#knap-bottle

[thestonedknifeman]

Glass bottles with refilling prohibited or unlawful to refill embossed shows that the grass was made somewhere between 1935 to 1964. There's some bottles kept this Mark up until 1970s

Please if you knap don't break these bottles. If you find them like this one that are already broken then yeah make all the arrowheads you want!

This knap time tip was brought to you by historic distillers and bootleggers everywhere.

#flint knapping #glass bottles

[micewithknives]

Top 5 artifacts that you've found personally

Honestly, I haven’t found a LOT that would technically qualify as “interesting” but I’ll give it a go. In no particular order:

1. Part of a porcelain doll (probably late 19th century) she had shoelaces painted on her boots and I thought they were adorable

2. A knapped glass scraper artefact made out of the base of a 19th century wine bottle

3. Grindstones. I love finding grindstones.

4. A basalt axe blank/part of an axe

5. Not technically an artefact, but in situ knapping floors just kinda hit something right

#archaeology #ask

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forgotten Lessons XIII

Masterlist

Sad girl summer 😪

Warnings: noncon, age gap, abuse of power, coercion. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

The train arrives after midnight. The town you grew up in is as sleepy as ever, the platform dusted in a layer of unattended snow. You step off with your canvas duffel and knap sack into the lazy drift of winter. It doesn't feel like Christmastime. 

You're the sole passenger to disembark, not unusual for the tiny stopover. You glance around. The benches are empty but for the blanket of flakes and the station is dark, closed for the night. You go to one and kick off the snow, putting your bag down as you dial your phone with frigid fingers.

You hold the speaker to your ear and wait, breath foggy and frosty as it passes your lips. You wait as the tone rolls over and over. A beep, voicemail. You shake your head. It can't be. She wouldn't forget. Not again.

You try a second time, a third, fourth, and fifth. You take your duffel and go around the front and look out at the barren lot. She's not there either but she might be on her way. She's coming for you. You just talked to her that morning.

You shiver and pull on your knitted mitts, pacing to keep warm, but also out of restlessness. You had lies ready, if your mother bothers to ask. 'I think I did great on my finals' or 'I'll make it up second semester'. 

An hour and you're shaking uncontrollably. You shake the snow from your scarf and rewind it. You don't know why you came home. Your mother barely noticed when you lived there for eighteen years. She was always off with some mysterious man or down at the wine bar with her girlfriends.

You're a disappointment. If anything, a bothersome blip in her existence. She would be better off without a child but for the first ten years of your life, you were a cute little doll to dress up. After that, you grew awkward and unattractive. She didn't stop you from covering it up.

You resign yourself to walking. You knew the moment you got off the train and she wasn't there she wouldn't come. It hurts but it could be worse. You're used to it.

You follow the road and turn off down the shortcut behind the laundromat. Up the small hill and down another street, towards the suburbs. You know these streets well, how many times did you walk them alone? Just like this.

Your front door remains as the rest of the town. Unchanged. Not like you. You've been intrinsically fractured. You dig out your key and let yourself in. You hear her snoring on the couch in the haze of the amber shaded lamp.

The wine bottle is empty as you put your cold hand to her hot cheek. You leave her. She's never in a good mood after drinking, not as the haze fades away. You go upstairs and slowly push open your bedroom door.

Inside, the scene stuns you. You drop your bag and stare. It's empty. The walls are painted over and there's tins on the floor, rollers dried and strewn about. Not a piece of you is left. 

Your eyes wet. There's nowhere in this world you belong. You suck back the tears and close the door. You flick the light off and use that of your phone to find your way to the corner. You push the cans out of the way and pull a sweater out of your bag, using your knapsack as a lumpy pillow. 

You curl into a ball and shiver. Did you expect anything more? It's all meaningless. School, home, living.

💚

"Oh honey, did you take a cab?" Your mother asks as she finds you waiting on the kettle in the kitchen.

Her face is puffy with her hangover, her voice croaky and dry. You force a smile. Lie. That's what people do.

"Yes," you answer, you won't mention you spent all your money on the train because she never bought the ticket like she promised. 

"I'm so sorry, I must have fallen asleep," she comes to you and squeezes your shoulder. You see her hesitate. When you were a girl, she'd kiss your cheeks and call you pretty, now she seems pained to just be around you. "Honey, can you make me some coffee while you're at it?"

"Yes, mom," you reply, another sort of lie. The kind where you pretend you're okay.

