One way that I try to deal with problems is to consider how they resemble other problems that have already been solved, then model or adapt those solutions.  To me, a huge portion of what we experience as creativity lies in how we are able to see those resemblances.

The problem at hand for me is to keep all of my neophyte students productively engaged in tasks that require some training and experience.  But this year I have a powerful advantage over last: the students who were in my class last year as 7th graders and have returned this year as 8th graders are now “the pros from Dover.”  They can instruct the new 7th graders on the skills that they have acquired while I introduce new skills to other students.  

For example, this week we finished installing the risers and roadbed on three of the four benchwork sections using material that was cut last year, but we needed about 14 more 1x3 risers in order to finish the fourth section. My first inclination was to ask my experienced sawyers to “cut me a bunch of 3” to 4” long risers.” But I have more labor than I have well-defined tasks at the moment, so instead I directed those experienced sawyers to instruct a group of new students on how to do it, supervise them, and check their work. My only involvement was to perform a quality check on the first article - a hugely valuable step because it served to remind me that my pros from Dover aren’t really all that experienced. The first riser had a very wavy, ragged edge which was a just a mass of splinters waiting to jump into someone’s fingers.

Since this situation will probably repeat itself year after year, I realized that I need to document the procedure - modeling good production practice. I was taking for granted the need to measure and mark the cut line using a speed square or combination square, to clamp the workpiece to a bench, tips on starting the cut and being mindful of which direction the saw is designed to remove material, how to finish the cut without splitting along the grain, and the importance of knocking off the raw edges with sandpaper to make the finished piece safe to handle. My pros had forgotten all of those things since last year.

My procedure was going to need some recordkeeping to keep track of who had been “trained” and who needed to brush up on their skills. I’ve been contemplating various strategies for delegating the many technical and clerical tasks associated with this bureaucracy, but this incident reminded me that I would have to build the pyramid carefully to make it durable and self-supporting.

I decided to fasten the roadbed/homosote sandwiches directly to the risers by driving screws into the riser end grain from above, rather than screwing cleats to the risers and driving screws upwards through the cleats into the roadbed from below as I have in the past. Furthermore, I didn’t even discuss the various pros and cons of this decision with the students, so they don’t know about cleats.

I’ve used cleats in the past, it’s what I’m used to. But as the kids and I temporarily clamped the risers in position and adjusted the roadbed levels and grades, the need for cleats compared to the material and labor required just didn’t seem worthwhile. Once the levels looked good we could screw the risers to the benchwork, remove the clamps, and drive one or two screws from above and be done. Here and there we need shims to ensure solid support, but otherwise this method seems “good enough.”

Writing this blog post is forcing me to confront my discomfort with this compromise of good woodworking practice (the screws will probably hold in the end grain just fine, but it’s taking a chance), and especially having neglected to discuss the point with my students. The prospect of having them document the procedure without acknowledging this lapse is unsettling, as is having put them in the position of explaining it to experienced visitors.

So this week, at the top of my to-do list: discuss the no-cleat compromise with my students.