiful." My old tools qualify for keeping on both counts. Digging them out reminds me how beautiful they are. Each is usable and useful, but more than that I truly love them. I am not sure I knew that until it hit me how much I have missed seeing and touching them. They are a visual and sensual delight, especially the ones with wooden parts, worn smooth and patinated by the touch of human hands. So now another project for the list - make a safe place to keep them accessible.