Someone Call a Pitsawyer

After 2 feet of ripping the 5″-thick cherry, I gave up. I am generally a stubborn person, but the sawing was too slow-going to be practical. It was going to take an hour of ripping for each slab.

Senior Editor Glen Huey came into the shop. He raised one eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything about the sweat drips all over the slabs.

“I’m gonna cheat,” I said, “and I need your help.”

We humped each slab onto the band saw. In less than five minutes the deed was done. I can rationalize this a million ways: This is work for a pitsawyer. The lumberyard would have dressed these slabs for the pre-industrial woodworker.

But the bottom line was that ripping these slab[s] wasn’t fun. And that’s where I drew the line. The purists can feel free to throw stones now.