You go about filling the tank and loading the filter. You hit start as the kettle whistles. You poor the piping water over a bag to steep. She grumbles and you turn to face her as she smiles at her phone.

"Did you meet any cute boys? Eh? Oh, you're old enough to come down to the bar with me!"

Your nostrils flare. Professor Laufeyson isn't exactly a boy and that was just a joke. You shake your head.

"I've been studying--"

"Oh, but college is for getting wild, isn't it?" She trills, "when I was your age, oh, the boys I met... the things we did. Not like they don't still come around. I met this looker last week-- Twenty-three, can you believe it?"

Her lipstick is smeared around her lips. You wonder if she went to the bar last night, came home when she got nothing more than an overpriced cocktail. You purse your lips and shrug.

"So cute," she goes on.

No remorse, no apology for leaving you out in the cold. If she even thinks of it. She probably doesn't even realise. 

"Oh! Your room!" She grasps her head as she moves too quickly, "of course. Well, you see, I had an idea. I'm going to have a balcony built on the outside and turn it into a sunroom. Now you're out of the house-- I don't think you'll be back. You've got three years ahead of you, I'm sure you'll find a husband to take care of you--"

"I don't want a husband," you say, "but... I won't come back."

You take the milk out of the fridge and pour some in your tea. Then you grab the cream and mix your mother's coffee, bringing it to her out of habit. You don't mention that she hasn't put up the tree. No bother, just like you.

"Nonsense, you don't want a man? To take care of you? If you put in a bit of effort, I'm sure you'd hook one. And maybe smile, hmm? Come on, honey, you need a man to hold you tight and tell you sweet things--"

"You don't got one neither," you blurt out, clapping your hand over your mouth. You back up and shake your head, slipping your palm down, "I'm sorry, I--"

She scoffs and takes a gulp of her tea, bitterness burning in her scowl, "well, aren't you the precious little virgin? Rubbing it in? Tight little thing like you should be enjoying her youth. You take it all for granted. Not like me, I popped you out and you ruined everything--"

"Mommy, please," you beg, "I didn't mean it."

You hate when she's like this. When she turns cruel. It's easier to make her happy, to tell her what she wants to hear.

"Mommy, I'm sorry. You're right. I'm... pathetic."

She exhales and curls her lip, "don't be dramatic, alright? I didn't raise you to be such a..." she mutters but you don't know what she says. "I'm hungover, darling..." that word freezes you, you remember it in another voice. His. "Just gimme some time to get myself together."

"Yes, mom," you hold your tea snug, trying to absorb some of the warmth, "maybe we can go see the lights tonight?"

"Not tonight," she retorts quickly, "ladies have some plans. Some spicy egg nog and maybe a bit more, eh?"

She cackles, once more putting on that act. The carefree cougar sharpening her claws. You're a kitten, a stray at the road side. You're unwanted.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #bucky barnes #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #forbidden lessons #mcu #marvel #professor!loki #professor!bucky

[streetl4mp]

when the end of this all comes you will look to the bushcraft hipsters and the native craftspeople to teach you how to flint-knap old glass bottles into arrowheads

#anarchism

[depressiontribe]

The unique shape of our bottles are based on a series of flint knapped hand axes from Norfolk in the United Kingdom. Stone tools like these have been used by mankind for over a million years and are one of our longest used and most ubiquitous design objects. Neandertal stoneware bottles are slip cast using these flint knapped hand axes, then fired and vitrified at over 1400 °C in the kiln. Neandertal glass bottles are created using state-of-the-art laser 3D scanning and printing technology. Each of our 90ml stoneware bottles is uniquely numbered digitally using an NFC chip to ensure its provenance. Scan your bottle using the Neandertal App on iPhone or any NFC-enabled Android device to see more information. #neandertalperfume #sectsshop (at Orchard Road) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgWGdgEOqWT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#neandertalperfume #sectsshop

[thestonedknifeman]

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming: tips for a life Outdoors

Tip 1 as soon as you go outside the realm of thinking about knapping there is a mandatory blood sacrifice to be paid to the ancestral grandfathers have a box of Band-Aids on hand. Tip 2 On the Mosin scale glass obsidian Church and Flint all fall within the range somewhere around 7. This makes glass a nice practice or alternative material due to the fact of its easy to acquire its abundance and cheap. Anything from bottle bottoms mirrors to window panes and plate glass. Even porcelains and Ceramics are knappable.

