Category Archives: Conservation

David Berman of Trustworth Studios, Part I

David Berman of Trustworth Studios is a man of uncommonly varied accomplishments. Born in Brooklyn, he was raised to follow his father into the family business, D. Berman and Son, which sold high-power electrical equipment. But after a stint as a purchasing agent at his father’s plant he rejected this white-collar fate.

“Boredom with the corporate world forced me into my true nature,” he says, recalling the satisfaction of changing his old car’s exhaust system on his off hours and the joy of restoring antique musical boxes to working order.

David Berman_playing pianola

David Berman at his restored 1901 Aeolian Pianola 65-note push-up player with Merryweather standing by

Berman moved to Massachusetts in his mid-20s, as did many of his college friends. It was the 1970s; as so many of us do today, you earned a bachelor’s degree (Berman’s was in English) and promptly found work in painting or construction. In partnership with a friend, he formed a company that specialized in rehabilitating old houses. Learning on the job, he found he had a knack for shingling. One day, while working on the roof of an oceanfront house, he happened to glance toward the water and saw the Mayflower sailing by. “I’m having a hallucination from heat stroke,” he thought. But it really was the Mayflower.

As his skills increased and his appreciation of historic buildings grew more refined, Berman took on more challenging projects. In 1979 he moved a barn to Nantucket and converted it to a house. He then constructed a frame house entirely from scratch: the fictitious house to which the barn might originally have belonged. The new “old house” would be used to accommodate guests.

The business partnership dissolved in 1982, and Berman moved to Trustworth in Scituate, Massachusetts, the iconic Arts and Crafts home of Henry Turner Bailey. “H.T.B.,” as Berman calls him, famously championed public education in the arts and authored the 1914 book Art Education. “It was like moving into Sleeping Beauty’s castle for Arts and Crafts,” he muses. He spent years restoring the house, hoping to purchase it from Bailey’s heirs.

While living at Trustworth he began making furniture in the style of New England antiques. “No one wanted to buy it,” he comments, so he turned his focus to furniture in the English Arts and Crafts style. An English course in high school had introduced him to late-Victorian literature; in an effort to bring the period to life, the teacher had shared a photo of the parlor at Wightwick Manor. Berman was entranced by the vision of wood-panelled walls, stained-glass windows, and Morris wallpapers, which he says “percolated in the back of my head.” The archives at Trustworth offered a treasure trove of research material. Berman immersed himself. Especially fascinated by the work of C.F.A. Voysey, Berman built a clock, numerous light fixtures in wood, glass, and copper, and a variety of furniture in his favorite designer’s style.

David Berman light fixture

One of Berman’s Voysey-inspired light fixtures made in wood, glass, and meticulously hand-cut metal

 

In 1994 Berman’s dream of buying Trustworth fell through and he moved to Plymouth, where he purchased a 1910 shingle style cottage. “Not really habitable,” he describes its state at the time, what with broken windows, a leaking roof, and no working plumbing or electricity. He threw himself into restoration, then ran the place as a bed and breakfast for a few years. In the meantime he returned to building furniture and lighting, the income from which proved barely enough to scrape by on.

It was at this point that Berman realized he could parlay his knowledge of historic architecture and interiors into period design consulting. Which brings us to the subject of wallpaper. The digital technology for printing papers was “just good enough” at the time. He taught himself to use a computer, and as the printing technology improved, his skills grew with it. Basing his patterns on meticulously researched original Arts and Crafts designs, Berman produces a growing line of wallpapers and fabrics for residential and institutional interiors, in addition to commissioned papers for historic houses. You’ll find them at the Peabody Essex Museum, the High Line Hotel, and other institutional and commercial locations, as well as in homes on several continents.

David Berman_Voysey chair straight on

An original Voysey chair with “Isis,” one of Berman’s Voysey wallpaper patterns

 

“It’s the most fun I’ve ever had,” he says of his work translating original drawings and paintings by Voysey, Godwin, Mackintosh, and others into wallpapers and fabrics. “When I am drawing and have music playing, I am happy. It’s a bit like puzzle solving: You have to break [a basic design] down into color, and you have to figure out the pattern breaks. There’s also the bliss of color—things that shouldn’t go together, but when you put them together, they just go.”

