Echoes of New Netherland #2
- 9 hours ago
- 10 min read
A new series focused on people creating art and literature inspired by New Netherland history
Interview with Chad Muhlestein
Chad is a hobbyist woodworker from North Carolina. Inspired by his connection to Rapalje ancestry and New Netherland history, he has made a beautiful reconstruction of Sarah Rapalje’s chair, the original of which is in the Museum of the City of New York's archives.
Chad and I became acquainted just after my book was published last year. He messaged me that he was working on the replica of Sarah Rapalje’s chair, and I got to see some in-progress photos.
When did you become interested in New Netherland history?
I’ve always liked genealogy. I was pretty young, as early as 14 or 15 years old when I traced things back, and it led me back to New Netherland. So, for 40-45 years, I’ve loved that history and my ancestors from that time.
I had a similar gateway through genealogy. Once you find that history, it’s clear there’s something special about that time.
So, how long have you been doing woodworking?
Probably 30 years or so. It’s been another love of mine. It started off with small stuff that progressed to the bigger stuff.
Did you have any training or classes? Or are you self-taught?
I don’t have any formal training, but I have a lot of mistakes.
That’s an education in itself.
It really is. I’ve been fortunate to live in places where hardwoods are plentiful and for a while they were cheap, so being able to experiment—and with the grace of my wife allowing me to buy new tools every now and again—it just allowed me to progress to where I am today.
I have a little bit of a woodworking background. I went to school for sculpture originally, and I had a few woodshop classes. There was one class called Sculpture as Furniture/ Furniture as Sculpture. So, it wasn’t traditional furniture, but we learned the basic furniture-making techniques of joining wood, like mortise and tenon and finger joints. And later I had the opportunity to study abroad in Denmark, where I got to make a bent plywood chair. It was really fun, but all my furniture designs were kind of experimental sculptures.
My first book credit was actually as a contributer to a book about DIY plywood furniture. After college, I briefly worked in furniture-making. My job was in finishing, working with a palm sander all day. I got a repetitive stress injury, and that was pretty much the end of my furniture making.
I’m almost embarrassed by my work now that I know your background.
Your work is beautiful! I really admire the art of traditional furniture-making. My college attempts didn’t really hold up.
I’ve had a few of those, too.
That’s part of learning, right? I can relate to being drawn to woodworking. It’s a fun challenge and very satisfying.
So, how did you get the idea and decide to make a replica of Sarah’s chair?
When I first learned about Sarah and her parents, I just ate that up. I feel a kinship with them. My wife and I have lived away from family our whole married life. It just gives me a sense of what they maybe went through.
But, the chair, when I first saw the chair, I thought that would be the neatest thing to go see. I thought I’d just go to New York and see it. I’ve been waiting 30 years or more for it to be on display. Then I had the thought of my daughter, Caroline—a descendant of these women—how neat would it be to have a picture of her standing next to the chair of her 11th great-grandmother? How cool would that be? There was never the opportunity.
So, eventually one day—I won’t say what I said—but I decided I’m going to build this chair. There’s only the one picture I’ve ever seen of it. My wife had the projector at her work, so I could project that image on the wall. I said that’s all I need. I just need a picture and a way to trace it to scale. From there, I just decided, I’m going to build this thing.
I’ve heard that the original chair is incredibly fragile, understandably due to its age and materials, which is why it’s not on display.
How cool that you took the initiative to bring it to life. That’s amazing.
As I built the chair, certain things I just had to guess at. I’d love to have a look at it, see the underside, to know how close I got to how it was actually made.
Did you have any resources for furniture building in the 17th-century? I know basic woodworking principles haven’t changed much, but did you just take your best guess from the photo?
I didn’t have many resources. Most of my thought process centered on here’s how I think this would be the strongest. That’s usually what guided me. I would love to see my kids or grandkids take an interest in this chair and keep it, and love it the way I love it, because it reminds them of these ancestors who sacrificed so much.
That’s so wonderful. I’m sure that your grandchildren will someday treasure the effort you made to connect them with their ancestors. That’s exactly why Sarah’s chair exists today, because her descendants treasured and valued it. It’s really lovely to continue that tradition.
Going back, what was the very first woodworking piece you ever built, and do you still have it?
Oh, man. Great question. Setting aside pine derby cars and birdhouses... My first serious piece was a blanket box for my wife’s quilts. I still have it. I don’t know if you’ve experienced this, but every time I look at it, I can see all the flaws, right? Visitors to our house compliment it. How beautiful and everything. But the difference in quality between that and the more recent things I’ve made is apparent.
I know what you mean. It's nice to have that record of progress, though. And it’s still serving its purpose. That’s great.
It also brought together another hobby or love that I have, which is leatherworking. It’s another reason Sarah’s chair appealed to me. The quilt box has a leather piece which has me and my wife’s name, our marriage date, the kids, even our dog. It has a lot of good memories for me as one of the first things that I made. It brought a couple of the things I really love and enjoy together.
That’s really a treasure for your kids and descendants. It also makes me think about how cool it would be to see Sarah’s chair up close. All the wear and tear of daily use—but also—did anyone scratch their name into it? The marks of generational use are so interesting.
That’s another reason I want to see beneath it. I have a good 8 or 9 ounce leather on there, but it still wasn’t thick enough. I doubled it up. I just wonder—what’s under that chair? I’d give almost anything to see that chair in person. And the tankard with the wedding medallion.
Yeah, I agree. I hope someday they’ll be displayed. I’d just love to see them in person.
Where do you keep the chair in your home?
We keep in our front room, where we have pictures and items from our ancestors.
What type of wood did you use for the chair?
That’s interesting—well, interesting to me—maybe nobody else. The picture I saw said it was a walnut chair, but somewhere else said mahogany.