Tip 3 spralling beer bottle bottoms. I like to use a steel punch but you can use pretty much whatever you want or Rock bolt in he's got enough weight to pop the bottom when it impacts the bottom of the bottle. Essentially you hold the percussion tool between your thumb and the lip of the bottle opening in a downward motion you let go of the punch to slam into the bottom of the bottle this can also be done with cavitation of water/ liquid rather than a percussion tool

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming

#bushcraft #historical replicas #history #ways of survival #art of bushcraft #flint knapping #knapping #stone tools #outdoors #outdoorlife #ways of old #experimental archaeology #education #knowledge is the best survival gear #survival #crafts #art #my art

[dark-woods]

The Remembering

In dawn's hour, sun breaks on the West Hills, Mount Hood rising behind the temple like a distant father. 

Mist sleeps in the river where you await the tribe's return, on the east bank of the Willamette, knapping a blade from a broken bottle. 

Then, the boats begin to emerge from the river fog.

Soundlessly, they glide toward you with perfect cohesion, the morning's catch strung from the Umiak. 

The master mariner signals to ready the ropes, his weathered hand speaking for him.

Now, sweet cedar smoke is conjured from a fire board, and a clear horn rings across the deep waters, carrying a single note throughout the valley.

A child on the river bank raises her tinder bundle to the sky and from her lips draws flame.

She stands at the edge of the beach, the water lapping over her bare feet, and the sand sifting from place to place with the tide.

And she greets the boat, its carved hallow holding mariners, one with her sandy hair in a bandanna, another with a grizzly beard, his old tattoos woven into his face. 

They greet each other, and then greet you. Shaking hands is a thing of the past, instead you are siblings, exchanging an embrace. 

The east side of the forgotten city is no longer marred with buildings.

The city is hardly there at all, only traces left between the forests. The cedars and the hemlocks, the village and the stories. 

The day is new, and the people have returned to the valley.

#trackers #trackers earth #portland #cascadia #realms of cascadia #trackers northwest #oregon #chinook #rangers #wilders #artisans #mariners #writing #poem #poetry #realms #ecotopia #camp trackers

[inthecityofgoodabode]

The Life & Times Of Gray Squirrels & Other Sights

I was spotted: 

Today’s backyard garden harvest: 

I moved material between all three of our compost bins & I found some treasure. I’ve watched videos of guys knapping arrowheads out of bottle bottoms like this one on Youtube. I’m not that skilled: 

Young gray squirrel: 

I say ‘young’ because an adult squirrel wouldn’t have froze up & let me get this close. This is probably one of this year’s batch so its the equivalent of a teenager: 

But even adult gray squirrels make bad decisions. For those who don’t know, the teeth of rodents are always growing so they chew on stuff to keep them worn down to prevent them from becoming life threatening to the animal. Unfortunately, this squirrel decided to chew on a utility line & electrocuted itself. I’ve seen this several times in my lifetime & I’m surprised it didn’t knock the power out: 

They aren’t as flash as flowers but I love when our ferns are doing well: 

The Scarlet Emperor pole beans have blossomed all season and attracted hummingbirds, bees & other pollinators but haven’t produced a single bean: 

Lemon balm coming up where it wasn’t intentionally planted. I chewed the top half and dropped the bottom half in the compost bin: 

Banana pepper blossom. Nothing fancy but there is something elegant about the form: 

Petunia pod spilling its seed: 

I noticed someone in the neighborhood had put some cane on the curb so collected four and trimmed them up into proper poles. We might use them as stakes for plants, punji sticks or whatever the remainder of 2020 &, eventually, 2021 call for: 

The fragrant tea olive is just starting to bloom (These blossoms aren’t open yet) but we can already smell them when we come out the backdoor. The fragrance reminds me if apricots with a slight herbiness. Here in the Midsouth, they have a big Autumn bloom and a smaller Spring bloom:

Silverback waiting for me to come back outside. The photo isn’t out of focus... the glass on our backdoor is just in need of a good cleaning: 

#birds #mourning dove #flowers #crepe myrtle #garden #gardening #vegetable garden #vegetable gardening #homegrown vegetables #habanero peppers #cayenne peppers #found items #tiny stones #bit of broken glass #gray squirrel #electrocuted squirrel #fern #scarlet emperor #pole bean blossoms #lemon balm #banana pepper blossom #thread-waisted wasp #rose #new dawn rose #petunia #petunia seeds #butterfly #skipper butterfly #silver-spotted skipper #jumping spider

[weirdponytail]

I made myself a pretty good leg pad for my flint knapping, but now that I’ve started practicing on glass bottle bottoms instead of keokuk I’ve noticed that uh...yeah every time I pressure flake I get stabbed by the pieces that have managed to embed in the hand pad. 

