Old Machines, New Machines, and the Quiet Math of a Working Life
Read Time: 9 minutes
The wind poured over the highway with snow dust in tow. Its power was obvious as traffic pushed through. Drifts tried forming on the blacktop, only to be stirred apart by big trucks, their turbulent wake keeping the snow mobile and clouding the view as I navigated from behind my windshield. February on the Canadian prairie is a special brand of weather. Days are longer, the sun is warmer, and the snow cycles through surface melt and refreeze, leaving a slick, rutted mess. The wind doesn’t care. It pumps arctic air down our way, fighting for its full scheduled season of bitterness—making spring that much sweeter when it finally arrives.
Leo and I were on our way to pick up a mobile kit for our lathe so we could pull it away from the wall. Filming YouTube videos gets cramped otherwise. Backing up to the loading door at Wooden Edge Tools, we stepped out of the warm truck into soft drifts and biting wind, focused on getting inside to look at the tools. That got me thinking about my own machinery—the ones I bought used, the ones I bought new, and the ones I regret buying altogether.
Let’s step back a few years to October 2021, when Covid was gripping and changing the world as we knew it. I’d been looking for a new bandsaw, and my research kept circling the same question: old or new? The trade-offs, the benefits, what I thought I needed versus what reality would allow. Funny how those two never line up.
New saws had marketing campaigns, shiny websites, specs, and YouTube reviews. Used saws had Kijiji, specs, and YouTube reviews. Information wasn’t the problem—maybe too much information was. But eventually the research was done, and my needs dictated what could be done. New saws had 12" resaw capacity and dust collection, two features a used saw wouldn’t have. Did I need them? Not really. A new saw was $3,000 plus tax with a 3hp 220v motor. Again—did I need that power?
Then on Kijiji, there it was: a Canadian-made General 390 for $900. No dust collection, 7" resaw with the guard off, a 1.5hp motor I could rewire for 220v, and a list of potential issues I wouldn’t know until it was in my shop. That’s the risk. But the price was attractive, and this was a Canadian cast-iron legend. I emailed the seller. He still had it. I headed straight over.
The saw was clean and complete, save for the blade guard. We started it up and it slowly came to speed like any 120v motor. I’d brought a piece of 2" maple to test it, and the saw ate it like butter. A few things were off—loose bolts, minor vibrations—but nothing that scared me off. I paid the $900 and drove home smiling. If the saw is complete and runs, I can fix it.
Back at the shop, I started inspecting and found loose bolts everywhere. I concluded the previous owner had torn the saw apart, maybe dreaming of a full restoration. My vision was different: an ultra tuned saw that never fails. Patina included. So the rebuild began. Every part came off and was inspected. It seemed the saw had been assembled finger tight for the sale. But every part was there. I simply took it apart and put it back together properly. Rewired it to 220v. Made a new blade guard. One day of work.
When I was done, I had my ultra tuned saw. I ordered a fence and a light. It’s been perfect for years now with no regrets. Rebuilding it let me understand how it works, how it cuts, how it behaves. That knowledge is invaluable. It works for me—it’s not for everyone—but I increased the value of the saw, so if I ever sell it, I won’t suffer depreciation. A new saw can’t do that.
Bandsaws are basic. Their job is basic. As a used purchase, they’re easy. Not all machines are like that.
There was a time I bought a new drum sander. This is a tool I wouldn’t buy used. It’s fussy, and it wasn’t mainstream 30 years ago, so used ones aren’t straightforward. I really like this sander, but I regret buying the model I chose. It fit my budget and it fit my shop—and that’s where the positives end. Its performance is lower than expected. It stalls too easily. The belt traction is inadequate, and wood can eject onto the floor. I should have spent more on a larger, more powerful sander. This one needs babysitting so pieces don’t stop moving and get a rut dug into them. That shouldn’t happen. I’m stuck with it until I sell and upgrade. But it has paid for itself, and it has done the work I needed. Live and learn.
And I did—when I bought the lathe.
When I needed a lathe, I immediately checked Kijiji. A General 220 would have been perfect. But I needed the lathe for a job, and time wasn’t on my side. Nothing was available in Manitoba. All the good iron seems to live out east. So I started looking at new ones. A small midi lathe was my first thought. Easy to store, small footprint. I did the research and thought that was the way to go—until I saw them in person. Underwhelming. Hobby grade. My mind shifted.
I went to Wooden Edge Tools to look at their lathes. They had a nice mid size model, better than the midis, but I wanted time to think. I was already exceeding the budget. Back in the shop, fighting with the drum sander reminded me of its shortcomings. Wishing I had bought bigger made me rethink the lathe. A mid size would be another compromise. So I started looking at the biggest options. What was the limiting factor? What was the largest turning I’d ever need? Table pedestals. That was the answer.
The Laguna 24|36 was the biggest I could find that was still orderable. I ordered it. And yes—I’ve turned one pedestal so far, and more will come. This tool has paid for itself. No regrets. It lets me build things I couldn’t before. It lets me get creative.
Each of these tools has a story, each one unique. But it’s the math that matters. I’ve bought old tools and used them until a bigger, better machine came along, and I’ve never lost a dollar selling a used one. I have several old machines—the drill press is almost 80 years old and in great shape. It cost $200. How can I go wrong?
The drum sander cost about $2,700, and I’ll take a hit when I sell it. But it’s been useful and paid for itself long ago. And the lathe—very pricey. The base was $5,000, plus accessories and supporting tools. But no regrets. It allows growth in the shop. It expands what I can build. It opens doors.
Now going forward, the future. The machines I haven’t bought, the ideas I haven’t had yet. That’s exciting. There are opportunities waiting, and when I find them, the successes and misses of the past will shape the decisions ahead. I’ve been wanting a used General #100 combination belt and disk sander for years. I used one in college, and that same sander is still in the shop today. It’s a difficult unit to find in Winnipeg and might require a multi‑day road trip out east if I really want one. I could easily pick up a new one at Wooden Edge tomorrow—not a General #100, but a modern sander. The General is real Canadian cast iron, a legend, and one day it’ll be rare. But it’s big, heavy, and most of them need 3‑phase power, which means extra equipment. Truth is, I don’t need this tool. It’s more of a want. But it pairs well with a lathe, especially with its 16" sanding disk. Reality is simple: it’s too big for my shop to justify the expense. Still, I’ll keep looking. It’s out there. I’ll find it one day.
Here we are, math done, Ramble finished on another cold February day, with a mobile kit to install and the lathe gaining another upgrade. And I will say: the hours on a lathe pass by easily as the chips fly and pile on the floor. No other tool provides as much enjoyment.
But that’s another story.
Step inside Behind the Grain, if you’d like to sit awhile.