I read that, too.
Again, if they’d just allow someone to take detailed pictures of it, we could see the grain, see what the real coloring is, and know for sure. But I built mine out of walnut.
It's interesting to think about that difference in material from the historical context. Walnut would have been readily available in New Netherland. They exported a lot of lumber to Europe. But mahogany is a tropical wood, which could have easily come from South America or the Caribbean as ships stopped in New Amsterdam's port on their way to Europe. Perhaps mahogany could have had more of a social distiction, since it meant you were able to afford an imported wood.
Do you have a favorite type of wood to work with?
I do. I like white oak. I like walnut—but it’s so expensive—I really like white oak more! The furniture in our home is all white oak, so when I’m making something for the house, that’s what I use.
Is there a tool in your shop that you use the most or is your absolute favorite?
I have some tools that were my dad’s. He passed away about 17 years ago, so I love those tools. Setting those aside, I have a table saw. I don’t know how old it is. It’s got to be 30 years old. People will say, “Just buy a new table saw,” but I love that table saw. I know how it cuts… I know how many clicks on the end I have to push it… and I’ve made I don’t know how many cuts on that table saw. That’s probably my favorite.
Old tools tend to be better made a lot of the time, too. Smart to keep it.
How do you handle mistakes or a ruined piece of lumber when you’re in the middle of a project? Do you try to salvage it, or do you start over? Any methods for dealing with that?
Great question. Depending on how bad I’ve messed up, right? So, if you cut a board too short, you’re pretty much saving that board for a project later on. At least that’s how it works for me. If it’s just a small flaw, like I talked about the box I made for quilts, I can see all the flaws in that, but not everyone sees that.
I can’t remember who said this to me, but someone asked, “Would your dad be satisfied?” That’s the standard for whether or not I replace something. Whether my dad standing there would say, “You know what, Chad, you’re the only one who can see that. I think you can move on.” Then that’s what I’ll do, but if I’m thinking that every time dad walked in the house, I’d see his eyes find that one flaw right there—then it’s got to be replaced. It’s got to be fixed.
Was your dad a craftsman, too?
No, he worked at a university, at the physical plant, and we had a family farm. Dad’s time was spent working. He didn’t have the luxury of free time to make things he really wanted to make.
What’s your day job or how do you make a living?
I’m the director of internal audit for a county in North Carolina.
It must be nice then to have woodworking as a creative outlet? Something totally different.
Oh, it really is.
Are there any projects that stand out the most? Anything you remember as having taught you a lot or pushed your skills?
No, not one particular piece, but as I moved from different types of boxes, or making a gun stock, or doing these different things, I just kind of progressed and of course my skills progressed. And my confidence grew.
Just this past Sunday in church, I had a guy come up to me and say, “We had a cedar tree blow over. Do you want to come get it and make something out of it?” And what I said back was, “What do you want to make out of this? I’ll help you do whatever it is.” Most people don’t do any of this kind of stuff. I don’t know if they’re afraid or they don’t have the confidence. I really enjoy helping people get the confidence. They just need something like my dad did for me. Just stand behind and say here’s how you use the table saw, here’s how you use a planer, or router, whatever it happens to be. I get a lot of satisfaction out of that.
That’s really nice to show people it’s not inaccessible. It’s just one foot in front of the other in learning it.
Well, it’s like your book, right? I look at that book and think, “How in the world did she sit down and write this book?” I’ve heard you talk about the process, but I can’t imagine sitting down and writing a book.
It is similar in that way. One foot in front of the other, and hope you stay passionate enough to stick with it, because it’s a marathon, not a sprint. The real trick is sticking with it.
During your talk with Lana [author of Catalyntje Trico: A Life in New Amsterdam Book talk with the New Amsterdam History Center], she said the hardest part of writing her book was what to leave out. That’s amazing to me.
Writing a book is a little different from woodworking in that regard—more like subtractive sculpture. You put a bunch of material together, and then you can carve away from that. I think furniture is a little harder because, like you said, if one piece is too short, you can’t add onto it. The chair is going to fall over.
My plan has always been: I don’t have a plan. I see it in my mind and go and do it. If one leg is short, you cut the others a little shorter. You make it work.
I like that about furniture making, too. Things are relative to each other. Measuring helps, but I was never very good with numbers. As long as things line up, it turns out okay. You can kind of eyeball it.
Sarah’s chair must be a great feeling of accomplishment for you, but are there any current projects, or future plans, or dreams you want to work on?
I always thought if I could just look at her chair in the museum with a practiced eye now, I’d love to build another one that matches the actual construction. Probably out of mahogany this time. If you were to tell me this weekend, they’re going to have it on display, my wife and I would be driving or on a plane to look at it. It’s that big of a deal.
Other than that, I made my daughter a beautiful hope chest. I have a granddaughter… maybe she needs a hope chest, so maybe something like that, but no definite plans for right now.
Would you ever consider putting your version of Sarah’s chair on display?
I would be honored to have the chair displayed somewhere. It makes me want to make a second one, incorporating what I learned from building the first one.
I think there are many Rapalje descendants who’d be interested in seeing it, especially since the original is too fragile for display. It brings that history to life.
Well, I thank you for your book. The work you’ve done, and the joy you’ve brought through your book—it also brings these people to life. This sounds hokey, but it increases the feeling I have for these strong people and the sacrifices they made so that my family can be here.
Thank you. That means a lot to me. That was my highest hope for my book.
And thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me. It’s really inspiring how you’ve taken your interest in New Netherland ancestry and brought to life a family heirloom that’s inaccessible to the public.
My hope for this series is to inspire people to create new things inspired by history—especially their family history—and I think you’re a shining example of that.
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