I think a few glove fingers are in order.

#adventures of ket #wild ket

[depressiontribe]

The unique shape of our bottles are based on a series of flint knapped hand axes from Norfolk in the United Kingdom. Stone tools like these have been used by mankind for over a million years and are one of our longest used and most ubiquitous design objects. Neandertal stoneware bottles are slip cast using these flint knapped hand axes, then fired and vitrified at over 1400 °C in the kiln. Neandertal glass bottles are created using state-of-the-art laser 3D scanning and printing technology. Each of our 90ml stoneware bottles is uniquely numbered digitally using an NFC chip to ensure its provenance. Scan your bottle using the Neandertal App on iPhone or any NFC-enabled Android device to see more information. #neandertalperfume #sectsshop (at Orchard Road) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgWGRlBuNEa/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#neandertalperfume #sectsshop

[wick-de-la-vela]

Backstage Good Omens AU Character Meta

@pomrania I hope you enjoy this as much as I have :3

This was going to be an everything post, but I think just the character meta alone is good for now, and there may be more to come,, or maybe an actual fic,,, who knows

The angels are our actors, always in "the Light", while the demons are techies, dressed in black to blend in with the perpetual darkness. 

Beelzebub is the stage manager, perpetually holding a coffee cup and muttering instructions into their com. There are bags under their eyes. They're incredibly no-nonsense, always scowling, but they know how to whip their techs into shape, and shit always gets done when it needs to, even on the most shoestring of shoestring budgets. 

Gabriel is that one male lead that thinks he's God's gift to man when he was really only cast because there were like three guys that auditioned and he was one of the more Bearable. He's really good at projecting, and he conflates that with being a good actor, even though he's got Stage Voice Disease and he's got it bad. His movements and expressions are always just a bit too stilted, like he has trouble remembering how to act like a human being on stage. Loves the Sound of Music (obviously).

Dagon is props master I think, in charge of writing notes and making purchases and getting shit done. She lives for lecturing the actors on "prop"er etiquette (heh), and when things get left out, she'll hide them. The actor can either beg to get it back, or they can go onstage holding an imaginary wine bottle or revolver or whatever. 

Uriel loves playing stoic characters, and she has a knack for stage makeup. In the dressing room, when Lucy is too busy, she's the one everyone goes to in order to get age lines or contouring or what have you. She especially loves Weird makeup, from ghost/undead stuff to colorful shimmery fairy stuff. 

Ligur is Master Carpenter. He may not look it, but he's awfully meticulous. He's had to be ever since he lost a finger in a table saw accident a few years back. Now, he delights in terrifying anyone that crosses his path, except Hastur. He's never really been able to terrify Hastur. 

Michael loves, I repeat, LOVES stage combat. They're a master of knaps, and they can make any slap, punch, shove, or hair pull look realistic. They've taken a few classes on stage swordplay as well, just to see how it differs from the real thing. Outside of theatre, they Actually fence, and they attend martial arts classes. 

Hastur is the sound designer/board op. He enjoys lurking in the booth (though not so much when Crowley's up there with him) and going out for smokes with Ligur. He's not the most imaginative fellow, but he gets the job done.

Sandalphon is the sort who thinks he's a regular funnyman, but his comedic timing is just a smidge off every time. He laughs too loudly, and it never reaches his eyes. In reality, he's only there because Gabriel is his boss at his outside job and he thought this might be a good opportunity to squeeze in some extra brown-nosing. 

The disposable demons are a set of identical quintuplets that fill in the gaps in the run and fly crews. They also assist any of the head techs with their work.

Lucifer is the head costumer. He gives off major Freddie Mercury vibes, and his personality has this gravitational pull to it. He mostly keeps to himself, but when he says something, people listen. Even Beelz seems to defer to him. 

God is the director, and a flake since about the first week after casting (haha like the seven days of Creation.) She'd show up irregularly, with longer and longer intervals of absence between each appearance. It's been so long since the last one that the techs started to joke that she never existed in the first place. The Metatron fills in for her, assuring everyone that he knows her wishes and will be sure to carry them out.