Coming next: The nuanced art of period wallpaper design

Slow and steady wins the race

Email and other techno-wonders have their place, but nothing in the e-niverse comes close to delivering the joy of a surprise object found in your old-fashioned mailbox. Today’s mail brought one such object my way: a small brown package from an unfamiliar sender, which, on inspection, turned out to contain this lovingly preserved envelope from the early 20th century.Linoleum 1_clipped_rev_2

Inside the envelope lay a treasure trove: the original sample of Jaspe’ linoleum that had presumably been ordered by one Mr. Joseph J. Reiter. Also included were a sample of the recommended felt underlayment, a list of reputable suppliers, and a mint-condition booklet extolling the virtues of linoleum and instructing readers how to care for it.

Linoleum 2_clipped_rev_1

Linoleum 3_clipped_rev_1

Linoleum 4

A note accompanying the gift explained all. “We met at the Concordia show a few months ago,” wrote J.W., referring to the Tenth Arts & Crafts Chicago Show I’d done last spring. “We discovered we were both linoleum geeks. I told you I had a vintage sample and would send it to you when I found it. Better late than never.”

Better indeed–especially since the delay was so long that I’d completely forgotten about our discussion and as a result, experienced the thrill of surprise.

J.W., you made my day.

Behind the feathery crown

Whether or not you find a piece of furniture attractive at first sight, your opinion of the piece will certainly be enriched by insight into how it was made.

For years I’d seen a grouping of pieces made by the Showers Furniture Company prominently displayed at the Monroe County History Center:

Showers 2 Showers 1

I thought them grotesque: gaudy, cheaply made, masquerading as something of higher quality than the ample signs of their factory production revealed. But in the course of researching and writing my book about Hoosier cabinets I developed a surprising appreciation for such modest furnishings, which, precisely because of their factory production, were affordable for millions of families during the early 20th century.

So when you look at the odd piece in the snapshot below, where my friend Mary Beth and I were hamming it up for the camera at the opening of a furniture exhibition, I hope you’ll see beyond the goofy, two-dimensional “crown,” the overwrought legs, and the busy mix of wood species to the solid materials, traditional craftsmanship, and scholarship I invested in the piece, which I produced as part of an educational project funded by an Indiana University arts grant.

State Museum Opening w MBR

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This page from a 1933 edition of the Sears & Roebuck catalog shows the china cabinet pictured above. This model and the other pieces in the suite were sold for several years, into the '30s.

This page from a 1933 edition of the Sears & Roebuck catalog shows the china cabinet and sideboard pictured above. This model and the other pieces in the suite were sold for several years, into the ’30s.

This magazine advertisement shows another popular Showers product: fancy cabinets for radios.

A magazine advertisement shows another popular Showers product: fancy cabinets for radios.

My design followed many hours at the Indiana State Library researching Showers pieces from the early 20th century. It’s a riff on the mass-produced treasures of the 1920s that flaunted the day’s most popular trends for everyman. What’s contemporary about my take is the use of materials that were locally grown or salvaged{1}, with traditional joinery in place of fabrication processes designed for mass-production.

To wit: Traditional mortise and tenon joinery for the drawer section of the three-part ensemble…

Corona 039

… and dovetails, of both the sliding (a.k.a. “French”) variety, as seen below, and the socket variety, cut by hand, in the making of the drawers.

Here’s a shot of the drawer case’s framework–what you see here is the front, where the drawer face will eventually go–routed with a dovetailed slot that will hold the decorative bracket at the left side of the front. The decorative bracket destined to be glued into this dovetailed slot lies on the bench.

Corona 040

To make the legs for the base framework I turned the rounded sections on the lathe, then carved the flutes by hand with a gouge and mallet.

Corona 042

Here’s the base assembly with its front and back rails and center stretcher:

Corona 044

and now the base frame with the drawer case and drawer:

Corona 007

For the solid walnut top of the base ensemble I wanted to carve a gadrooned edge similar to the one on this Mission style library table I’d seen at a junk shop, but without the intermediate veins:

gadroon

My first attempt resulted in this simple version–carved, to be sure, but not what I was aiming at:

Corona 038

After a carving course with Mary May and before the opening of the State Museum show, I made a new top with better carving that looks more “rolled.”

corona edge carving

The door, like the carved top of the drawer assembly, is made from walnut with traditional mortise and tenon joints designed to fit a rabbeted frame. Here’s the top rail with its tenon partly cut:

