Wild and Woody

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If you have doubts about the strength of a mortise-and-tenon joint, try putting a peg or even a nail through the joint. (If you use a peg, make sure it is no more than one-half the size of the diameter of the tenon itself.)

Another common form of rustic joinery is the nailed joint. After two pieces have been put together or slightly notched, they are nailed in place. The trick to an enduring nailed joint is this: Predrill the hole for the nail in both members, making it just a bit narrower and a bit longer than the nail. Within a few months, a nailed joint will shrink, exposing the nailhead and perhaps a bit of the shank. At this time, give the nail a final knock to drive it farther into the predrilled hole.

When I nail a piece, I use ringed nails, cement-coated nails, or any grooved nail; when the wood shrinks it bites and locks around the grooves for a strong joint.

Finishing the Piece

All indoor rustic furniture needs some kind of treatment to make it look like a finished creation rather than a random collection of sticks. Also, a finish helps preserve the uneasy truce between the bark and the wood beneath it. Dry bark is more brittle than dry wood and needs care. I first sand the bark gently to lighten the final color and, perhaps, to highlight certain features of the piece. I then apply a generous coat of raw linseed oil cut with a bit of turpentine. In a few days I apply another coat and let it dry well. After that, I'll use furniture polish or more linseed oil as needed to maintain a matte, leatherlike finish. Personally, I don't like the glossy urethane look on rustic work.

The final challenge of rustic chair making is the seat. And I must admit that I have yet to find the perfect solution. I've used nicely grained planks, split saplings, and full, round twigs; I've woven seats from leather strips, split oak, and ash and hickory bark. I've even tried upholstering with old quilts, new hightech fabrics, and a weave of twisted rags. For the moment I make my seats from a woven cotton strapping that comes in a variety of colors.

Solving the often exasperating seating problem is the last aesthetic statement the builder can add to the finished work. But, when all is said and done, the ultimate delight of rustic furniture lies simply in living with it, in finding ways to use it, and in watching it slowly and gracefully age.

HOW I GOT STARTED

One day at an antique auction in the country, I bought a rustic child's chair for my daughter. Later, at home in the city, I decided to copy it,choosing for the summer project maple, a wood I immediately fell in love with. After making several chairs I was proud of, I attempted to interest a retailer in merchandising them. Emboldened by my workshop success, I was nevertheless shy about representing these pieces as my own. After all, I was—so I thought—an overeducated urban dweller, hardly the model of a rural craftsman. So I told the buyer that the small chairs had been made by an old man who lived by himself in the woods upstate somewhere, and that I was only his agent. The buyer balked, not because of the credibility (or lack thereof ) of my story, but rather because he wasn't interested in children's chairs particularly. "Why don't you see if that old man has any adult chairs," he said.

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