003 – I’pe and Sycamore Tea Box (11/2025)

As it so often goes, at least with me, this project is the direct result of an impulse purchase – inspiration bit me with the call of the grain.  A small board in the exotic section of my local hardwood supplier.  Something dark – reddish and chocolatey – merely 5 inches by 32 inches at ½” inch thick, it was surprisingly heavy when I slid it from behind another board of a species I was not sure I could pronounce.  This one – I’pe.  A name with punctuation.  And, if I am honest, one I am not sure I had ever seen worked with.  

With no plan, I hauled it to the checkout, along with other pieces you can see below, resting in my garage shop.  It sat for a short time, leaning against the shop door, before it was time for me to make the first cut and pass the point of no return. And, as I so often do, I used the golden ratio to inform the choices of where the place the cuts.  

The Golden Ratio is 1:1.618… If you’re not interested in a brief math lesson, move on to the next paragraph.  Otherwise, hold on while we delve into the wild world of irrational numbers.   The golden ratio is akin to the fibonacci sequence, where each number is the sum of the previous two numbers.  In this case, the ratio is written as the sum of a and b, divided by a, also being equal to a divided by b.  The irrationality of it means that the decimal representation of the number never stops passed the decimal place – it continues on forever (see the note in the next paragraph).  This entire explanation of brought to you by my limited understanding a read of the Wikipedia article, here. To use the golden ratio in box making, I take the entire usable length of the board, and divide that number in half.  Then, I divide that number by 1.62, and that gives me the length of the small side of the box.  For this project, 32” / 2 = 16”. 16” / 1.62 = 9.877” & 6.123”.   

I was and continue to be struck by the juxtaposition of the ratio continuing forever passed the decimal place, and how small the board was, relatively speaking.  Once the mitered corners were cut, I had to decide how to make a top and bottom for it, and out of what.  Well, in an instant that justifies holding on to every scrap and left over piece of material, I had a section of quarter-sawn Sycamore with a lovely dense speckling grain pattern of the smallest checkerboard and tartan.  I was pleased with the stark contrast between the two species, and appreciated the how the speckling grain in the Sycamore bridged the lighters areas of itself with the color of the Ipe. 

So, I put the mitered carcass aside to focus on the sycamore.  It was far too thick at ¾” to make a suitable top and bottom for the relatively small box I was making.  But, I could cut a section down to a couple inches wide, and resaw it on my new second-hand bandsaw, which is exactly what I did.  Doing so, I was able to achieve a wabi-sabi quasi bookmatched bottom.  Dado the walls, and Bob’s your uncle.  

The top, however, posed a new problem.  I felt compelled to elevate the top with a more statement focused piece – an opportunity knocked.  You recall the warmer color of the speckling I mentioned earlier?  The pieces of Sycamore that I had left after forming the bottom, still at ¾”, was imperfect if I were looking for only that cool speckling grain.  It had a thick band of darker sapwood, as is often the case with quartersawn wood approaching the riftsawn areas, and for it, I had an idea.  If my idea failed, it would be a good learning experience, but if it worked, it would be good learning experience.  I clamped the piece down to my workbench and with great cluelessness, used a small bowl-bit chucked in my palm router to carve troughs into the top of the board, leaving high sections cresting, reminiscent of pond ripples, or a high vantage point view of lapping waves.  The problem with this approach is that the board is essentially still ¾” thick.  To combat this, I chose to dado the walls again, roughly 3/8th of an inch wide, and 3/8th of an inch in.  Then, put those wavey troughs face down on the table saw, and cut about half an inch off, leaving a lip I can inset into the newly cut dado, leaving the decorative top sitting proud of the walls. 

Glue. 

Once out of the clamps, I spent some time looking over the monolithic box.  Frankly, I was no super pleased with the glue-up.  While I can embrace wabi-sabi, I do not want to have to.  All I could see was the gaps, and slips caused by the long work time of the glue I was using and the uneven clamping pressure (I’m sure).  Frankly, after a while of looking it over, I began to wonder if it would hold up.  Eventually, I chose to venture passed another point of no return, and add splines to the miters. 

Build a spline jig. 

Use the spline jig. 

I felt that the project was too small to warrant an introduction of a third wood.  So, the remaining pieces of Sycamore were cut into thin strips to fill the splines – one in the lid and one the box body. 

Cut the lid off. 

Finally, the last phase of any project is sanding and finishing.  I am a proponent of working the sanding for boxes into the work described above.  Hand sanding is tedious and cramp inducing.  I am not a hand-tool purist; I use electricity.  So, before anything gets glued up, I make sure to run the sander over the inside faces at least, with a spray of water to lift the grain.  This cuts down on the difficult small-space work of hand sanding the inside of a project. 

For finishing, I chose Tung Oil.  While some folks will point out that it warms the wood and may amber the tone, I have come to be fine with that, often preferring the warmth. 

Warning. 90’s infomercial tagline inbound.  But, wait, there’s more. 

The astute among you may have noticed that there was no description of any mechanism to keep the lid on the box.  I have something for that.  Between the glue up and the oil finish, it occurred to me what the use case of this little box might be.  While I am an ardent coffee drinker, a dear friend of mine only drinks tea.  This little box could functions as a decorative tea box for someone’s favorite daily-driver tea.  With the small bits and offcuts of Sycamore, I fashioned a small removable tray that would have its upper edges sit proud of the body of the box, and nest into the recess of the lid, to keep it in place. A decorative curve in the sides of the tray, and round loop pull in the middle gives a divider to keep two kinds of team – maybe a morning and nighttime, or one side my friend and their spouse’s favorites.