Corona 020

and here’s one of the mortises with apologies for the fuzzy shot:

Corona 015

The door is hung on traditional non-adjustable butt hinges:

Corona 024

Next came the scrollwork, my favorite feature of the original Showers pieces that inspired Corona Plumosa. Hands-on investigation of the Showers suite at the Monroe County History Center (with kind permission from then-director Diane Ballard) revealed that the original scrollwork was cut from a material not unlike our contemporary medium-density fiberboard (mdf). Armed with this precedent I chose a sheet of discarded 1/8th-inch-thick mdf that had come to my shop as protective packing for an order of custom-veneered panels. Once I’d calculated the dimensions and layout of the scrollwork, allowing for the parts that would be concealed behind the rabbet, I made a full-scale pattern in 1/4-inch plywood and checked everything for size:

Corona 026

… then cut it out using a jigsaw, spokeshave, and files. I actually preferred the unstained version of the scrollwork shown here:

Corona Negra 4, 4.30.12

… but knew that it looked too contemporary for my piece.

Looking through the door in the image just above, you can see one of the animal faces formed by the burly maple when I bookmatched the panels for the back. I didn’t even see the faces until months after I had completed the piece, when I was showing the maple to a client who was considering using the remaining boards I had in stock for a dining table top. He pointed out the faces.

The finished upper cabinet:

Corona 046

{1} Burly silver maple from Joe Davison of Davison Hardwood Quality Specialists in Spencer, Indiana; quartersawn red oak salvaged from a tornado-felled tree that had once grown on the site of Indiana University’s first home; and walnut from a tree that had lived on my husband’s property in western Monroe County.

 

 

 

The kind of job some of us live for

This spring I was asked to do a small restoration job in the dining room of an amazing old house. The 7,500-square-foot Glossbrenner Mansion, now owned by the Indiana Landmarks Foundation, was built between 1908 and 1910 for the Glossbrenner family of Indianapolis: Alfred, Minnie, and their three sons.

Alfred M. Glossbrenner House, 1912. (Image by courtesy of the Bass Photo Collection, Indiana Historical Society)

Alfred M. Glossbrenner House, 1912. (Image by courtesy of the Bass Photo Collection, Indiana Historical Society)

The Glossbrenner Mansion (Photo from Indiana Landmarks Foundation)

The Glossbrenner Mansion today (Photo from Indiana Landmarks Foundation)

Among his varied business pursuits, Alfred Glossbrenner served as president of the Levey Printing Company, which produced publications for banks all over the world at a time when publishing had the potential to be distinctly more lucrative than it does today.  Sic transit gloria mundi.

Mr. Glossbrenner hired English architect Alfred Grindle to design this house on Meridian Street just north of Fall Creek in Indianapolis. Even today, over a century after its construction, the ground floor features stunning woodwork, a majestic carved limestone fireplace, and many original light fixtures. Mrs. Glossbrenner’s father is reputed to have been a lumber merchant, which may help to explain the lavish oak and walnut panelling throughout the public rooms on the ground floor.

Dining room fireplace

Dining room fireplace

The dining room is panelled in Circassian walnut and features a tiled fireplace, a short section of built-in cabinetry, and a walnut-veneered coffered ceiling.

When Mr. and Mrs. Glossbrenner entertained, they welcomed guests at the front door and led them through a formal entry into the dining room through a pair of pocket doors. No plain, utilitarian pocket doors, these, but a meticulously crafted set veneered in quarter-sawn oak on the foyer side and Circassian walnut facing the dining room. Each door is fitted with leaded glass, and the two doors come together at the center of a Tudor-arched opening.

In 1949, the widowed Mrs. Glossbrenner sold the property to Dr. Joseph Walther, who used it to house his medical practice. Dr. Walther made a number of modifications, most of them either sensitive to the original character of the house or easily reversed. Among these were a pair of built-in bookcases that he had installed when he turned the dining room into an office; one bookcase was built between the windows on the north wall, the other in the room’s formal doorway.

