Woodshop Time Again: Blanket Chest #1
When I had finished the frame for the hall mirror in this post about my previous woodshop project, I had an idea to start working on a blanket chest. I had just finished reading Christopher Schwarz’ book The Anarchist’s Tool Chest about building traditional tool chests, and was inspired to use similar techniques to build a simple blanket chest. I figured this would be a good project to start while working on the finish on the hall mirror.
The photo above (by my pretty wife Jenny) is of the completed chest in our parlor. While this probably is not the place this chest will be, it was resting here when we took the photos. The completed chest measures around 36″W x 22″H x 19″L. The chest parts were all dimensioned from a story stick I created based on basic width, height, and depth measurements from some of the Anarchist’s Tool Chest research. The story stick method (where lengths of parts are laid out on a stick with reference lines marked), as opposed to numeric measurement of each part, kept the design simple and less error-prone. The story stick also let me lay out stock a little more quickly, since I didn’t have to try to be accurate to 1/32″ repeatedly. Instead, I could just pull out the story stick, hold it to the stock I was about to work, and drop some layout lines.
It all started with some nice, heavy, 5/4 white oak stock I had in slightly wider boards (most about 8″). I prepped these and surfaced them to 1″ thick. After laying them out and trying to match grain and color as best as I could, I marked and jointed the edges, then glued them up into large panels for the front, back, left, and right sides. I decided I would not do the bottom (which was to be poplar to save on weight and material) or the lid until I had the chest joinery cut and test-fitted. This way, I could make sure that the bottom boards and the lid were correctly proportioned for the final chest size. If I had tried to do it by numeric measurement at this point, I would have been in the realm of odd-size 32nd-of-an-inch measurements to get it right, and that didn’t appeal to me. Also, maybe I was a little nervous that I would seriously mess-up a dovetail side, which would mean slicing them off and starting again, which would then change the dimensions of the chest. The photo here is obviously after dovetails had been cut, these being the front and back panels.
For this project, I chose to use my Leigh dovetail jig. There are many people who insist on cutting the dovetails by hand, and that’s fine, but here I was trying to get through this project quickly! Also, I was excited about getting some more practice with the jig, so I got it all set up and started cutting. This photo is one of the sides in the jig ready for the joints to be cut. The great advantage of the Leigh is that once it is set up for a project, one can cut repetitive joints until the cows come home. Here, having to cut these joints on large, heavy panels in a supremely dense hardwood, the jig saved an enormous amount of time. Again, thinking this was going to be a quick project, time was a factor.
As soon as everything was cut, I test-fit the box together and set it on a pair of sawhorses off to the side in the workshop. I was out of free time, and had to get back to work on teacher stuff and the FIRST Robotics Competition with the kids. I had hoped to get further, but the box was assembled. I had some time to plane the joints flush and level and smooth the top sides of the box, but then it had to sit.
One day, while it was sitting and I was downstairs doing some other bit of housework, I bumped it and discovered that one of the sawhorses wasn’t completely level, as the entire chest went toppling onto the floor, corner-first. It landed with a thunderous crack, and I feared the worst. As I pulled it back onto one of my little portable benches under the lights to get a better look at the damage, I was shocked that it seemed to be wholly intact. One corner took a slight dent, and there were two individual dovetails that cracked-off a sliver of wood at their corners. Those were fixed quickly with some cyanoacrylate glue and blue tape as clamps. The dent would just have to remain as some early “character.”
After repair, the chest sat. And then it sat. And then it sat some more. I did finally finish the coat rack and mirror. But the chest sat. One day, I decided it was time to get some stuff finished, so I got back to work on the chest. I disassembled the test fit and milled a dado on the left and right sides and a rabbet on the front and back to accept the bottom boards. I milled some poplar to the same thickness as the sides, cut tongues and grooves on the table saw, cut the tongues on the edges to fit the dadoes in the sides, and test-fit the chest with the bottom. The bottom boards would be set-in loose so that they can change with the weather. I got the glue and brushes ready, and decided this would be it–I was gluing the case together!
The glue-up went quickly. I placed a few clamps just to hold everything good, square, and flush while the glue set. I also took this time to nail the edges of the outside bottom boards with some cut brads. This would keep the edges from sliding enough to leave air gaps between the boards and the front and back sides, but still allowed the middle boards and inner edges of the outside boards free movement to deal with changes in humidity.
Then the chest sat some more. And it sat. And it sat. And then, I was inspired and invigorated again, and decided to just finish the thing. I needed workshop space, after all, and this was taking up an enormous amount of space in the shop. Back to work!
