Last fall I visited Monticello for the first time. My wife had been before, but I had never gone despite living in Virginia nearly all my life. I was, of course, impressed by all the usual things—Jefferson's entryway clock and his water collection system, for example—but I was particularly taken with some of the doors I saw. A little over two years ago, my wife and I bought our first house, a craftsman style bungalow from 1930, and one of my favorite features of the house is its heavy frame-and-panel doors. As with most old homes, ours sags, the floors and doorways gently sloping toward the center of the house. Some of the doors sag as well, their mortise and tenon joints having lost some of their tightness as their wood has dried and shrunk somewhat in the last 80 years. Many of the doors I saw at Monticello, however, have no noticeable sag at all, a remarkable fact considering how much older they are than my own house's doors.
I was so surprised by the excellent shape of Jefferson's doors that I asked our tour guide whether or not they had been replaced or restored at some point, but they haven't been. Inspecting them closer, I was able to discern at least one reason they continue to maintain their squareness: each door is constructed with through-tenons. Older mortise and tenon joints rely on physical tightness and simple pin or wedge mechanisms as opposed to glue for their strength, and I can see how well-crafted doors made a couple hundred years ago might remain in fine shape with the most basic care and maintenance. It certainly helps that these doors reside inside Jefferson’s home, where their tenons’ end grain hasn’t been exposed to the elements.
While the look of frame-and-panel construction has persisted, the actual construction method itself is frequently abandoned in order to maximize efficiency. The kitchen cabinet doors in my house, for example, are not original, and while they appear to be frame and panel, they are not. They are, of course, constructed with a wooden frame, but its pieces are not joined with mortises and tenons but routed grooves and glue. Its panel, which is pressboard rather than hard wood, doesn’t float in a groove cut into the frame but is stapled into a rabbet on the back side of it. This sort of construction won’t last, and it isn’t lasting. Our cabinets appear to have been installed at some point in the 1980’s, and they are horribly dilapidated.
I am pleased, however, that the frame-and-panel style remains popular. I grew up in a house with hollow-core wood doors, plywood kitchen cabinets (that, it should be noted, are in much better shape than my own), and narrow wood molding. While none of these things are inherently bad, of course, they don’t offer much in the way of texture—the doors, bedroom, bathroom, closet, and cabinet—are simple, flat planes, while the molding’s diminutive size lets it practically disappear into the wall. Frame-and-panel doors have texture; their design and construction is visually pleasing. Moreover, they are weightier, making their opening and shutting more satisfying than that of light, hollow doors, much the way heavy silverware is more satisfying to use than light silverware. Heavier doors don’t rattle so much—their weight allows for little play in the hinges, making their opening and closing smoother. Thicker molding is also more visually pleasing, adding texture to the walls, windows, and doorways. In fact, I’m not sure there’s any more pleasing interior than one at least partially covered in wood paneling (this kind, not this kind).
One drawback of this sort of design and construction is the wood involved. My childhood home's doors, cabinets, and molding use much less wood than the doors and craftsman-style molding in my current home. On the other hand, my doors will easily outlast most hollow core doors—they can't be ruined by a stray foot or knee, for example. My kitchen cabinets are similarly constructed with obsolescence in mind, their 25 or 30 years of use having nearly ruined them. Furthermore, most of their materials cannot be easily reused; cabinets and doors made of solid wood can be readily salvaged (reused or dismantled for their lumber), but press board and fiberboard are nearly useless apart from the piece of furniture for which they were molded. To me, one of the most appealing features of frame-and-panel doors is their durability. They are built to last; they are meant to endure. This sort of construction implies an intent to stay put, to stay placed, to remain devoted to a particular piece of property, to a particular community, and to a particular life, and these are implications I can feel good about.