My helper on Phase I, John Dehner, with the built-in bookcase before demolition

My helper on Phase I, John Dehner, with the built-in bookcase before removal

The doorway bookcase was fitted into the door opening with impressive care, the leaded glass doors closed so that patients, staff, and other visitors to the building could admire the doors’ beauty from the foyer. But what to do about the awkwardly shaped Tudor arch above the bookcase on the dining room side? Dr. Walther had his carpenters craft a plywood panel, copying the room’s original woodwork as closely as they could. To prevent the wood grain on the panel’s back from being visible through the leaded glass door, he had the clear glass painted green, an ingenious, if odd, solution to the minor aesthetic problem. 

First peek at the glass from the dining room side after removing one section of the panel

First peek at the glass from the dining room side after removing one section of the panel

So successful was this trick that I did not even notice it until after my helper and I removed the panel, whereupon the sunlight coming through the glass from the north-facing window in the foyer made the brush strokes visible.

Painted (dark green) versus stained (leaf green)

Painted (dark green) versus stained (leaf green)

The doors are finally opened after half a century. This view is towards the foyer.

The doors are finally opened after half a century. This view is towards the foyer, which is panelled throughout in quarter-sawn oak and topped with Tudor arches.

Sunlight streaming through the liberated pocket doors reveals their original glory. Indiana Landmarks vice-president Mark Dollase painstakingly cleaned the paint from the door on the right the night before an open house.

Sunlight streaming through the liberated pocket doors reveals their original glory. Indiana Landmarks Vice President Mark Dollase painstakingly cleaned the paint from the door on the left the night before an open house.

After removing the built-in bookcase, we made some minor adjustments to the doors and were stunned by how smoothly they operated after so many years.  I had the dining room-side door stop reproduced by Indiana Hardwood Mills, basing the profile on one of the pieces cut short when the bookcase was built in, and finished it to match the original trim as closely as possible.

When we removed the second bookcase–the one on the north wall–our appreciation of Dr. Walther’s care was deepened; instead of having his electricians rewire the original outlet near the floor, he had had them run an extension to a receptacle fitted in the base of the new bookcase, which made removing the bookcase a cinch and allowed us to “restore” the original receptacle without doing a thing.

Instead of hard wiring the receptacle at the front of the added bookcase, Dr. Walther's electrician supplied the receptacle with power via an extension cord. This allowed us to remove the bookcase without involving ourselves in any electrical work.

The cavity behind the “new” alcove bookcase’s baseboard, as seen from above with the bookcase itself removed: Instead of hard wiring the receptacle at the front of the added bookcase, Dr. Walther’s electrician supplied the receptacle with power via an extension cord. This allowed us to remove the bookcase without involving ourselves in any electrical work.

                                                                        ***

The second phase of the job involved producing a pair of framed panels that would fit under the window sills of the north wall. Originally, these alcoves most likely housed radiators. 

The alcoves probably housed radiators, but those had been removed long ago. Mark Dollase thought the room deserved to have its panels continue all the way around. I agree!

The alcoves probably housed radiators, but those had been removed long ago. Mark Dollase thought the room deserved to have its panels continue all the way around. I have to agree, especially now that I have seen the room come back to life. Before fitting the panels, we insulated the exterior wall and installed furring strips.

For the frames and trim I used Circassian walnut, though I was not able to find any with the dramatic dark veining that characterizes the dining room’s original woodwork. I had to grain that in.

This is what the walnut looks like before finishing. Really.

This (the bare frame) is what the walnut looks like before finishing. Really. In this shot the panel has its basic finish but has not been grained or topcoated.

P1000394

Not quite done, but well on the way. As my friend Ben Sturbaum would say, “Do not judge my souffle before it is finished.”

Investigation revealed that every flat surface of the original woodwork was veneered with walnut from the same tree; hence the consistency of the grain and tone. Moldings were made from less highly figured solid walnut. I had the panels* veneered in Circassian walnut by Heitink Veneers, whose craftsmen, at my request, took the care to create an owl’s face very much like the owl’s face that appears in the lower part of each original panel. The owl, a favorite Arts & Crafts motif that was presumably intentional, appears first at the formal entry and continues around the room.

One of the original owls

One of the original owls

Admittedly, since wood veneer is a natural product, the face changes with each successive panel. By the time you get back to the doorway, the face looks more like a turkey.

Owl or turkey?

Owl or turkey?

*The panel referred to here is the flat expanse set within the framework.

Indiana Hardwood Mills reproduced the panel molding, which lines the inside edge of the frame, and the top section of the baseboard. Both are visible in the photograph above.

