Can I Make Soap?

Over the holidays I decided to learn how to make soap. I know you're asking yourself why? Blame it on my current—temporary—unemployed status, the chance of creating my own "Baby Boom" success story (minus the apples, the baby, the house in Vermont, and the female central character), or just spending too much time in the country. Whatever the reason, I was determined to give it a try. Now anyone who knows me, knows that I can come up with a million and one little projects to occupy my weekends at Trout House (very few of them fun or exciting). But there was something about saopmaking—particularly as a winter endeavor—that just felt right. I started to do a little research and called Ann Marie Craig of Century Farmhouse.

I first met Ann Marie (that's her on the right) at the 2006 Country Living Fair in Chicago, where I discovered her beautiful hand made soaps, purchasing several varieties for myself and for gifts. Ann Marie is a self-taught soap maker who has turned a home-born business into a successful enterprise. All of her soaps are made from fine vegetable oils and natural essential oils. She continues to experiment and perfect the art of her craft and often draws on her surroundings for inspiration and ingredients, like using filtered rainwater or snow, sap tapped from local maple trees, and herbs grown organically in her own garden. To stand in front of her booth at a Fair or farmers market is a delight to the senses with beautifully crafted bars in subtle colorations and the fragrant mix of floral scents and spices. One of my personal Century Farmhouse favorites is the Chai Soap.

Ann Marie couldn't have been more encouraging or more helpful. She suggested book titles to read, web sites to check out, resources to shop, and some personal insights into the craft. She also added some words of caution: Soap making is addictive.

The picture below shows the tools of the trade that I had to gather for my first experiment. If you know nothing about soapmaking—like me—a love of chemistry helps, since every ingredient has to be accurately weighed and measured, you need protective eyewear and rubber gloves to make and handle the lye solution, you need to achieve a common temperature for the base oils and dilluted lye solution before mixing, and, when combined, you need to watch the process of saponification (the solution becoming soap) until it reaches "trace." And then . . . and only then . . . can you add the fragrant oils to the blend and get ready to pour the mixture into a mold.


This morning was D-Day. I followed directions to the "T" and after nearly 30 minutes of continual stiring poured the traced mixture (or what I believed to be the traced mixture) into my make-shift shoe box mold, lined with a heavy duty garbage bag. I now have it covered with blankets and towels to keep it warm and within 24 or 48 hours will have my first batch of soap. Or will I? Stay tuned.

Remade in under $50

This cabinet was left for trash in the courtyard of my apartment building in New York City. As you have learned from my previous posts, I hate to see anything discarded, especially when it takes so little time—and money—to make it new and useful again. Since I felt the cabinet would be great for kitchen storage opening up both cabinet and counter space, I wanted the finished piece to be cheery and practical. In just three steps I was able to transform this discard into a keeper.

Step one: The wood stain finish on the inside of the cabinet was in pretty good shape, but the exterior was well worn. I decided to use a brightly colored floral oilcloth (purchasing two yards at Denver Fabrics for $12.90 plus shipping) to recover the doors and a complementary yellow paint to refinish the outside of the cabinet. After a good hour at The Home Depot I settled on Behr's "Chickadee" #350B-7 Semi-Gloss Enamel (1 Quart for $12.98). I applied a primer and then several coats of paint, lightly sanding between applications.








Step two: One of the door panels was missing the screws that held it to the door frame so I could see how easy it would be to recover the panels and re-assemble to the frames. Since the frames were in good shape and would only be visible when the cabinet was open, I left them in their original stain finish. I stapled the oilcloth covering to the panel, pulling it taught as I worked the stapler.








Two things to consider: You want to make the corners tight, square and flat. To do so, you will need to cut away some of the material and then tuck and fold so that you have a clean finished corner (see above left). Think of how you make a hospital corner when putting sheets on the bed. The second thing to consider is the pattern repeat. I finished one panel and then placed it on top of the remaining oil cloth material. By inserting the second panel adjacent to, but underneath the oilcloth (see above right), I was able to move the panels until I had the perfect pattern alignment.

