The old organic Swedish paint ploy?

Lately I've been looking like an extra-cheesy Dorito. The yellowish brown dust that covers my face and hair at the end of the day comes from the first part of a window refinishing job. The stripping part. I don't mind the mess though. I'm doing battle with a cruddy old finish on exterior pine, in preparation for a new paint job. And I've got to say, it's good work. Honest work. You can't help but be glad when you see the bright, fresh wood coming to the surface, and with relatively little effort, too. I chalk up my success to two things: some pretty good water-washable paint stripper, and a couple of terrific sanders that I couldn't do without.

Here's the procedure I've settled on: brush on a generous coat of stripper, then let it sit as I move on to coat the others. By the time I get back, the finish is curled and is ready to be scrubbed off. Since the wood is soft, I'm using a plastic bristle brush in one hand, with a garden hose trickling out wash water in the other. This initial chemical attack gets rid of about half of the old finish. And the stuff that's left is weakened enough that it's easy prey for my duo of electric sanders.

I tackle the flat open surfaces with my trusty Porter-Cable 7336, 6" random orbit sander. This is a beautiful machine for outdoor work. It's bigger than other sanders (though still hand-held), and noticeably more powerful. It's also pretty cheap these days — less than 200 bucks — which is about $30 less than I paid for it 15 years ago.

But a big sander only gets you so far. There are nooks and crannies and a job like this has plenty of them. That's why I turn to something called the SuperCut. It's a detail sander made by a German company called Fein. If it wasn't for this tool, my mood would be considerably less upbeat. It delivers 400 watts of sanding power into the smallest of corners, and that's why my pine window frames look so great.

I've had a bit of a dilemma when it comes to paint, though. I talked to a few people I know from various major paint companies, looking for recommendations on the most durable paint I can use. These are the kind of guys who wear white lab coats and sit around water coolers using words like alkyd, VOC and high-solids content.

Anyway, they talked, I listened, then I went out and bought a can of the stuff they said would work great. Then my issue of Consumer Reports magazine arrived, and the paint I paid $55 a gallon for (an American gallon, by the way, which is only 3.78 L), turns out to be quite cruddy according to results from actual field trials. And the really great paint, according to their tests, is only available south of the border, and even then only in a few, select states. That's when I remembered reading about an obscure line of traditional Swedish paints made from nothing but organic linseed oil and natural pigments.

The big attraction with this stuff — besides the fact that it's practically pure enough to drink as a health food supplement — is durability. Or at least it claims its durable. According to what I've found, this stuff is supposed to have a 50-year life span, and it never peels. 50 years and no peeling? No way, right? But how can I resist? The website's got case studies showing lovingly restored castles, with exterior woodwork nourished with this paint to the point of immortality. Like I said, how can I resist?

So I've shelved my brand-new, custom mixed, unopened can of state-of-the-art exterior paint, and ordered some of the ancient Swedish stuff for even more money. I'll be putting it on next week.  Either I've found something terrific here, or I've fallen for the old organically grown, environmentally-friendly, too-good-to-be-true, Swedish paint ploy.