FAQ’s

  • Most of it is the slab. A tree big enough for a dining table took a century or more to grow, then years to dry before it ever reached my shop. Two slabs the same size can be worth very different amounts, depending on the figure, the color and how sound the wood is. Then there's the work: I read every slab, flatten it, stabilize what needs it and finish it by hand. That's why I price from the actual slab, never by the foot.

  • Mostly the slab: the species, how rare it is, its figure and its size. A common hardwood slab can cost a fraction of a rare, highly figured Bastogne one. Then come the choices: one slab or a bookmatched pair, a resin river or none, and the base, where steel usually costs less than a matching wood base. Freight is quoted at actual cost before it ships.

  • Sometimes a slab has voids that need filling. Resin costs more than wood, and it takes far longer to sand. A few small fills barely move the price; a wide river changes it a lot. When I use resin, it's usually black. I love how it frames the live edge and lets the tree's own color show.

  • It starts with your request. Within 3 business days, I'll reply with preliminary pricing. Once I know the room, how many people you want to seat and what kind of wood you love, I find the slab. Then you get one number for the whole piece.

  • A solid slab table doesn't wear out. It can be sanded and refinished again and again, and the marks it picks up over the years become part of its story. Pieces like this hold their value and often grow in it. It's built to be where your family gathers for generations: birthdays, holidays and plenty of ordinary Tuesday nights.

Price and Value

Size and large tables

  • Big tables are what I love building most. Every one is custom, so the size comes from your room and the slab, not a catalog. The biggest limits are real ones: finding a slab long and wide enough, a base that carries the weight, and a way to get the finished table into your home. I plan all of that before I make a single cut.

  • Yes. Desks, consoles, coffee and end tables, and C-tables all come from the same slabs and get the same care. Big tables are still what I love building most.

  • Start with how many people you want to seat, not the length. A good rule is about 24 inches of table per person on each side. An 8-foot table seats six to eight every day and up to ten for the holidays, and it fits most dining rooms around 12 by 14 feet. If you entertain a crowd, we go bigger. It's your table.

  • A single slab carries the grain of one tree, unbroken, edge to edge, and nothing beats it when the right one exists. Two bookmatched slabs, cut side by side from the same log, open up like a book and give you width and a mirrored grain. Neither is automatically better; the slab and the size you want decide it.

  • Often, but I won't promise it until I've seen what's available. The tree had to grow big enough, the slab had to survive years of drying without cracking or warping, and it needs figure worth building around. Getting all of that in one slab is rare. Sometimes the right slab is ready now, sometimes it takes patience, and sometimes two bookmatched slabs make the better table. My suppliers, mostly Goby Walnut in Oregon, have slabs most lumberyards never see.

  • Most dining tables land around 36 to 48 inches wide; a bigger room can take 50 inches or more. Too narrow looks out of proportion, and too wide makes it hard to talk across. A live edge also changes width from end to end, so I check the whole slab against your seating, not just its widest point.

  • Yes. I plan delivery while I design the table, not after it's built, because a big table only works if it can get into your home. Depending on the piece, that can mean a removable base, a custom crate, or building it in sections, then freight with a liftgate and a scheduled delivery. Freight is quoted at actual cost before it ships.

Wood

  • I favor responsibly harvested hardwoods from the Pacific Northwest, like Bastogne and Claro black walnut, but I also source other species locally. Every piece is one-of-one, built around the qualities and characteristics of the slab first. If you have a wood in mind, ask. It's your table.

  • Bastogne is a rare walnut hybrid, responsibly harvested, and it's my favorite wood to work. It's heavier and denser than other domestic walnuts. The figure is what gets me: fiddleback that shimmers when the light moves, smoky greys, burnt orange, even hints of purple. Most people have never seen it in person. The trees that exist now are all there are.

  • Neither, honestly. Both can make an incredible table. Claro tends toward rich chocolate and reddish brown with curl and crotch figure. Bastogne brings that shimmer and those smoky colors. I'd rather show you real slabs side by side than pick by name, because the individual slab matters far more than the label.

  • Absolutely. It's your table, and I'll build in whatever you love. I'll be honest that walnut is my favorite. The real question is what role the table plays in the room: a lighter wood blends in quietly, while a dramatic walnut slab becomes the piece everyone notices first.

  • Not on the right base. A live edge on a simple steel base reads clean and modern, a wood base suits a more traditional room, and walnut is right at home with mid-century design. I'd rather build a table that still feels right in thirty years than chase this year's trend.

  • It can. Walnut is a little softer than oak or maple, so a hard knock can leave a mark. But its deep, varied color hides everyday scratches and water marks far better than a light wood, and because the top is solid wood with an oil finish, any mark can be blended out, again and again.

  • No. I finish every slab in its natural color, so it looks like what it is. If you love a darker tone, we start with a wood that has it, like walnut, rather than making one wood pretend to be another.

  • Yes, and it's one of my favorite parts. You pick the slab with me, before I make a single cut, because once it's cut there isn't another one.

Process

  • It starts long before the slab reaches my shop. I buy from suppliers who dry their slabs properly, mostly Goby Walnut in Oregon. Here's the path from there:

    1. The slab. We choose it together, sized to your room and the people you want to seat.

    2. Acclimating. It rests in my shop, which I keep at 35–40% humidity year-round, and I check its moisture before I start.

    3. Reading it. Nine times out of ten there's something to address: a crack, a void, loose bark. Some of it becomes character; some gets stabilized.

    4. Flattening and shaping. The live edge gets cleaned up without losing the shape the tree gave it.

    5. The base, built around this top, its weight and your chairs.

    6. The finish. European hardwax oil, so it feels like wood, not plastic, and can be repaired for decades. My favorite part: it's where the grain finally comes alive.

    7. Delivery, planned from the start so it gets into your home safely.

  • They're part of what makes a slab one of a kind, and I keep as much of that character as I can. I fill voids and cracks with black resin, and when it's needed, I inlay bow ties to mechanically lock the wood from splitting.

  • Usually 8 to 14 weeks from your deposit. A rare slab or a complicated design can take longer, and I'll tell you up front.