Chris Ballard of Indiana Hardwood Mills, surrounded by his ever-expanding collection of custom-ground knives

Chris Ballard of Indiana Hardwood Mills, surrounded by his ever-expanding collection of custom-ground knives

After several experiments I landed on a finishing system that brings out the tonal variation and vibrancy of the original walnut; although I could have come close using techniques I’ve had up my sleeve for years, I got closer thanks to an additional trick learned during a finishing workshop with Peter Gedrys. As for the veining…well, let’s just say that after weeks of worrying, I’m relieved to have pulled it off.

One of the new panels with its new baseboard and shoe molding. The surrounding moldings and pilasters are original; although the original finish has been slightly damaged by exposure to moisture and sunlight, it is quite glorious.

One of the new panels with its new baseboard and shoe molding. The surrounding moldings and pilasters are original; although their finish has been somewhat marred by exposure to moisture and sunlight–hence the low sheen relative to the new panel, which is closer in sheen to the original finish in undamaged areas–it is quite glorious.

                                                                          ****

By the time the house was donated to the Indiana Landmarks Foundation, another medical building had been appended to the north side.

Image by courtesy of Indiana Landmarks Foundation

Image by courtesy of Indiana Landmarks Foundation

That structure has been removed.

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The Glossbrenner Mansion is filled with architectural wonders. Following is a tiny selection.

Fireplace in living room

The fireplace in the main living room extolls the virtue of friendship.

Carved fruit over fireplace

Detail of carved fruit over fireplace

  

The fireplace in the parlor/library/men's drinking room (?) extolls the virtue of wisdom

The fireplace in the parlor/library/men’s drinking room (?) extolls the virtue of wisdom

Faux grained to the max. These doors are not wood, but leaded glass, painted to match the surrounding woodwork in order to conceal the cupboard's contents. Though not original to the house, this paintwork is the work of a master craftsperson.

Faux grained to the max. These doors are not wood, but leaded glass, painted to match the surrounding woodwork in order to conceal the cupboard’s contents. Though not original to the house, this paintwork is the work of a highly skilled craftsperson.

Window seat

Window seat

Stained glass on the formal staircase landing

Stained glass on landing

Spiral acanthus leaf carving

Spiral acanthus leaf carving

Formal staircase

Formal staircase

The Walther Cancer Foundation donated the 1910 Glossbrenner Mansion to Indiana Landmarks to guarantee its preservation. Landmarks plans to market the property in the near future. For information, contact Mark Dollase, Vice President of Indiana Landmarks Foundation.

Mark Dollase, vice president of Indiana Landmarks, with the pocket doors

Mark Dollase, vice president of Indiana Landmarks, with the pocket doors

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My partner Mark Longacre of Mark Longacre Construction, Inc.

John Dehner: Craftsman, musician, all-around good guy

John Dehner: craftsman, musician, husband, dad, friend, and all-around good guy

The desperate use of a drill as a pillow suggests that some people are not amused by the proceedings.

Ready to go home

Ready to go home

Vacation reading

A long-anticipated weekend vacation  in New Harmony, Indiana, site of two early-19th century intentional communities, was made all the more thrilling by a trio of books. 

For background, we took along New Harmony Then and Now, a portfolio of artful photography by Darryl Jones with an essay by Donald Pitzer on the history of the place.

Anticipating some time to read for pleasure, I also brought Eric Sandweiss’s newly published book, The Day in Its Color, about salesman-turned-photographer Charles Cushman–who turns out to have been a native of Poseyville, less than ten miles from New Harmony. Sandweiss’s evocative descriptions of the area in which Cushman grew up enabled me to see that sparsely populated corner of the Hoosier state with new eyes.

The Wabash River seen across farm fields from New Harmony

Drama for the weekend was supplied by Edith Sarra’s essay about the Patoka Bottoms, which will appear in an edited volume on historic preservation to be published in the autumn of 2013 by the Indiana University Press. (Sorry; this book is not yet available.) It’s a ghost story of sorts, filled with mystery and adventure. On our way home Mark and I spotted, to our great excitement, the historical marker Sarra mentions in her essay. It stands at the point where State Road 57 crosses the southern Indiana portion of the Wabash and Erie Canal, that mid-19th-century aqueduct,  now defunct, built at monumental cost–not just in dollars, but in workers’ lives.

