Wood Crafting

In addition to my brewing, when I’m not working on some aspect of the house or the homestead, I like to spend time in the wood shop. I’m most successful at turning pieces of wood into big piles of sawdust, but now and again I’ll turn out something I’m willing to show to others. Once in a while, I can even repeat the process, and (after much practice) come up with something I truly like.

This was originally the case with my lathe-turned bowls and cups. My earliest examples, from when I was using a cheap drill-powered “lathe”, and didn’t really know what I was doing, were clunky, at best. I don’t believe any of those pieces still exist.

About four years ago, after a ten-year hiatus, I got myself a better lathe. This one was still cheap, and had its own idiosyncracies, but it had enough power, and stayed on-axis well enough, to let me refine my turning a bit more. After a bit of practice, and learning more about technique and process, I started producing somewhat more usable items.

Then, in early 2016, I went all-out and got a name-brand lathe. This was a step up in terms of being able to find accessories, in terms of the solidity of the lathe bed, and in terms of the power and speed of the motor. (It was also whisper quiet, relative to the old one!) I also went the route of getting a lathe bed extension, which allows me to turn spindles up to about 42″ in length. So, in addition to my usual bowls and cups, I now have the ability to turn the longer parts of chairs.

When I turn bowls, I base them mostly off of finds from Novgorod and/or York excavations. The Russian vessels I like because my SCA persona is Russian, for one, and for two, they’ve got generally the widest variety of things, ranging from small cups and salt-cellars up to really large serving bowls. The York finds are really well documented, but less extensive. Then I’ve got a few drawings, mostly in singles or pairs, from a couple of other finds. Exeter, for instance, provided one of my favorite styles: a “conic section” bowl with straight sides and a flat bottom.

I try to keep a selection up on my Etsy site (Holmgard Trading);

Wood bowls
Turned wood bowls

my inventory usually shows mostly as cups and small bowls, but I’ve got a few larger ones “in the back,” and I’m happy to turn more, especially if you’ve got a picture or a line drawing from an actual find. My main limiting factors are time, wood availability, and that I can only go as big as about 12″ in diameter. That said, if you’re interested in something, email me, or hit me up in my shop–I’m happy to see what I can do.

If you visit the shop, you’ll see that I’ve been branching out a little from just wood. At present, I’ve got a series of bone nalbinding needles. I’m hoping to get some “regular” sewing needles done up, as well, but they’re a little tricker to make. Eventually, I intend to do a few bone combs, as well. They’re problematic not for their size, like the needles, but more for making sure everything goes together correctly. I’ve not had luck with them yet, as things tend to go out-of-alignment, or (worse yet) crack at inopportune moments.

wood crafting combs
Bone comb (top), teeth not cut; wood comb (bottom), teeth cut, not finished.

For handwork, lately, I’ve been trying out wooden combs. They seem about as common, in the Novgorod archaeological record. The process is similar to the bone versions, at least where the “fiddly bits” (the teeth) come in. One difference, though, is that if I mess up and crack a piece of wood, I’m not out that much. Scrap wood for combs I have, but the bones are harder to come by.  Enough practice with the wood ones, I figure, and I’ll try tackling the bone ones again.

While I’m talking about bones, I’d really like to try something more complex with them, at some point–maybe a buckle or the like. I have plans for some small pendants, as well.

This, of course, isn’t the entirety of what keeps me busy–just a small sampling of the various wood crafts that I work on regularly. I’ll come back to this topic later, and take a look at some of my source material, as well as do a bit of how-to. Please sign up to the email list for updates, and post any questions in the comments below!

Brew Day, June 2018 – Hopleaf Mead

This month saw the brewing of a hopleaf mead. This is rather a strange-seeming batch, and a bit of an experiment, just to see if some 15th-century Venetians knew what they were talking about. (I opted not to make anything overly complex because it’s been in the low 90’s and humid. Also, we’ve been getting pavilions ready for Pennsic outside, which is hot, sweaty, and tiring. Firing up a burner was definitely counter-indicated.)