The first task on my list now was getting the lid completed. At some point, I had cut the boards for the lid and glued them into an oversize panel. Now I could take some time and figure out the logistics of the top. I wanted it to have breadboard sides to deal with the movement of a solid wood top, and I really wanted to get some practice with breadboard edges, so that’s the route I chose. I thought I’d mill the groove for the breadboard edges on the router table. I took a test piece and ran it to work-out my process and safety issues. It is hard on the router bit to cut a full-depth groove like this at once, so I was working in multiple passes. During the last pass, the board pulled a bit to one side, and the entire bit took a bite, shattering the bit. Oops. This is one of those times I’m glad I always wear safety glasses and usually wear my shop apron, as the board went flying in one direction and the bit pieces went flying at me.
Since that was a fail, I did it the way I probably should have in the first place, and set up the dado stack on the tablesaw. I used the dado stack to cut the grooves in the sides and also the tongues on the top. Once these were all set, I fit them together and marked the positions for drawbore pins. The drawbore pins pull the joint together. A regular hole, slightly offset to the inside, is used to fix the outside edges in one position. In most breadboard applications, the center hole is used so that the top expands and contracts from the center. In this application, I wanted the front edge to remain fixed in position, so the front hole was set up as the fix point. I drilled additional holes in the middle and rear, and slotted those holes in the tongues so that the top could expand and contract, but it wouldn’t pull away from the edge.
I pulled-out my new lathe (woohoo!) and milled some oak dowels to the correct size. I used a piece of aluminum and cut a hole of the same size used in the show faces of the breadboard edges to make a dowel plate, which I could push the dowels through to shave them down to an accurate size for a flush fit on the show faces.
After doing all of that, I realized I should have made the tongues and grooves at least 1/2″ if not 3/4″ wider and deeper. This would work, but I wish there was more meat there in the joint.
Now the rest of the work of finishing the chest could begin. I ordered bun feet from tablelegs.com, hinges and lock hardware from Lee Valley, and got to work. The lock hardware and hinges needed mortising. The lock needed a mortise for the lock cup and a more shallow one for the lock plate (top and edge), but this was accomplished easily and quickly with good sharp chisels and a boring bit to remove the bulk of the waste for the lock cup.
In the process of finishing the top, I bought a new rabbet plane to clean-up the tongues and get them to a good, precise fit.
The finished top in clamps:
Laying out the lock mortise:
Holes bored to help remove the bulk of the waste from the lock mortise:
Lock mortise complete:
Lock test-fitting:
I used a simple trick I read about somewhere to cut the keyhole. With the lock mechanism fitted into the mortise, I took my mallet and gave the back plate a little whack. The lock pin on the other side, which is slightly proud of the lock mechanism, made a little dimple in the wood, which marked the exact spot for the keyhole. Here’s the end result with the key test fitted. At this point, the hole and slot still needed a bit of clean-up, but it was in the right place and working.
The last bit of lock installation was the strike plate on the lid. To fit this, I first installed the lid on its hinges (those were simple hinge mortises, and I didn’t think to take any photos of them), installed the strike plate on the latched lock, and then closed the lid with a bit of force on the strike plate. The strike plate has two locating pins on it, which marked the wood where the strike plate had to be. I then removed the lid, held the strike plate to its marks, and traced around it with my marking knife. Then I could go to work with chisels and mallet to remove the waste.
As you can see in that photo, I also marked and drilled the pilot holes for the mounting screws. In any hardwood, but especially stuff as dense and tough as this white oak, correctly-sized pilot holes are an absolute necessity. Otherwise, those little brass screws will shear-off at the most inopportune times (like when the screw is almost completely driven in, leading to a really, really messy removal and clean-up).
It was finally time to move the chest over to the finishing area. Here, the chest received numerous applications of amber shellac to bring out a nice, rich color, and to level the grain. Looking back on this process, I should have used a grain filler first, as filling grain with shellac took eons of time.
The blue tape around the top edge is to catch runs from the top. The inside of this chest will not be finished, so I didn’t want drips and runs and other ugly bits hanging out on the inside.
The feet were finished separately and installed when the case finish was completed.
The lid was also finished separately, though I did apply a sealer coat and a few topcoats of shellac to the inside of the lid. After the shellac had set up for a little over a week, I moved the case and lid upstairs for final assembly. After the lid was attached, I added a simple chain stay to keep the lid from flopping open and damaging itself. Since the chest is large and we sometimes have children visiting us, the lid lock is functional and used when there are children here. I wanted to keep this chest as historically appropriate as I could, but safety is also an important concern.
The finished product is now in its temporary home in front of the parlor mantel. This will change eventually, but it works there for right now. Amusing note: Our cat claimed this chest as her own shortly after it was finished. She enjoys climbing inside when it is open, and we are not permitted to put anything on top of it. She makes sure to remove it and then sprawls herself across the entire lid to assert her ownership.
Thanks to my awesome wife Jenny for the last few photos. At some point, I started taking construction photos with my iPhone so that I wouldn’t have to have my big camera downstairs all the time. The iPhone just wasn’t doing a great job capturing the finished product, so Jenny got these for me while I was writing the post about the hall mirror. Thanks, awesome wife.
