A few days ago, I was working in my little woodshop. The chainsaw roared to life, its deafening noise sending wood shavings flying everywhere; the sander hummed incessantly as soon as I picked it up. These tools are indeed fast and effortless to use. But I suddenly paused and wondered: How did people hundreds of years ago, without electricity or machinery, make furniture? How did they craft a chair or a cabinet, piece by piece?
I’m no history expert, nor am I some master craftsman. But I started to wonder—were those people back then exceptionally skilled? What tools did they rely on? How long did it take? Were the things they made sturdy?
So, I decided to try it myself. I wanted to compare: make a stool using methods from hundreds of years ago, then make an identical stool using my current methods. See just how big the difference really is.
My Mission: Build Two Identical Stools
My plan was straightforward:
- For the first stool, use only medieval hand tools. No electricity, no modern machinery.
- For the second stool, use all my usual power tools—whatever was most convenient.
- Finally, compare: the time spent, the process, and the final result.
It sounds simple, but doing it revealed just how difficult it truly is.
What do medieval tools look like? I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time I saw them.
To recreate medieval methods, I first needed their tools. Without an ancient blacksmith to forge iron for me, I turned to a friend who specializes in ancient lifestyles and collects replicas of old tools. He lent me several items:
- A large handsaw: Heavy, with uneven teeth resembling a beast’s jaws.
- A wooden mallet: Just a thick log used for striking chisels or splitting wood.
- A scraper: Curved blade with a wooden handle, rough to the touch.
- Several chisels: Thick iron blades with wooden handles, lacking modern metal reinforcement.
- A side axe: Specifically for carving wood, with a slanted blade that looked dangerous.
- An old-fashioned hand plane: Entirely wooden with an embedded iron blade, no adjustment screws—just feel.
- And a large hammer: far heavier than I imagined. The moment I picked it up, I knew this was no toy.
These tools have no plastic, no rubber grips, no safety switches. They’re simply combinations of wood and iron—seemingly simple, yet demanding extreme caution when used. One careless move could easily injure you.
Building a Bench the Old-Fashioned Way Taught Me What “Exhaustion to the Point of Collapse” Means
I started with a single log. Thick and heavy, it needed to be split into sections for the bench legs.
Step One: Splitting Wood
I began splitting with a side axe and mallet. I thought brute force would suffice, but it wasn’t that simple. The axe kept slipping, either cutting crookedly or only chipping off tiny pieces. After several attempts, I barely managed to split four roughly equal-length logs. I wasted a lot of wood, and my hands were drenched in sweat.
Step Two: Rough Shaping
Next, I needed to smooth the wood’s surface. I started by chiseling with the side axe, then slowly planed it with a hand plane. That plane was incredibly heavy—pushing it required my entire body’s strength. Plus, the blade dulled easily, forcing me to stop every few minutes to sharpen it. Even more troublesome was the uneven result: the surface ended up bumpy, with high spots and low spots, looking pitted and uneven.
Step Three: Cutting to Length
I needed to saw the legs to uniform length using that large handsaw. The process was painstakingly slow—“push-pull-push-pull.” Sawing one leg took nearly ten minutes, leaving my arms aching afterward. The cut edges weren’t straight either, ending up crooked and uneven.
Step Four: Making the Joints (Mortise and Tenon)
This was the hardest part. Medieval furniture used no nails, relying instead on mortise and tenon joints—where one piece of wood fits into a hole in another.
First, I marked the wood with a knife (no pencils back then). Then I carefully carved the mortise holes with a chisel and mallet.Each hammer strike required precise force control to prevent splitting. Carving one mortise took over half an hour, followed by repeated trial fittings and adjustments if it didn’t fit.
After finishing the mortise, I carved the tenon. This involved meticulous shaping with a knife, then smoothing with a scraper. Without sandpaper, everything was hand-finished. Each joint required multiple trials to achieve a perfect fit.
Step Five: Crafting the Seat
The seat required carving a curved shape for comfort. I first roughly shaped it with an axe, then meticulously carved it with a chisel. This step was particularly time-consuming and exhausting. After a full day, I had only carved half of it.
