Spirit Spurs Building of a Chessboard
I have been threatening to build a chessboard since Christmas. That is when I gave a chess set I bought 40 years ago in Mexico to my nephew Connor. The box containing the pieces — carved of wood and what is likely ivory though I hope not — doubled as a chessboard, leaving me without one for my remaining set. (I hope I am forgiven for unknowingly buying a chess set built with ivory as a dumb 20-year-old.)
My mom created a ceramic set for me back in college. The pieces are topped in gold and silver inlay. But since I have no board, Connor and I have been confined to playing when he comes to visit on a cheap plastic set from the Big Box Store. The light pieces constantly fall over on their own.
The spirit must move me before embarking on a project like this. I tend to spend weeks envisioning how I wanted it to look, what type of wood, size and what type of finish to use. A legal pad in my woodshop contains scribblings and rough sketches of past and future projects. And thus it was with the chessboard. How large did the squares need to be? Two inches appeared the perfect size, after I pulled the king and queen out of the set and drew squares around them on a piece of paper.
I eyed the already planed lumber propped up in my small shop. It is a converted half of a two-car garage. The other half was turned into what I call the dog den, since that is where our two worthless but lovable mutts hang out most of the day, zonked out on the couch. The shop ends up being a fair-weather facility, since I have to roll out the table saw to cut lumber in the driveway or glue large pieces together.
There are 64 squares to a chessboard. I decided on black walnut for the dark squares and red oak for the light squares. I would build a frame to hold the squares together while they were being glued to each other. Then I would outline the board with alternating strips of oak and walnut, fastened with dowels to the board. I had a plan.
The spirit at long last struck on a Sunday afternoon. My Beautiful Mystery Companion was reading the paper out by the pool. I rolled the table saw out and began cutting 2-inch wide strips of oak and walnut. That accomplished, I set up a jig on the chop saw to cut the other two-inch dimension. I just butted the pieces up to the jig and cut them in rapid order.
But not rapid enough to escape my BMC’s attention. About 20 cuts into the 84 cuts required, she peeked her head into the door. “What are you doing in here?” she asked. “Building a chess set,” I replied. “Why now?” she asked. “Good a time as any,” I replied.
She shook her head and left, and I resumed sawing. The noise abated within 15 minutes or so. I figure it is no louder than the leaf blowers that are prevalent in our neighborhood — including at our house. It seems there is a leaf blower going somewhere within earshot nearly every daylight hour. Since I too use a leaf blower — and often it is Sunday afternoon because of weather or work — I have no call to complain.
I Googled to make sure I remembered how to start placing the cut squares into the shape of a chessboard. The dark piece goes at bottom right, and you build the eight rows containing eight squares from there. I went back inside and re-Googled before gluing the pieces. I do not trust myself, with ample justification.
The board came along swimmingly after that. I glued it up, let it sit until the next free time, which was Memorial Day afternoon. Then I began sanding the board, about the time my BMC came outside to read by the pool. This time she called me a noise polluter as the orbital sander slowly smoothed the rough pieces until all the squares were flush. I do not think she meant anything by it. The police never showed up on a noise complaint.
Most of the noisy work is done on the board; a bit more sanding is necessary before I finish it with a rubbing oil. I’m quite happy with how it looks. I am already pondering the next project — a barrister bookcase to hold my modest collection of autographed volumes. I pulled down a October 2000 copy of Wood magazine that contains the plans, from my dusty collection of woodworking magazines.
I am uncertain when the spirit will move to start that project, which is markedly more complicated. But at some point, it will happen, and the table saw will once again be in the driveway.
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