Part of the reason it took so long to get off the ground is that I wanted to build a table that would be the center of activity for our home. I wanted it to be inviting, a place to gather and big enough to accommodate a big crowd on a holiday or on a surprise weekend when we found that my family would be coming into town. Philosophically, too, I wanted it to be a gesture of optimism, that building a big table would be a clear symbol of our wish to have a big family like the one I came from. Or it could symbolize our hope that we will always be surrounded by lots of warm guests.
Design had to be dictated somewhat by what was available to work with. For the base of the table, what I had to work with was reclaimed cedar (if you want to use the “value-added” expression) or old boards and scraps that normal people throw away (if you want to be honest.) It was really great looking stuff, though. One of the pieces had some peeling white paint with a section where maybe fifty years ago a kid had scribbled on it with a colored pencil. I got a kick out of that. The other pieces were silvery with age or had a glorious patina of dirt and the color wood turns after years of being out in the rain. For the table top, I managed to find something less lowbrow. I traded my old employer for a big pile of rustic cherry I knew wasn’t very useful to him. The grand total for the wood came to free ninety-nine. I was so satisfied.
Still the project lagged. Each evening at dinner I was reminded of our lowly position on the floor. As soon as Amy and Sam left for Maine, I saw my opportunity and the sawdust began to fly...
To be continued...
