Three generations of Vermont woodworkers, one workshop on Maple Ridge Road.

Vermont has always made things slowly. Maple syrup takes a generation of taps to get right. A stone wall settles for fifty years before it stops moving. A sugar maple needs eighty winters before its grain is tight enough for a tabletop.

We didn't invent any of this. We learned it from the people who came before us — the farmers who left the best trees standing, the millers who knew which way to cut, the joiners who understood that a good mortise and tenon doesn't need glue.

Today we are a small team of six, working out of the same barn Eli started in. We mill our own lumber from a network of family woodlots across the Mad River Valley. We use hand tools wherever we can, and power tools only where they make a better joint.

We build twelve tables a year. Each one carries the name of a Vermont mountain, a river, or a town. Each one is signed, dated, and entered in our ledger — so a hundred years from now, someone can still trace it home.