View down the north side of the embankment

Mark stands in a section of the Wabash and Erie Canal bed, now long dry, which was elevated above the Patoka River bottoms

New desk for an old building, Part 2

 
 
 
 
 
 

View of trees at Seminary Park. (Photo courtesy of City of Bloomington Parks Foundation)

The Lumber: Counters

The desk is built almost entirely from solid wood, most of which grew within 100 miles of Bloomington, Indiana.

The counters were made using quarter-sawn red oak from a tree that grew in Bloomington’s Seminary Park, original site of Indiana University. Construction of the seminary began in 1822, and classes were first held three years later. In 1883, after a devastating fire, the campus was moved about a mile north to Dunn’s Woods, its present location. Since the 1960s, the site has been a park.

On May 25, 2011 severe storms ripped north-eastward along the Bloomfield Road, felling numerous trees, among them the Northern Red Oak from which these counters are made. The next day, crews from the City of Bloomington Parks and Recreation Department were at the park to clean up the mess.

The massive root ball (May 26, 2011). Photo courtesy of City of Bloomington Parks Foundation.

The Parks and Recreation Department operates a lumber recovery program that urban forester Lee Huss humorously refers to as “No Log Left Behind.” Instead of sending usable logs to landfills or chopping them up for firewood, the department has them sawn and kiln dried by Robert Woodling of Good-Woodling Woods in eastern Monroe County.

Old friends Robert Woodling and Mark Longacre with the log, summer 2011

Sawn 2 inches thick, the boards from the Seminary Park oak were first air-dried, then spent two months in the kiln. After reaching the desired moisture content of 8 to 10 percent, they emerged from the kiln the Sunday after Thanksgiving.

 

Robert Woodling, left, with Lee Huss, City of Bloomington Urban Forester, with oak fresh from the kiln (November 27, 2011)

Each of the taller counters is made from a single board with the grain following in an unbroken line along its entire length. The rough-sawn boards were a little over 12 inches wide, though they had a few knots on the pith (the center of the tree) edge and some stretches of inner, or living, bark at the outer edge. After judicious sawing, I left a couple of minor knots (facing the working area) and inner bark (facing the public), because I wanted to honor the tree with a visible record of its size. It is relatively rare today to find a board of quarter-sawn oak 12 inches wide.        

12-inch wide board, planed. The freckle-like figure is typical of quarter-sawn red oak.

 

The lower counters are made from the same tree, but for these I joined several narrower boards to obtain the necessary width.

 

The Lumber: Main desk

The frames and pilasters are made of plain-sawn white oak from Joe Davison’s Spencer mill. Joe sources hardwood logs within a 100-mile radius of Bloomington and specializes in highly figured hardwoods such as curly cherry, fiddleback maple, etc.

The boards I used were narrow and rather rich in defects. Joe considered them too poor to sell, so he threw them in for free with a load of poplar I was buying. As with much of the material in this desk, using these boards required considerably more labor than would have been required with graded lumber. But the frame parts are relatively narrow, and I was able to use them by carefully planning each board’s use, concealing characteristics such as spalting and knots, which are typically considered defects, in inconspicuous places.

Joe Davison in his shop

The panels are all made of quarter-sawn oak from veneer mill backer boards purchased through Brown County-based Quarter-Sawn Flooring. The panels are housed in grooved frames, which allow them to expand and contract with changes in relative humidity (though quarter-sawn lumber tends to expand and contract only minimally across its width and length). I applied the decorative moldings, which were made by Martinsville-based Indiana Hardwood Mills, after most of the finishing steps were complete.

With the exception of the section facing the west staircase, which is made of quarter-sawn oak from Robert Woodling’s own woods, the baseboards and plinths are made of scrap from other jobs. Most of this stock originally came from the Frank Miller Lumber Company of Union City, Indiana, an internationally respected supplier of quarter-sawn oak. Frank Miller Lumber buys 99 percent of its hardwood lumber from privately owned lands within a 500-mile radius of Union City.

The drawers are made of red maple from Good-Woodling Woods, a hundred-acre stand that Robert Woodling and his wife, Linnea Good, keep in FSC-certified classified forest, managed for timber and wildlife.

WTIU Weekly Special segment on the desk

See the Weekly Special program “A Walk in the Woods” in its entirety

Next time: Building the desk