Why I Love My Job

Woodworking, for me, has never been about forcing a material into submission. It’s about learning how to flow with something that already has a story, a direction, and a personality of its own.

Every board carries the memory of a lifetime spent growing. The grain isn’t random—it’s a record of wind, weather, seasons, and resilience. When that tree is milled, you’re often seeing the hand of an exceptional sawyer long before it ever reaches my shop. A truly skilled sawyer knows how to read a log, how to cut the boards just right to reveal the best grain, the most character, the most beauty. By the time the lumber gets to me, it’s already been touched by an artist. I’m just the next one in the line.

One of the earliest lessons woodworking taught me—and one that changed my life—came from mistakes. Wood is honest and unforgiving. Tear-out, blown grain, a cut that’s a hair too short… there’s no hiding it. Early on, I learned something that now applies to everything I do: you don’t throw the mistake away—you turn it into a feature.

You alchemize it into an opportunity.

Instead of frustration, a mistake becomes a new problem to solve. A new design choice. A reason to learn a new skill. Over and over, the pieces where things didn’t go according to plan end up being the most interesting, the most beautiful, and the ones I’m most proud of. The satisfaction doesn’t come from executing a plan flawlessly—it comes from getting knocked down, standing back up, and dusting yourself off.

Wood also carries something you can feel, not just see. There’s a natural warmth and grounded energy to real wooden furniture that no vinyl can ever replicate. You can sense the difference across a room. A real piece of walnut or oak doesn’t pretend to be anything else—it is what it is. Honest. Solid. Alive in its own way.

Another thing I love is the connection with clients who choose custom woodwork. We may come from completely different backgrounds and life experiences, but when you meet on shared values—quality, craftsmanship, and reverence for an ancient art—something special happens. There’s a bond that forms when you’re creating something meaningful together, something that will live in their home for generations.

And then there’s the shop itself.

When I’m in the zone, it’s just me, the sound of sandpaper, a hand plane whispering across a board, a chisel tapping, birds chirping outside, wind moving through the trees, and me quietly talking or singing to myself. It’s a sacred space. A place where time slows down.

Recently, that space became even more special.

My daughter just turned one, and when she needs outside time, we sit together in a tandem camping chair while I hand-sand pieces of whatever I’m working on. The most recent project was a small walnut stool with myrtlewood inlay—far nicer than anything a baby needs, but exactly what she deserved. I made it to match the bassinet I built for her, which she never used as an infant but now uses as a tiny couch where we sit and read together.

While I was sanding the fluted stool legs, she watched me quietly. Then she grabbed a finished piece and started rubbing her hands across it, mimicking the motion. That moment stopped me cold. This is the beginning, I thought. She doesn’t know what sanding is—but she knows she wants to do what I’m doing.

I gave her a piece of ultra-fine sandpaper and a scrap of wood. She was terrible at it. And she was absolutely perfect.

She was there for the entire build—the quiet parts, at least. When the finish finally cured, I told her I had a gift for her. She crawled at full speed to me, and when I set the table down in front of her, she screamed with joy. She stood there swiping her hands across it, just like she had while we were sanding the legs together.

That moment—that—was the culmination of everything woodworking has given me.

And it just happened last week.

I can’t wait to see what comes next. I want to keep pushing myself to create more beautiful things, deepen relationships, connect with more people, and fill homes with meaningful, custom woodwork that carries a story.

If this resonates with you, I’m glad you’re here.

May God bless you, and I hope you have a beautiful day.