Step three: The final step was re-attaching the wood frames to the back of the door panels and re-installing hinges. I also opted to get new door pulls and opted for wood ones that I painted to match the outside cabinet. (Twenty-four screws and two unfinished wood knobs totaling $10.96 plus tax.) The finished project is shown below: fresh, fun and functional—all for less than $50.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

For weeks I have been procrastinating on whether or not to rake the leaves that blanket my back yard. I have been busy with other projects (like finishing my checkerboard floor, taking down the screens and washing the windows one last time before winter, and cleaning the porch and barn—another pre-winter ritual.) Truth be told, I was hoping the ground would be covered with snow by now and I wouldn't have to deal with the problem until next spring. But this weekend, I gave in. Afterall, it's the first week of December and temperatures are still in the mid 50s. Clearly I've run out of excuses.

In my mind I always perceive raking leaves to be a zen-like discipline: one that allows you to commune with nature and, by focusing on a simple, repetitive activity, gain a peaceful, calming mind. I feel the same about ironing shirts—something that I have done weekly since my college days—and shoveling snow. But in reality, raking leaves (and shoveling snow) is a lot of work. (I'm still on the fence about ironing—even after all these years!) Unlike my neighbors who enlist their noisy, battery-charged leaf blowers, I have just two options for clearing leaves (...well, three if you count windy days): mowing them into mulch or partnering with an old-fashioned leaf rake. So, armed with a rake, I took to the backyard for some mindful communing with nature.

After an hour or so, I began to fade. I forgot how big the yard was and how steep the incline. And, even once the leaves were raked into rows and piles they still needed to be bagged and discarded—a chore unto itself. Adding insult to injury, I received a call from my sister Kathy midway who informed me that it was snowing in Houston. HOUSTON! Why am I still raking leaves in upstate New York in December? Where is our snow? Defeated, I finished up what I could and left half of the yard unfinished for another day—hopefully a distant day in spring.

Two days later my prayers were answered. The first snow of the season arrived and it was time to retire the leaf rake. Now where did I put that snow shovel?

Great Art for (so much) Less

I visited a friend several years ago and happened upon a gallery that was exhibiting old paint by number paintings. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling and the impact was so striking—and the site of the paintings such an emotional trigger from my youth—that I started to collect the paintings myself. At first, I would be happy just stumbling upon an unexpected discovery. Soon I began looking in earnest, focusing on landscape paintings and scouring flea markets, yard sales, and even Salvation Army and Goodwill stores whenever I travelled. One painting was no longer enough. I started to look for companion paintings (paintings that were originally packaged together with complementing imagery). Before long, I was bidding against other collectors on eBay; crestfallen when paintings I coveted were snatched up in the final seconds of bidding. It was clear, I had not only become a collector, but a paint-by-number addict.

But collecting is only part of the story. The bigger question is what do you do with the things you collect? I decided to create a gallery of my own in the stairwell of Trout House. (You may recall seeing the story in the pages of Country Living Magazine, but the photo shoot was by no means the end of the project.)

When I first mounted the paintings, I decided to use a small, nearly headless, brad nail to tack each corner (see right). I figured if I ever wanted to remove the paintings I could do so without damaging them. I also knew that a frame would conceal the pin-sized hole in the corners should I decide to re-use or resell them. But, after a couple months, the centers of the paintings started to bow. So now my worst fear was realized—I would need to take each painting down and find another solution for mounting. Because the nails had no heads, the only way to remove the paintings was to pull them away from the wall and have the nail go through the backing. I used a pliers to remove the nails afterwards.

Oh, did I mention that I changed the wall color after I hung the paintings the first time and, rather than remove them, painted around each one? I should have known that decision would come back to haunt me (see left). After I re-painted the walls, I tried a double-sided carpet tape to see if that would keep the paintings flat against the wall. But, even the combination of carpet tape and corner nails failed to keep the paintings flat against the wall after a couple months.

So, I removed them again and used a 3M Scotch heavy duty mounting tape that, if you can't find locally, can purchase on Amazon. Today, those paintings are secure. Of course, taking them down now will clearly destroy the paintings. I hope the future owners love the paintings as much as I do.

Chair-lift

I have owned this Harden chair for a good many years. It happens to be one of my favorites and has found a place at one time or another as a side chair in the living room, an accent chair in the bedroom and, on occasion, a rather stylish desk chair. I love the Queen Anne styling and have always found it to be one of the most comfortable seats in the house. But the time had come to give the chair a face-lift or, in this case, a chair-lift.

Although I've tackled minor upholstery before—like changing the seat cushions on a dining room chair—the cost of materials and the challenge of having a tight fit edged with brass nail heads, definitely required a professional. (Luckily, I have someone in a nearby town upstate who was able to do it for $80.) But, first I needed to refinish the wood arms and legs.

