He who dies with the most toys....

Railway dogs

For some people it's coins, for others it's frequent flyer points or compliments. I even know a retired minister who collects railway dogs. But for me, it's always been tools. 

In contrast to my Dad, who considered that every tool he owned was a hammer, I'm on a quest to find the right hammer for the job.

So it was with much fanfare that I recently welcomed three new tools to the fold.

Air powered riveter

There are approximately 2,000 rivets in the ceiling of our house – all installed by me, by hand with a lowly Bunnings hand rivet gun. By the end of each day it was a two handed job to pop rivet. Imagine my surprise when a friend mentioned to me recently that he had an air powered rivet gun. I hadn't known such things existed!  Suffice to say that within days of that conversation I bought one.

Conclusion: I wish I'd had one 2,000 rivets ago.

A box and pan brake

So, I was in the market for some weatherproof covers for my water pumps. At around $160 each I wondered if there was a DIY option that didn't look like a recycled compost bin. And yes there is, if you have a box and pan brake.

There's a 3 minute demo of one here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4RWkf7eo1g&t=9s

Conclusion: It's brilliant (and no, you can't borrow it).

Clekos

Wikipedia puts it best:

"A cleco, also spelled generically cleko, is a temporary fastener developed by the Cleveland Pneumatic Tool Company. Widely used in the manufacture and repair of aluminum-skinned aircraft, it is used to temporarily fasten sheets of material together, or to hold parts such as stiffeners, frames etc together, before they are permanently joined. Clecos are installed in holes predrilled through the workpieces (usually holes intended for permanent fasteners installed later). They expand on the far side of the workpieces and then draw and clamp them together while maintaining the desired alignment and preventing distortion of the pieces."

There's a 1 minute demo here if you're keen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYpEfo_OSKI

Conclusion: You can never have too many clekos.

We're home

Pemberley has been many different things for us over the years: a paddock, a building site, a weekender, a challenge, a money pit, a joy, and even a holiday home.  But the day we handed the keys to our Canberra house to the new owners, Pemberley became our home.



Loading the phone box



Unloading the phone box

After 33 years with the same employer, 31 years in the same suburb, 25 years in the same house, 22 years worshipping at the same church and 12 years of preparing and building at Pemberley it's going to take some adjusting.

 

 

But not just for us.  Pemberley is now also home to our watchdog Rolex, a 330 kilogram pianola, a slightly tired 1991 MX5, 3 cubic meters of Cypress pine milled by my Dad in the 1980s, our red phone box and, most importantly, our adult children and grandson whenever they wish to "come home". 



 

So, what's next?  Well, we have plans for a second phase of house building which will include a larger kitchen, two additional bedrooms and a study.  We also like the idea of a walled garden and planting more trees.  But most of all we pray for many years of sharing our croft and faith with family, friends and the local community.

It's a grind

Tidying up Dad's shed unearthed some odd scraps of timber,  bits Dad had kept even though to most folk they were too short to be useful.  He was the typical depression baby - never throw anything away just in case it could be useful.  (Mind you, I'm not sure what he thought anyone would use those 37 old shock absorbers for.)

 

Well, not wanting to disappoint, I took on the challenge of putting these odds and sods together into something useful to me.   As a sawmiller, Dad had spent his working life sharpening saws, so for me the fitting use was a bench for my sharpening equipment.  It took some juggling, but I finally came up with something that provided a shelf for the high speed grinder, another for the baby Tormek and one for my glass grinder.

 

It's not fine furniture and it's not art - but it is a nice reminder of Dad.  If you'd like the plans I have a SketchUp version I can send to you. 

 

I really should get back to building the house.

My Dad was a sawmiller



Mum and Dad - July 2012

My Dad, Ken Bolton, owned a sawmill.  A place he worked in from the age of 14 until his 60’s.  I worked there during some uni breaks and I know a little of how hard and hot the work was.  

 

The mill consisted of a big shed, with no walls, no heating, no cooling and only pretty basic dust extraction.  It was cold as ice in winter and hot as all else in summer.  In winter everyone would huddle around a single oil burning heater during smoko.  To beat the heat in summer they would start at 5:30am.  Mind you this was the routine only after the donkey engine burnt the place down and they subsequently rebuilt with electrical motors and flouro lighting.  Before that 1960’s rebuild Dad was up at 4:00am to fire up the steam engine so it was ready to go when everyone else rolled up a couple of hours later. 

 

Before the steam era, for the first 15 years of Dad’s career, the mill was located 14 miles out of town in the middle of a forest.  Accommodation then consisting of a tin cottage with a dirt floor.

 

Dad liked a routine - morning tea was at 9:15am, lunch at 12:00 and afternoon tea at 3:15pm.  Those times changed only once a year – on Melbourne cup day afternoon smoko was at race time.  The shed floor was a combination of dirt and oil from the log skids and the only chairs were a couple of seats out of an old Morris car. 

 

Even though Dad was the owner he was also one of the men who physically pushed and shoved logs around until they became something useful like a wall stud, a floor board, a noggin or a fancy cabin profile weatherboard.  Each evening he’d come home, reeking of cypress sawdust, with bits of timber under his arm – each with an order he’d written down during the day.  After dinner he’d do the paperwork in his office, have a port and go to bed around 9:30.  

 

Dad finally sold the mill in his 60’s after it had been on the market for some years.  He then took up a job as a school bus driver, clocking nearly a 1,000 kilometres a week on a long country run.  He loved it - the kids, the parents, the driving and finally being able to fulfil one of his wishes – to be a mechanic.  Something he’d been pulled away from by his family when he was 14 and the mill needed an extra set of hands during the war.

 

He retired from bus driving when he felt that his reactions were no longer as sharp as they used to be.  Handing his licence in voluntarily because he didn’t want to be the cause of an accident. 

 

I got my love of making things out of timber from Dad.  For him, any construction or design problem could be solved with a 4 x 2 piece of cypress and some 3 inch nails.  Dad’s design genre is probably best described as a cross between early industrial, steam punk and “just get it done with what we’ve got”.  Not always pretty – but it never fell down.

 

But most importantly, I’ve got Dad to thank for my love of God.  After all it was his good mate who told me about Jesus when I was 13 and Dad who showed me what serving Him looked like by how he cared for others.

 

Dad was the classic “chopping wood for widows” type of bloke. A bit of a rough diamond - he hated wearing a tie but loved flannelette shirts, towelling hats and t-boots – he had a loving heart.  I could wax on for ages, but maybe some other time.

 

Jeanette and I had the honour of being with Dad when he passed away on Sunday.  He was nearly 84.