Ten years, sharp chisels, and a pile of Kilkenny hardwood.

I started in my family's garden shed at 14, with a blunt chisel and more curiosity than sense. Kilkenny evenings disappeared into sawdust. What began as borrowed timber and borrowed tools became a habit I could not put down.

Hollow factory furniture made me restless. Soft cores wrapped in pretty veneer. Mystery glues. Boards that warp after one wet winter and dull a good knife before Christmas. Sold as hardwood. Built like disposable packaging.

Solid end-grain is different. Fibers stand upright so the blade parts them instead of fighting them. Maple and walnut, joined true, planed by hand, oiled and waxed until the surface feels like it belongs in a kitchen for decades, not seasons.