By tearing away the original upholstery, I was able to cover the exposed wood frame with a coat of primer and then two coats of the same color paint used on the room's trim. My friend and long-time colleague at Country Living—and arbiter of good taste—Robin Long Mayer, helped me choose a burlap-like (but not burlap-priced) upholstery material and velvet piping to coordinate the chair with the room's decor. And it was off to the upholsterer.

When the chair came back with it's lighter covering, I realized that the finish looked flat and lifeless (see left below). What it needed was a glaze, stain or toner that would enhance the carved details and give it a somewhat antiqued look. I turned to one of my favorite decorative paint sources—Caromal Colours. After taping plastic around the new upholstery, I applied Caromal Colours Toner with cheesecloth to the arms and legs and, after a couple of minutes, removed the excess. As you can see below (right), it provided just the right hint of color and definition.







The only steps left were to apply a coat of wax, buff well, and remove the tape and plastic. The final result—a new look, and oh so stylish lift!

There... in black and white!

A couple weeks ago, I decided to paint the concrete floor in my laundry room. Now, this was by no means a snap decision. The floor was installed with radiant heat two years ago and over the past couple months I vacilated over installing vinyl, stone, or porcelain tiles—all of which are compatible with a radiant heated subfloor. But in the end, I decided to take a simpler, more economical approach. I invested in two gallons of water-based Floor & Porch Paint from Ace Hardware (having them custom color a Canon Ball black) to create a basic black and white checkerboard painted finish.

Since the concrete was never sealed and in an area of the house that would only recieve moderate foot traffic, the only prep I needed to do (according to experts at Ace, Home Depot and Benjamin Moore) was clean thoroughly using a solution of water and ammonia and remove any raised surface irregularities—like drops of paint and drywall—with a scraper, sandpaper or hand-held rotary sander. If you were painting a previously sealed floor, a basement floor where moisture was an issue, or a garage floor where oil and chemical spills might be evident, you would have to consider additional steps like an acid wash to etch the concrete for better paint adherence or an alkyd or oil-based paint for better paint saturation and surface wear.








To create my pattern, I followed the advice of tile installers: finding the center point of the room and radiating the pattern outwards from that point. I was careful to see how the squares would butt to the baseboards as well. Once determined, I used a square and metal ruler to plot out a 16" x 16" grid pattern. To get a clean edge, I taped each square with painters tape. I gave each square three coats of paint, allowing sufficient dry time between coats, before removing the tape. The tricky part is lifting the tape without lifting some of the paint. If anyone has an alternate suggestion on how to get a clean line without applying tape, or a better tape choice, let me know. Although it took time, the floor looks better than I imagined it would. The test will be how well it stands up to foot traffic and cleaning. I'll let you know.

Combing—sort of!

This weekend I decided to refinish a desk/sideboard that I've had for a couple years. The table was downstairs during my renovation and the contractors decided to use it for a tool bench...adding to an already distressed look. I certainly could have stripped the finish and re-applied a coat of stain and wax. But, given the decorating plan for the room, I didn't really want another wood tone, particularly one so large. I also didn't want to just cover it with a coat of paint. The solution was to try my hand at combing.

For those of you who don't know, the paint technique of combing dates back to the early 19th century when artisans and craftsmen would decorate chests, cabinets, and cupboards with amazing comb marks revealing undercoat colors and adding depth to the design. If you have the opportunity to visit museums like Winterthur in Delaware or Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia, or visit a top quality antiques show like the annual New Hampshire Antiques Dealers Show in Manchester, you will see some exquisite—and pricey—examples.








There are specialty combs sold at retail paint stores that offer a variety of options in terms of size and width of teeth. Unforutnately for me, the desk surface was uneven and I needed to find a tool that could be flexible enough to drag across slightly separated boards and uneven surfaces. A feathering comb for hair ended up being the tool of choice. A $2.95 purchase at my local CVS.

The process is simple. After priming the desk, I recoated it with a putty colored, semi-gloss, water-based paint. Once dry, I applied a flat paint in blue and, while still wet, dragged my comb through the finish. Since this is a hand art, perfection is not something you should aspire to. Personally, I like the wavy, uneven lines that decorate my desk. What do you think? By the way, I applied a coat of Liberon Neutral Bison Wax for protection and to give the surface some sheen.