Philosophy

During my final summer working at my father's Pelican Rapids saw mill, I helped him cut red oak logs from our family acreage – wood to be used for cabinets. As his assistant, I was primarily assigned to turn logs with a cant hook and then fasten slabs in place with an iron bar and chain. Our bond deepened in those sweltering months; the strain and disconnect between father and son was replaced by respect and understanding. By September, my face and arms were a deep bronze from full days in the sun. My fingertips were stained black from handling that iron bar and stayed that way long into my first semester at the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities.

In urbane Minneapolis, I never bragged about my time as a logger; to be honest, I didn't appreciate it. It was work. Hard work. I left Pelican Rapids behind in 1996, and embraced the city. 

But the trees stayed essential to my environment. I chose to live in old apartments full of original woodwork. Before my wife and I moved into our first home, our first order of business was to have the original birch floors sanded down and refinished. When we remodeled our kitchen two years later, we eschewed the hot trend of granite countertops in favor of beautiful, rich butcher block. 

In 2015, we moved to a newer, larger house in suburban Minneapolis, loaded with beautiful red oak floors and heavy wood beams stretched across the ceiling. I was aware of live edge furniture, and had an instinctive understanding of how it was made, and decided to create a piece (or two) for our new home.

My father and I fell our first trees, one red oak, and one maple, that October. We sawed those logs a month later, and I was struck by the beauty of the grain, the quarter sawn of the oak, the heartwood of the maple. These trees produced far more than a few simple pieces; three logs per tree gifted me with almost thirty slabs. A purchase of black walnut logs from a former student of my father's doubled that inventory. Shepherding those trees through the process, from the mill to the kiln to the finished, lacquered piece, stopped being work- it was replaced by the proud, obsessive sweat of creation. I was a born-again woodworker.

There's a simplicity to live edge. It's just wood and steel. But in the right light, the wood changes color. At the right angle, the grain becomes translucent. In the right space, a beautiful slab of wood can transform the way you live. 

At North Edge Woodworks, we understand that your home is your museum. And we believe that trees can provide its art. 

Sincerely, 

Jay Kuvaas
Owner, North Edge Woodworks