A Table That’s Not Functional

One evening, as I stared at the gorgeous walnut slab I’d picked up at a wood fair, I pondered what masterpiece it might become. Ideas sparked like popcorn in my brain—until “function” barged in and short-circuited the entire show. Tables need to stand. They need legs, ideally at some angle I hadn’t quite figured out yet. (Mental note: Google “angles that don’t suck.”). Cue my spiral into tool-based self-doubt. Instead of designing the piece freely, I reverse-engineered ideas based on the tools I already owned. (Spoiler: this is a terrible way to work.) Every potential solution screamed “costsss!”—yes, with extra s’s because costs always creep up. Meanwhile, my six-year-old demanded snacks, toys, and every molecule of my remaining brain power. Creative paralysis, thy name is parenthood. The shape is a stretched out oval with beautiful gradient of rings, it had bark on it. Naturally, I dove headfirst into a rabbit hole of live-edge DIY videos. Somewhere between “epoxy river table” and “minimalist masterpiece,” I decided this slab deserved a touch of Japanese joinery. Problem: everything I knew about joinery involved 2×2 lumber. Square legs? Too basic. The original shape begged for circular joinery, so it was. To escape the vortex of indecision, I started small. One step at a time, I let the plan evolve. Here’s how it all went down and it happened in four stages –

Stage 1 / The Top – First, I stripped off the bark but left the slab’s natural shape intact. An angle grinder was my weapon of choice, and it performed beautifully, though it left the surface textured with hollows. I sanded everything down to 120 grit, but those grinder marks stubbornly remained. Surprisingly, I liked the aesthetic. Let’s call it “rustic elegance” and pretend it was intentional.

Stage 2 / The Legs – I opted for three legs ; partly for aesthetics, partly because three legs always stand, even if they wobble slightly. I had 2-inch dowels, but my Forstner bit was 44mm. This meant trimming the legs, a task I naively started with hand tools. After sweating over the first leg, I embraced modernity and turned to power tools. Enter YouTube: after hours of research, I found a method using a router to trim dowels. It worked like a charm. Testing everything obsessively, I was determined not to mess it up. Fear of failure loomed large, but I kept telling myself, Just keep going. Even if you screw up, you’ll learn.

Stage 3 / The Joinery – For the joinery, I wanted to try a wedged mortise-and-tenon joint—but in round. Drilling the holes in the table top required a bench-top drilling jig to keep them at a perfect 90 degrees. Then I hand-sawed the tenons to create slots for wedges, a delicate task involving endless fine-tuning with a hand plane. Once everything fit, it was time to cut the legs flush. I grabbed the wrong saw (classic mistake) and scratched the surface. The cut was also steeper than planned, leaving the joinery slightly wonky. Did I cry? No. But let’s just say my vocabulary expanded in that moment. Before assembling, I hand-carved flame-like patterns into the legs, thinking they’d pop once I applied the finish. Spoiler: they didn’t. If you squint—and I mean really squint—you can see them. I’m probably the only one who’ll notice, but hey, I’ll point them out to anyone willing to listen.

Stage 4 / Everything Else – For the finish, I used Rubio Monocoat furniture oil, the same one I’d used on our live-edge coffee table years ago. It worked like magic on the walnut, bringing out rich colors and subtle textures. However, I’d forgotten how much it reeked. After the first coat, I exiled the table to the basement and bolted the door to protect my nose. The second coat truly transformed the top into a stunning centerpiece, though I’m still recovering from the olfactory assault.

The table stands. It’s more sculptural than functional, but it’s custom-made with flaws, fire carvings, and all. Creating it taught me the value of taking small steps, embracing imperfections, and resisting the urge to buy every tool I see on Instagram. Would I do it differently next time? Absolutely. But for now, I’ll bask in the glow of this wobbly triumph and tell anyone who’ll listen to look closely at those legs.

Update: After few months of making the table, I eventually drew the design diagrams, in the proper way. This was a whole lot of separate fun I had. Thanks for making it this far!