The hopleaf mead experiment stems from a passage in a Russian book on brewing. In it, a professor writing the foreword cites Ambrosio Contarini, part of the Venetian Embassy to the Shah of Iran from 1472-1475. On the trip back from Iran, Contarini and company stopped for about six months in Moscow. Part of the story of his travels reads thus:

They have no wine of any kind, but drink a beverage made of honey and the leaves of the hop, which is certainly not a bad drink, especially when aged.

The “leaves of the hop” (hopleaf) really caught my attention. It reads that way in both Russian (“с листьями хмеля“) and, once I found it, the original Italian (“con le foglie del bruscandolo“).  My first thought was, certainly they don’t mean hop leaves? Contarini has to be confused about what part of hops gets used. I mean, the cones are green, and somewhat leaflike.

Intrigued, I dug a little further. “Bruscandolo” is Venetian dialect for hops (Google says that “normal” Italian would be “luppolo”; and a medieval Italian-English Herbal Dictionary even went with “lupuli“). Nowadays, it apparently means the hop shoots or tips, which can be treated like asparagus shoots or fern shoots, and cooked up in a variety of ways. (I’ll have to try Risotto di Bruscandolo, or Bruschetta Bruscandolo, next spring.) But I found another reference, again to a Venetian in period:

The principal imports of England are spices, sugars, and all sorts of fruit from Spain and France, wine, oil, and what they call hops (obloni), the flower of the hop plant, and the “bruscandoli,” needed for the brewing of beer…

This is from an English translation of some diplomatic letters from Giacomo Soranzo, the Venetian Ambassador to France. Now we’ve got several hop references and names; just to confuse matters, Soranzo describes “hops” and “bruscandolo.” Fortunately, he specifies “hops” as “the flower of the hop plant.”

Given all of these varying terms and such, until and unless I find anything different, I’m going with the notion that “hops” (or “obloni“, and maybe “lupuli” as well) are references to the hop flowers/cones, and “bruscandolo” is a reference to the plant as a whole. As such, it makes some sense to assume that Contarini meant the actual leaves. What one would get from them, I have no idea; all of the bittering oils are found in the cones. Hopleaf might (might) give you some tannins. There’s bound to be some natural yeast there, as well. But experimenting is in order.

I brewed this up as a 1-gallon batch of sweet mead, Cascade Hops, used in Hopleaf Meadand put three full-sized, mature hop leaves into primary, lacking any indication as to how much to use. I rinsed the leaves, just to ensure there weren’t any spiders, insects, aphids, or the like. The particular leaves I used were from one of my Cascade mounds, for the reason of ease of availability–I’d have had to go across the field to get Magnums or Willamettes, and did I mention it’s been hot?

Having acquired the leaves, it was time to assemble the rest of the recipe. I’ve got about 20 pounds of Clover honey left over from a previous meadmaking spree. Three pounds or so into a gallon batch makes for a decently sweet mead. I’d thought about using K1V-1116, but didn’t have any on hand, so I opted to go with EC-1118 instead. They’ve got similar alcohol tolerances, and both ferment out cleanly. Also, after pondering things, K1V is a “killer” strain–it kills off other yeasts in solution with it. If the hopleaf is to add anything of a yeasty nature to the brew, going with EC-1118 will allow that to come out. The rest of the batch is pretty standard, with GoFerm and Fermaid O staggered nutrient additions.

Hopleaf Mead
Hopleaf Mead, prior to adding the final leaf. It also got diluted by almost half.

Hopleaf Mead (this is recipe #166 in my Little Black Book)

3.1 pounds of Clover Honey
1 packet Lalvin EC-1118 yeast
4.53 grams Fermaid-O (split into four additions, at 24, 48, and 72 hours, and on day 7)
2.5 grams GoFerm nutrient
3 mature Cascade hop leaves, rinsed

OG: 1.126