No One Whittles Anymore

Spade

Ace Poster
Nov 18, 2008
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Aether Island
Everyone had a jack knife. When we weren't making whistles from the willow branches along the river, we were whittling strips from sticks we would pick up in the vacant lots. It was great fun - high culture for us prairie boys. But, sadly, no one whittles anymore.

Why? Maybe it's immigration? Them furners never whittled.
 

gopher

Hall of Fame Member
Jun 26, 2005
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Minnesota: Gopher State
as a kid I tried to whittle but always bungled every project I tried







seems like there were dozens of books on the subject back then but none worked for me, sad to say :-(
 

gopher

Hall of Fame Member
Jun 26, 2005
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Minnesota: Gopher State
There was a time when young boys would be given Swiss army knives for their birthdays and those could be used for whittling. Today in this era of political correctness such things are viewed as too violent and nobody gives them to their sons anymore. Maybe that's why the hobby is no longer done.
 

Spade

Ace Poster
Nov 18, 2008
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Aether Island
In spring, we'd cut sheets of bark off the birches and with a few whittled gunwhales and thwarts we would make small canoes,. We'd sail them in the swift meltwater flowing in the ditches, through culverts, to the outskirts where the meadowlarks watched from fence posts.
.

There was a time when young boys would be given Swiss army knives for their birthdays and those could be used for whittling. Today in this era of political correctness such things are viewed as too violent and nobody gives them to their sons anymore. Maybe that's why the hobby is no longer done.

We would play mumble-de-peg by the hour. A knife was pocket jewellery.
 

gopher

Hall of Fame Member
Jun 26, 2005
21,513
65
48
Minnesota: Gopher State
In spring, we'd cut sheets of bark off the birches and with a few whittled gunwhales and thwarts we would make small canoes,. We'd sail them in the swift meltwater flowing in the ditches, through culverts, to the outskirts where the meadowlarks watched from fence posts.
.



Wow! I had forgotten that we used to make little boats out of tree barks and put them on the water in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. Of course, my creations did not sail too far unless it was under the surface - but at least I tried!
 

Dexter Sinister

Unspecified Specialist
Oct 1, 2004
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Regina, SK
But, sadly, no one whittles anymore.
Hey, *I* do. I never go anywhere without a jacknife in my right front pocket, except when I'm flying somewhere, then it's in my checked baggage, but as soon as I get where I'm going it's back where it belongs. It's one of the smaller Swiss Army knives, big blade, small blade, bottle opener, can opener, cork screw, awl, file, screwdriver, and tiny scissors. Never know when you might have to open a heavily taped package, or break into one of those over-packaged bits of tech gear in a hard bubble wrap...or stab somebody. :) I don't think I've ever been on a shoreline where I didn't idly pick up some piece of driftwood and start whittling at it. I've even bought expensive power tools to take whittling to another level. Table saw, band saw, mitre saw, jointer, planer, lathe, they're all in my garage, and they're all about making shapes in wood that please me. And that's whittling.
 

Tecumsehsbones

Hall of Fame Member
Mar 18, 2013
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Washington DC
Whittle a lot. Once, in a fit of native pride, I chipped out a stone knife and whittled with that. Gave me a real appreciation of steel. Now I whittle with. . . a stone knife (well, technically zirconium oxide).
 

Spade

Ace Poster
Nov 18, 2008
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Aether Island
scrimshaw is down too

Maybe not along the Ivory Coast. And, ever since coal-oil lamps disappeared, girls don't sit quietly in the evening embroidering doilies. Sad that.

Back to whittling. When I was three, my grandfather gave me a hatchet. I would pick up old brick in the yard that had tumbled off the chimney. Sitting on the stoop, I would chip away at the brick reducing it to orange powder. Nearly chopped off a finger when I missed a small piece of brick I was holding. Great fun, Lots of blood. Still proud of the scar.
 

Tecumsehsbones

Hall of Fame Member
Mar 18, 2013
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Back to whittling.
Great, let's get back to whittling.

When I was three, my grandfather gave me a hatchet. I would pick up old brick in the yard that had tumbled off the chimney. Sitting on the stoop, I would chip away at the brick reducing it to orange powder. Nearly chopped off a finger when I missed a small piece of brick I was holding. Great fun, Lots of blood. Still proud of the scar.
Or not. Whatever.
 

EagleSmack

Hall of Fame Member
Feb 16, 2005
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USA
Back to whittling. When I was three, my grandfather gave me a hatchet. I would pick up old brick in the yard that had tumbled off the chimney. Sitting on the stoop, I would chip away at the brick reducing it to orange powder. Nearly chopped off a finger when I missed a small piece of brick I was holding. Great fun, Lots of blood. Still proud of the scar.

Extreme Whittling.