Finally, the Meat of it :3

Crowley, our main man, our fella, is our lighting designer/master electrician (who wears glasses because he has a light sensitivity issue, go figure.) He lovingly combs through each script to figure out lighting plots. He tries using gobos and LEDs and colored washes wherever possible, anything to add more color and dynamic to the standard boring full stage wash. Also he thinks it's a wonderful way to accentuate the beauty of the angel but shhh. Anyway yeah he's completely smitten with the fussy actor that makes him Feel Things with his dumb Words and his fluffy hair and sparkling blue eyes and aGh the Yearning. But of course an actor as talented as him would never look twice at some nobody lurking in the shadows around the likes of Hastur. 

Aziraphale very much Would look twice at Crowley. Much more than twice. Whenever he gets the chance to, really. It's just that he's so angular and slinky and his hair is such a rich red, like a forbidden apple hanging just out of reach. But someone who exudes that aura of calm cool collectedness surely wouldn't be interested in some stuffy old bookseller, right? He doesn't even own a phone from this decade, for Christ's sake. No, no. Anything more than acquaintanceship has no place outside of his fantasies, surely. 

(They're both big dumb but this is why we love them)

#backstage au #good omens #meta #pomrania #sorry for the long post i wanted to cut it but I'm on mobile and it's 3 late so it's sleepy time

[babygruenwald]

Startling headline from the August 28th, 1942 “extra” edition of the San Francisco Chronicle, which stated, “Baby Gruenwald Swallows Home Accent,” news of which would further horrify an American populace already made jittery by the anticipation of Rommel’s deep drive into Egypt.

As so oft happened during the turbulent war years, news of the fighting in Europe and Africa would be pushed to the inside pages in order to make room for stories detailing Baby Gruenwald’s seemingly endless ingestion of celluloid buttons, guitar picks, trolley tokens, decorative temporary facial moles, and soda bottle caps left within his grasp.

Baby Gruenwald’s tummy also supplied short-term lodging for misplaced steel washers, police whistles, thumb tacks, dollhouse furniture, watch fobs, collar studs, Chinese good luck coins, juice harps, flint-knapped arrowheads, gramophone needles, baby teeth (discarded by other babies), tin soldiers, and stray monopoly pieces.

Far from the first time that “America’s Favorite Baby” had swallowed a decorative home accent, in this instance the ingested item had been one of a bowlful of colorful artisanal glass marbles left temptingly upon a side table.

#baby gruenwald #headline #ww2 #san francisco #egypt #rommel #marbles #trolley token #monopoly #newspaper

[eulerami]

1, 2, 6, 9, 15, 23 for Kres? :0

1. what does music mean to them? what role does it play in their life? 

It’s nice, now and then. He prefers instruments to radio. Radiowaves disrupt his implants from time to time after he gets the ol’ brain-knapping at Big MT, so he tries to avoid that sort of thing.

2. if you were to hug them, what would they smell like? 

Not....good...probably, but, (lol), gunpowder, cigarettes and oil, more than likely. Sweaty.

6. what’s their most prominent personality trait? Stubborn.

9. d&d alignment? Chaotic Neutral--but he shifts to a true neutral by the end of the game.

15. do they like animals? if they do, which ones?Not in particular--he doesn’t mind them, but he isn’t freaking out when he sees them either. He likes Brahmin the most because his mother was a prospector. He despises with all of his being the radroaches and ants, though.  

23. if you had to pick five words/phrases (objects, places, weather, etc.) to describe your oc’s aesthetic, what would you pick? 

Sun, dirt, steel, empty bottles, bullet shells

#Was fun to answer for the babe #thanks for this! #I know a few of you will remember ol' Kres lol #He's a tired bastard with a good heart #somewhere in there #rollerz

[art-of-manliness]

