Story often means more than think. But not in the way you may be thinking. What I mean by story is more of a feeling or a nostalgia than an organized series of events from a couple arbitrary points in time we call the end and the beginning. What I mean, rather, is the story or stories you sense when you look out across a sea or up from a flowered mountain meadow towards the summit of some majestic peak.

I love being in the mountains. I love the art that I feel surrounded by. And I love the story that can come from gazing into an artist’s rendering. My imagination is often sparked by the scene of a small mountain lake. Who’s been there and why? What joy did they find in that place and how?

I remember a camping trip with my friends back when we were in high school. It was in the Indian Heaven wilderness in the foothills of Mt. Adams to the south and Mt. St. Helens to the north. We drove in Ryan’s parent’s blue conversion van to the trail head and hiked in a couple miles to the campsite. It was nearly dark by the time we got to setting up our tents so the surroundings weren’t quite visible. But when we woke in the morning it was clear. We were camped beside a little shallow lake in a grassy meadow surrounded by forest. It was an idyllic setting for an adventure.

There’s something about unzipping a tent door and looking out into nature that gets the blood flowing. The smell of wilderness, the feeling of fresh air on your skin, and the rush of life that hits your face with abandon. When you’re on an adventure everything looks different. Everything seems to come to life. And everything gains more value and meaning. And there’s nothing like stepping out of a thin nylon shelter and building a campfire by a lake in the wilderness. There’s just something about the life in that moment that can’t be compared with anything else. Don’t get me wrong. I still want a house for a good 360 odd nights a year, but every once in a while, it’s good to get back to nature.

And so that first morning with my friends in Indian Heaven Wilderness broke with excitement and life effervescent. We had breakfast, cleaned our dishes, packed up some fishing poles and lunch and set out into the wild. While it is wild, this wilderness isn’t desolate. There are well worn trails and directions from place to place. The trail we were on sort of followed a circle and about every half mile to mile we’d come across a new lake. There are numerous lakes in the area and they’re all teaming with enough young trout that you could simply cast something shinny on a line and get a bite. It was a day to remember. Until the sun went down. Then it became a night to remember.

It was fall when we set out on this little trip. It had to be. You see this area is notorious for mosquito’s. So to be able to really enjoy the experience, most people find that it’s best to wait till after the first freeze when the mosquitos die down for the year. It was a sort of Indian Summer in Indian Heaven. But that meant the days were growing short and the nights were getting cold. And so as we were heading home so was the sun. In order to get back to camp with a little light to spare, we came up with a good idea. Instead of following the long trail all the way back we could cut the time in half with a well executed shortcut. So with a couple freshly caught fish in hand we stepped into the unguided woods.

You’ve probably heard stories of people going in circles when they’re lost. There’s a reason you’ve heard those stories. It’s because that’s what happens when you’re lost. So after coming upon the same spot twice, we realized we too, were going around in circles. And that’s when we knew we were living in one of those stories, and we too were lost. At that point it was truly dark and the hope of finding camp was dimming. Fortunately we did have a compass, but actually following it after fear had taken over was harder than expected. Especially when we didn’t know exactly which way would lead to camp. But having given up on finding camp, we were just hoping to get to a road. And we figured traveling in a straight line was the best way to accomplish that; since logging roads meandered all through the area. As it turned out, the compass, along with some prayers, worked better than expected. Because after a while of simply walking in hope, we just happened upon a clearing and a couple hundred yards away we could just barely make out our tents. It was one of the best feelings anyone could ever have. We were going to live for another adventure.

Did I mention, about thirty seconds after finding camp our last flashlight went out.

But what does any of this have to do with woodworking, art, or furniture? The answer is, it may not have anything to do with it, to you. But to me it has everything to do with it. That’s because what I make, how I design things, and what inspires me has to do with the story I’ve grown up with. The story that draws me back to the wilderness, the mountains, and the trees. Every piece of wood comes with a story. It took growth, and pattern, along with outside influences to to make every board’s grain a little different than the next. Oak grows differently than pine, and so does Walnut. And if they could tell stories of their lives, they would tell different ones. Their grain, hardness, and shape being the result of weather patterns, nourishment, and sunlight. And in a way they do tell their stories. They’re just in a different language.

Today as I looked at a piece of redwood, from the famous redwood forest, I wondered how it got to be the way it was. It was obviously from an old tree and I think it was from some sort of outgrowth. But how did it get there? What happened that this tree died and was later salvaged? How big was this tree? They’re all questions to which I’ll never know the answers. But I as I studied the piece and how I could use it best, I couldn’t help but imagine a new story. And someone experiencing an adventure somewhere along the edge of a mountain lake. And I can’t wait to share that story with you as it comes to life.

The story you get may be different than mine. In fact I hope it is. Because it’s not meant to be a true story so much as a tree story. Because the heart of woodworking will always be wood, and a tree, and an unknown experience that leads to something more beautiful than what any carpenter besides The Carpenter can design. And so every piece I make I always try to put the medium, the wood, first; empowering you to be the dreamer and the reader of the story.

Thank you so much for letting me share this little story with you and a little bit of what inspires me to build what I do. And I can’t wait to share more stories with you and create more things that inspire a dream or a story in you. Perhaps something that takes you to the mountains, or beside a valley stream, or maybe even a warm and cozy home.

Until next time…

Jake