Custom furniture, restoration and repair, and more cutting boards than one household could ever use. I learned the trade from two grandfathers and I’m the seventh generation at it, as far as anyone can tell. Consulting is the serious business. This is where I go to relax a bit.
Lovingly builtCrafted for a lifetimeLocally made
I pick boards for contrast and then mostly leave them alone. Almost no stain, minimal treatment. The wood does the work. Everything is built heavier than it needs to be, because I’d rather it be your grandkid’s problem to move than anyone’s problem to fix.
Tables, boxes, stands, the odd thing nobody has a name for yet. I design in CAD and can drop the piece into a model of your room so you see it before I cut anything. Then I build it with hand planes older than the province.
The piecesOld pieces that need to keep going. Loose joints, broken parts, finishes that have given up. I’d rather fix the thing your grandmother owned than sell you a new one, and I’ll tell you honestly which makes sense.
How restoration worksCutting boards, serving boards, keepsake boxes. Mostly walnut, maple, cherry and purpleheart. Some are on the shelf right now, further down this page. The rest get made to order when the season allows.
What is on the shelf
For one of my grandfathers. His proudest build was a full-size grandfather clock. When he moved into assisted living at 93 the clock couldn’t come with him, so I made this to stand in for it. It holds his grandfather’s pocket watch. I built it with the tools he had given me.
A client wanted a “Wild West” feel for a game table and didn’t have room for a game table. So the finish looks like it was dragged out of a saloon, on purpose, and a lift-off cover turns it into a dining table with whatever game is set up still sitting underneath.
Sapele and maple with an epoxy top. A keepsake box, made after the passing of a loved one. It was a gift, not a job.
Really chunky, heavy duty. Made for a high school grad who won a prestigious scholarship to culinary school and a placement at a top restaurant. One of a kind, which seemed fitting.
Laminated OSB and galvanized steel. Not walnut, not purpleheart, not anything you would call my signature. Still very much me. I like using materials nobody thinks to use for furniture, and OSB glued up thick and planed flat turns out to be its own kind of beautiful. Built out of what other people call subfloor, and built to outlast the house it came from.
Maple and walnut, with a lock on the back. It lives in an ice cream shop in town that keeps cold water free for anyone who needs it, and the box collects what keeps that going. I donated the box. Seemed fitting.
Two grandfathers taught me. One was a highly skilled artistic woodworker. The other was a lifelong carpenter and cabinetmaker. Between them I got the eye and the joinery, and a strong opinion about what a sharp edge feels like.
The shop is a mix of old and new. Hand planes from the 1800s still see routine service. The drill press is from the 1930s and it is still the workhorse. The cabinetmaker running it is from the 80s and makes it all play nice together. Usually.
The tool chest in the photo came from my great-great uncle, with some tools in it from a great-great-great uncle. A few of them are still daily drivers. Some of the saws in that chest cut the moulding and millwork that adorns the Saskatchewan Legislature when it was first built. I try to be worthy of them.
It’s a small unheated shop in southern Alberta, so the work is seasonal and I take a limited number of projects a year. If you want something for a date, ask early. If you want something for this winter, ask about next spring.
The shop is where I go to think. Designing and building is the part I enjoy. The payoff is watching someone see the thing for the first time.
The chest. Five generations of tools, some still on the job.
Most of what leaves this shop lives in somebody else’s house, and that is their business, not my portfolio. Same rule as the consulting side. So the gallery here is thin, and it is going to stay thin.
The other reason it’s thin is that I am bad at stopping to take pictures mid-build. I have tried. I have glued more than one phone to my hand. So much sawdust.
One kitchen drawer front, half done. Old finish on one side, new on the other.
That is my own kitchen drawer. Not a grand piece of furniture. Still something, and it’s the kind of before-and-after I can actually show you, because the rest of the restoration work belongs to the people who own it.
Restoration is most of what people ask me about, and it is the work I like best. It covers:
Send a photo and tell me what it means to you. That second part matters more than you’d think for deciding how far to go.
Not a lot goes through here, but what does is ready to go. Ask about one and I’ll confirm it is still on the shelf. Then it’s an e-transfer and it’s yours.
Prices in Canadian dollars. Pickup in Milk River, or we sort out shipping and I’ll tell you what it costs before you commit. Boards come oiled and waxed with B4, and a tin of it is the right way to keep them that way.
A piece, a repair, a board, or a thing you can’t quite describe yet. Photos help. Rough dimensions help. A deadline helps most of all, because the shop runs on the seasons.
