The Story of Whiskey Burl Woodworking Co

There is a certain kind of man who walks into the woods and doesn’t just see trees—he sees time, frozen in grain. He sees a story hidden in every scar, a legacy in every knot. I have always been that man.

Before I shaped wood, I shaped lives—as a police officer and detective sworn to serve and protect. And before that, I was simply a kid with hands too big to sit still, always pulling things apart, always driven by the compulsion to make. My path to woodworking wasn’t sudden. It was a slow burn—like whiskey in an oak barrel—gaining richness over time.

I come from a lineage of labor and grit. I didn’t inherit a shop full of tools or a family name steeped in fine craft, but I inherited something far more valuable: the reverence for things built with intention. My hands learned discipline before they learned art. And now, they do both.

Whiskey Burl was never meant to be a business. It began as a sacred rebellion against the mass-produced and the disposable. What I build are not just tables—they are heirlooms, meant to outlive us all. Formed from slabs that have waited decades—sometimes centuries—for their second life, every piece is a monument to patience, permanence, and presence.

I do not chase trends. I do not rush the process. I work in communion with wood that resists conformity. Each slab teaches me something. Every river of epoxy, every burnished edge, is an act of refining—not sculpting, but revealing—what was always hidden just beneath the surface.

Inspiration comes from wind-scoured canyons, rusted steel bridges, bourbon-soaked evenings, and the quiet dignity of old-growth forests. It comes from the gravity of a room with nothing but a single, perfect piece of furniture in it—and knowing it will never need another.

This is furniture for the few. For those who understand that real luxury is not loud—it is lasting. For those who know that art does not hang only on walls—it can stand boldly in the center of a room and invite generations to gather around it.

Welcome to Whiskey Burl.
Where the wood is as smooth as the whiskey—and the story runs deep.