4 Ways to Make Improvised Urban Survival Arrowheads

The original arrowheads were made from organic materials — often through the process of “knapping” rocks like obsidian, chert, and flint. The sharp flakes of stone which resulted were then affixed to arrow shafts, and shot from bows by primitive hunters to take down game and battle their human enemies. Still today, stone arrowheads are made by bushcrafters, and they can be life-savers in wilderness survival situations. But what if you need to make an arrowhead in an urban environment, where stones that are good for knapping may not be abundant? What improvised materials can be marshaled to create projectile points that can be used to make arrows for hunting and self-defense? Here are 4 different materials/methods to try: 1. Arrowhead From a Glass Bottle Supplies needed: * Glass bottles (ideally with a flat bottom) * Pressure flaker (antler bone or a nail hammered into a wooden dowel) Obsidian, from which arrowheads have been made for thousands of years, is volcanic glass, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that you can make your own arrowheads from man-made glass. In fact, such glass is easier to work with than obsidian (or other rocks), and of course is easier to come by, especially in an urban location. You can use any kind of glass with a flat section, and that includes an ordinary soda/beer bottle. You make an arrowhead from a bottle pretty much the same way you’d make it from a rock: by breaking apart your source material, and then taking a large flake of it — in this case the bottom of the bottle, which is thicker and flatter — and carefully chipping off tiny flakes from its edges to shape and sharpen it up. The text instructions here, which includes diagrams, are helpful in understanding the semi-intricate process.  Since shaping glass into arrowheads is easier than shaping stone, this is a good way of learning the skill of knapping rock. 2. Arrowhead From a Nail  Supplies needed: * Hammer * Nail * Pliers * File If the knapping process feels a bit too meticulous for you, try a more brute-force method: making an arrowhead from a common nail. Basically, you just pound it on alternate sides until it flattens out, and then use a file to create a sharp edge/point. They’re not the sturdiest arrowheads, but will get the job done. With a bigger hammer, you can pound a 1/4″ bar stock into a true broadhead that’s able to penetrate and take down a deer. 3. Arrowhead From a Spoon Supplies: * Spoon * Hammer * File The basic process for making an arrowhead from a spoon is to hammer it til it’s flat, draw the arrowhead shape you want on the flattened spoon head, and then remove the material around that outline until you have your broadhead triangle. The process is made easier if you have some higher-tech tools like a blow torch (for heating up the spoon before you hammer it) and something like a Dremel tool for cutting away the extra material. But in a survival situation you may not have access to those things (or to electricity). Fortunately, though it takes more effort, you can create the same end product simply by hammering a cold spoon and then using a file to remove the extra metal from the spoon head; you can even rub it against a block of concrete should you not have a file.  4. Arrowhead From the Lid of a Tin Can  Supplies needed: * Tin can * Multi-tool with can opener and pliers Probably the easiest method, and one that involves the least supplies (if you have a handy multi-tool). You simply take the lid off a tin can, fold it in half, bending it back and forth til it breaks. Then you do the same thing with a half piece until you have a quarter section of the lid. Then fold that in half and make some manipulations with your pliers.  As you can see, in an urban survival situation, materials from which to make improvised arrowheads can be found everywhere, from a trash can to a kitchen pantry. Once you’ve sourced and made your arrowheads, you’ll of course need to attach (haft) them to the arrow’s shaft; the essential process goes like this: you’ll cut a notch in the end of the shaft, insert your arrowhead into the slot with some glue/resin, wrap the arrowhead in sinew/cord to further secure it, and then top the wrapping with some glue for good measure. Then string your improvised bow (a subject for another day) with your improvised arrow, and prepare to bag some game or defend your domain. The post 4 Ways to Make Improvised Urban Survival Arrowheads appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/Qr9BnJ

[thearchaeologiststeacup]

#HandmadeAtHome . I was getting annoyed with the fact that our electric toothbrush heads were just lying on the sink shelf, so the hubby made them a very simple but very cute little stand. It's from a piece of branch from our cherry tree, with drainage holes sealed off by a piece of knapped beer bottle bottom to protect the wood of the shelf. So far it's working wonders! . Does anyone else have similar mini home improvement projects? . #handmade #homemade #wood #woodworking #cherrywood #toothbrush #toothbrushholder #diy #homeimprovement #crafty https://www.instagram.com/p/CSLmfSGqxXj/?utm_medium=tumblr

#handmadeathome #handmade #homemade #wood #woodworking #cherrywood #toothbrush #toothbrushholder #diy #homeimprovement #crafty

[glitter-pear]

So my dad had this old wine bottle that had been given to his grandparents, my great-grandparents, and earlier it broke. I want to try and save the bottom by turning it into a vase or something by knapping the edges smooth. The problem it that I've only just started studying how to knap. In fact, this would be my first real project, so any advice would be welcomed.

#flint knapping #knapping #glass knapping