Serving Board in Walnut
Regular price
$240.00
Unit price
per
+ shipping
Non-toxic, food-safe, and solvent-free
Sustainably sourced hardwoods bonded with fully cured Titebond III
Oregon Walnut in Straight with Flame Grain
Food-grade mineral oil and beeswax blend
19″ × 8 ¾″ × 0.75″
2.4 lb / 39 oz
Care
Care
Hand wash only. Wipe dry immediately.
Never place in dishwasher or submerge in water.
To prevent warping, re-oil monthly or when dry, and apply conditioner regularly.
Story
Story
Winter in the Northwest. Edensaw’s discard pile, end of a long day. The boards I brought home were rough -cracked, narrow, full of knots and surprises. Preserving as much of the grain as possible became a puzzle. Every line drawn was about saving the most beauty and letting go of the rest.
This board, in particular, had a gradient that pulled me in. I almost kept it as-is. But a deep crack ran straight through, so I cut a diagonal, glued it up, and stared at it for days, trying different lines that never looked right.
Then memory stepped in. My first premium cutting board was a gift, years ago - carved by my ex-brother-in-law’s twin, the first pro woodworker I’d ever met. A hip Portland guy who sold designs to Rejuvenation. I’d never seen a carved handle like that before. I used it until it warped.
That disappointment stuck with me. I realized not every design choice scales, and sometimes a board’s design is its own undoing.
I started by drawing lines around knots, working with what the wood would give me. Each line was a negotiation, a memory, and a test. A lot of hand sanding, a lot of slow decisions.
Inspired by Joan Miró, I carved a handle meant to feel like holding a hand - gentle, open, a small circle of warmth. I traced every line around knots and cracks, working with the wood instead of against it.
Sometimes, the right line is the one that holds the shape of a memory.
This board, in particular, had a gradient that pulled me in. I almost kept it as-is. But a deep crack ran straight through, so I cut a diagonal, glued it up, and stared at it for days, trying different lines that never looked right.
Then memory stepped in. My first premium cutting board was a gift, years ago - carved by my ex-brother-in-law’s twin, the first pro woodworker I’d ever met. A hip Portland guy who sold designs to Rejuvenation. I’d never seen a carved handle like that before. I used it until it warped.
That disappointment stuck with me. I realized not every design choice scales, and sometimes a board’s design is its own undoing.
I started by drawing lines around knots, working with what the wood would give me. Each line was a negotiation, a memory, and a test. A lot of hand sanding, a lot of slow decisions.
Inspired by Joan Miró, I carved a handle meant to feel like holding a hand - gentle, open, a small circle of warmth. I traced every line around knots and cracks, working with the wood instead of against it.
Sometimes, the right line is the one that holds the shape of a memory.