Grandpa Fenn's Workshop Book

Poppy pushed on the big crate. It did not move.

She pushed harder. Still nothing.

Grandpa walked over with a long plank and a short log. He laid the plank across the log. He slid one end under the crate.

Then he leaned on the other end with one finger. The crate lifted.

"How?" asked Poppy.

"The far end moves a long way," said Grandpa. "The near end moves a short way. The long way is where your strength goes."

The loft was high. The sacks of seed were heavy.

Toby tried to carry one up the ladder. He got three rungs and stopped.

Grandpa hung a wheel from the beam and ran a rope over it. Toby pulled down. The sack went up.

Then Grandpa added a second wheel on the sack itself. Now the rope held the sack in two places.

Toby pulled again. It felt half as heavy. But he had to pull twice as much rope.

"Nothing is free," said Grandpa. "You trade a long pull for a light one."

The well was deep. The bucket was full.

Poppy pulled the rope by hand. Her arms shook. The bucket barely moved.

Grandpa fixed a big wheel to the shaft and put a handle on its rim. Poppy turned the handle. The rope wound onto the small axle. The bucket floated up.

"How?" asked Poppy.

"The handle goes a long way," said Grandpa. "The bucket goes a short way. That is where your strength comes from."

The crate was heavy. The loft was high.

Toby wanted to lift it. Grandpa shook his head.

He leaned a long plank against the loft floor. He put his shoulder to the crate and pushed. It rolled up. Slowly. All the way.

"That was easy," said Toby.

"It was long," said Grandpa. "A long way up is a light way up. Short and steep would have flattened you."

Grandpa never wore a watch.

One morning he pushed a stick into the yard and stood back.

"What time is it?" asked Toby.

"Watch the shadow," said Grandpa. At first it pointed far to the west and it was long. By noon it had pulled itself in short. In the afternoon it swung to the east.

The stick had not moved. The Earth had turned.

One rainy day the sun did not come out.

"No shadow," said Toby. "How do we tell the time?"

Grandpa lifted two jars from the shelf. He poked a tiny hole in the bottom of one.

"Count the drips," he said.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The water fell into the lower jar and the level crept up. Poppy marked the glass every minute.

"The marks are closer together at the end," said Toby. He had noticed.

A low hum drifted out of the back room.

Poppy followed it. On the bench sat a long wooden box with three strings.

"Pluck one," said Grandpa.

She did. A bright note rang out and the string blurred.

"It is wiggling," said Poppy.

"Fast," said Grandpa. "Now slide the bridge and make it shorter."

The note climbed higher.

Grandpa set a plank across a post and hung a pan from each end.

"Which is heavier," he asked, "an apple or a brick?"

"The brick," said Toby.

"Prove it."

Toby put the apple in one pan and the brick in the other. The brick side dropped.

"Now," said Grandpa, "how heavy is the brick? Without a number."

Toby thought. Then he started adding things.

Grandpa's screwdriver kept sliding across the bench.

"Something is pulling it," said Poppy.

He lifted the board. Underneath sat a magnet no bigger than a cookie.

"It pulls through wood," said Grandpa. "Watch."

He set a steel ball on top and slid the magnet below. The ball followed. Around the corner. Down the hall. Right to the star.

"Your turn," he said.

On a breezy morning Poppy held up a wet finger.

"The wind is from the west," she said.

Grandpa grinned. He wheeled out a little tower with four cloth sails.

"Then we will put it to work."

He turned the tower to face the wind. The sails shivered. Then they turned. Slowly at first, then faster, until the little lamp on the post began to glow.

"Where does the light come from?" asked Poppy.

"From the air," said Grandpa.

There was a log by the woodpile that would not split.

Toby swung the mallet at a thin iron wedge. Tap. Tap. Tap. Slowly the crack crept down the grain.

"Try the wide one," said Grandpa.

Toby did. Two taps and the log fell open. But his arms felt every one.

"Thin means less push and a longer drive," said Grandpa. "Wide means a short drive and a harder push. Everything is a trade."

A bluebird landed on the far side of the garden wall.

Toby stood on his toes. He could not see it.

"Light goes in straight lines," said Grandpa. "The wall stops it. So we will give it a corner to turn."

He took two small mirrors and set them in a long box, one high and one low.

Toby put his eye to the bottom window. And there it was. A bluebird on a branch, as plain as day.

In the corner of the workshop hung a small brass weight on a string.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"It never hurries," said Poppy.

"And it never slows down," said Grandpa. "Pull it back a little. Pull it back a lot. One swing takes the same time."

Poppy tried it. She counted. He was right.

"Now shorten the string," he said.

On a breezy afternoon Toby ran across the field with a kite and a ball of string.

It rose. It wobbled. Then it spun and dived into the grass.

"Too much wind," said Grandpa. "And no tail."

He tied a ribbon with a few red bows to the bottom. Toby ran again.

This time the kite climbed and stayed. It leaned into the wind like it knew exactly what to do.

Grandpa opened a wooden box. Inside were wheels with little teeth around the edge.

"Gears," said Poppy.

He set a big one on a peg and a small one beside it. When Poppy turned the big one, the small one turned too. The other way. And twice as fast.

"Why twice?" she asked.

"Count the teeth," said Grandpa.

Fog came in over the harbor one evening. Grandpa lit a lamp on the little island.

"I can barely see it," said Poppy.

He set a big curved piece of glass in front of the flame. The light pulled into a narrow beam and swept across the water.

"Now I see it," she said. "A flash. And another."

"Light does not get stronger," said Grandpa. "A lens just stops wasting it."

The rain barrel was full to the brim. Grandpa did not lift it.

He filled a clear tube with water, pinched the ends, and set one end in the barrel. The other end went into a pail on the ground.

The water climbed up and over the rim of the barrel. Then it ran down the tube and into the pail.

"How?" asked Toby.

"Gravity pulls the long side," said Grandpa. "The rest follows."

Grandpa spread a red and yellow cloth across the whole yard. It took all morning to sew.

"It looks like a very large quilt," said Toby.

"Wait," said Grandpa.

A fan pushed air into the cloth. Then a burner roared. The cloth swelled into a great round shape and tugged at its ropes.

"Hot air is lighter than cool air," said Grandpa. "So up it goes."

A long wire ran from the workshop to the barn. Poppy followed it with her hand along the poles.

At the workshop end sat a little brass key. Grandpa tapped it. Far off in the barn something went click.

"One click is not much," he said. "But a short click and a long click make a code."

He tapped it again. Short. Short. Short. Short.

"That is the letter H," said Toby.

On the last day of summer Flicker bumped the workshop table.

A marble rolled down a board. It hit a bouncer. It flew onto a teeter board. The far end swung up and rang a little bell.

Grandpa laughed so hard he had to sit down.

"One thing pushes the next," he said. "That is a chain reaction. Every machine is just a chain of small pushes."

Then he handed Poppy a marble and a pile of parts. "Ring the bell," he said. "Any way you like."