It took me five full days to complete the first stool.
It was indeed functional and sturdy. But visually… it was far from beautiful. The surface was uneven, the legs slightly crooked, and the joints didn’t align perfectly. Yet it was made entirely by my hands—hammer and saw. Touching it, I could feel every chisel mark, every impact of the hammer.
In that moment, it suddenly dawned on me: Ancient carpenters weren’t just “producing” furniture—they were “creating” things. Every piece carried their sweat and time.
Switching to Modern Tools: Making the Second Stool Was Like Having Cheat Codes
After two days of rest, I started on the second stool. This time, I used modern power tools.
Step 1: Cutting the Wood
I bought pre-planed boards (a bit of cheating, but it saved time). One pull of the miter saw produced a leg. Four legs, done in under a minute. The cuts were straight and clean.
Step 2: Sanding the Surface
The thickness planer smoothed the boards in seconds. A pass with the electric sander left the surface mirror-like. The whole process took under ten minutes.
Step 3: Making the Mortise and Tenon Joints
I marked the lines precisely with a marking gauge and square. A dedicated machine drilled mortise holes in seconds, all perfectly uniform.Tenon heads are cut with a table saw—one clean cut ensures perfect fit. All four joints are completed within half an hour.
Step 4: Crafting the Seat
Outline the seat with a band saw, then shape its curve using a track sander. Twenty minutes later, it’s perfectly contoured with a smooth finish.
Step 5: Assembly
Apply glue, clamp in place, and let dry.
From start to finish, it took just one and a half days. The finished stools: all four legs the same length, smooth surfaces, tight joints—they look like store-bought.
Two stools side by side—the difference is stark
I placed them in the living room, facing each other.
- First one (handmade): Slightly crooked, rough, but every cut is visible. It feels warm to the touch, almost alive.
- Second one (power-tooled): Perfect, clean, machine-made. But it feels a bit “cold,” like something’s missing.
Here are the key differences I’ve identified
1. Muscle Power vs. Electric Power
Medieval woodworking relied entirely on physical strength. Every cut, every hammer blow, was powered by human effort. Making a stool wasn’t just a technical task—it was hard physical labor. Modern woodworking? Machines do the heavy lifting. You press a button, and electricity handles the rest.
2. Precision vs. Character
Modern tools achieve extreme accuracy. Cut to any length with sub-millimeter tolerance. Medieval methods, however, inevitably introduce slight variations. These “imperfections” imbue furniture with a “human touch.” Each piece becomes unique, not mass-produced.
3. Different Skill Focuses
Ancient carpenters had to deeply understand wood. They knew which sides were prone to splitting, how to cut along the grain, when to tap gently, and when to apply force. Their skills were “feel” and “experience.”
Modern carpenters? They’re more adept at operating machines, adjusting settings, and ensuring safety. Physical demands are lower, but technical knowledge is more complex.
4. Time Costs Differ Vastly
My first stool took five days; the second, just a day and a half. For a cabinet or table, ancient methods might take months, while modern ones could be finished in a weekend.
My Final Reflection
This experiment changed my perspective.
I used to think modern tools represented “progress” while ancient methods were “backward.” But I no longer see it that way.
Medieval carpenters weren’t inefficient—they used time and their bodies to ‘converse’ with the wood. Each piece carried their breath and rhythm. Modern carpentry feels more like “task execution”—fast, precise, high-volume.
Which stool do I prefer now? Honestly, I favor the crooked, handcrafted one. It’s imperfect, but it’s real. Every time I see it, I recall the sweat, the blisters, and that deep satisfaction of “finally, it’s done.”
I won’t abandon power tools either. They’re undeniably convenient. But going forward, I want to tackle more projects using only hand tools. Perhaps a small box, or a spoon.
It’s not about nostalgia, but about rediscovering that—the feeling of creating something with my own hands.
After all, people don’t just need furniture that “gets the job done”; they also need things with a story.
