This table has been a long time coming, full of more grit, perseverance and vision than most pieces of furniture posses. When I think back to the beginning of the story, I’d say the building process started about a year ago. But for this table, let’s take it all the way back to the very beginning.
Mr. Eden designed and built this house in 1958, the first house in the neighborhood with a clear view all the way to the Capitol Building. He planted three pine trees and three oak trees next to the newly built house (after his three daughters). So these trees hold within their rings just as much history as our 57 year old home.
After moving into our new house in October of 2013, one of the first dreams I had for the place was creating a great backyard space. Our large side lot is set up just so that, although we have a good sized yard, it’s not all located in the practical “behind the house, off the back patio” designated location. But all that did was cause us to roll up our sleeves and think outside the box.
The entire summer that followed was spent cutting down trees, hauling brush, digging holes and cementing fence posts – all in attempt to turn our large corner lot into a prime, inviting backyard. Down came the three pine trees, as well as the massive 60-year-old oak tree that towered above our house. Although the dedication meant a summer without many vacations, camping trips or excursions on the lake, the fence was coming together and everything was falling into place just as planned. Until the letter came. The letter that said we had to tear it all down – that said a complaint had been filed and codes had been broken and it was all for not. We walked away from that summer of projects with nothing to show for it.
no fence.
no backyard.
& no trees.
It was so defeating. So many times I’ve thought, “If I would have known it would end like this, we wouldn’t have torn everything out. We could have left the beautiful trees and the yard just the way it was.” Without plans for the fence and backyard, I don’t think we would have ever cut down that massive oak tree. It’s hard for me to talk about the redemption of the table without the loss of the fence, so there’s the backstory.
Now, onto the table…
The giant, 14-foot thousand pound trunk sat in our yard from the beginning of summer until all the leaves began to change colors. Fall hit us with a whirlwind of surgery, hospital stays, and this new world of “cancer” my family was just starting to unpack. And in the midst of the chaos, Scott and I knew we needed something we could control. We needed a project to complete. We needed the table.
We found a sawmill just outside of town, where Scott instantly became great friends with the owner as they dove into their deep mutual love of trees, and left my inadequate knowledge of oak variations in the dust. I remember taking the trunk to the mill, thinking, “This will be great to have for Thanksgiving!” Little did I know my timeline was about a year off. Seven months, two rounds through the kiln and multiple trips to the sawmill passed, and we finally brought our tree home – in four giant, 11-foot slabs.
Every project we have taken on I have underestimated. I have underestimated how long it will take, how hard the process will be, and how deeply satisfying the finished product is. That’s one thing I love about building and renovation projects – as hard and long and exhausting as the work is – the end result is so immensely gratifying. You are left with a finished project – complete, beautiful and functional. It is good for the soul to have projects you begin, and also complete – a much different satisfaction than the ongoing development of raising kids (my current full-time occupation).
In the hours upon hours I have spent over this raw wood, sanding and staining and sealing every surface, I’ve dreamed big things for this table. I’ve prayed for every tired foot that rests along it’s beam, for an unprecedented amount of vulnerability and honesty and oh so much laughter. I’ve envisioned the mouth watering meals and open bottles of wine and a safe place for all who gather. Although I know it’s just a table, I see a beautiful, sacred space. I want it to cultivate community so rich that ten feet of eating space can hardly contain it all.
Maybe that’s why this all means so much to me – although this is a celebration of the table, it isn’t really about a table at all. It’s an unveiling of the space, the dream, the true and rich and authentic community it will facilitate.
I told Jonah when it was finally finished we would have a celebration feast. When trying to describe a what a feast is, I asked him all of his favorite foods he would choose for such an extravagant party. Needless to say, his four-year-old dream came true, and the table was abounding in cookies and doughnuts and every kind of ice cream (in my defense, I did make shrimp and asparagus risotto first with roasted cauliflower, but no one will remember that part). And on Saturday, we feasted.
The table was surrounded by laughter and love, as our entire Henn House family gathered around to celebrate together. The conversations flowed late into the night, and we left this space with full bellies and full hearts. The building of this table has been such a labor of love, and I pray this is only the beginning of all the stories she’ll hold.
the henn adventures 