A table in Pear

What began with great enthusiasm turned quickly to frustration.

I had begun work on a coffee table one morning. I'd been looking forward to starting this project for some time. The slab of pear sat leaning against the wall for months. Every once in awhile I'd set it up on the bench, brush the dust off, and plan my first cuts. In my tiny shop, it was one project at a time, and even then there was often barely enough room to work. So the pear slab sat, waiting, for months.

Finally, the morning came when I could begin. I outlined in white chalk where I'd make my cuts, checking the plans a final time to ensure I'd accounted for everything. The slab was none too big. There was just enough wood in the slab to get every piece.

The top of the table would come from one end of the slab. As is common in fruit woods, there was a significant section of dry rot at the other end, and it continued about halfway into the length of the slab. I made the first cross cut a few inches past the end of the dry rot. As the slab came into two pieces, I carefully examined the end where I made my cut. Much to my chagrin, some dry rot was evident below the surface of the slab, extending into what would become the table top. I made another cut; I could afford to lose just a little more length. Though less significant, after the second cut I still had dry rot, now a little closer to the surface.

What to do? The simple answer was to make a smaller table. But this was a commission, and I was already working at the small end of the agreed-upon size. Equally important, I loved the proportions at this size, and to make a shorter top, I'd also have to make a narrower top, and shorten the legs so the height would look right.

After the first cut. This section of the slab would become the table top.

I mulled on this over the next few weeks, as I continued work on the table. First, I cut the curved edges of the top on the bandsaw.

There was significant wind (twisting) in the slab that would become the top. Without access to large-scale milling equipment to machine the slab flat, I turned to hand tools. I planed one side flat, then the other side parallel.

I milled the pieces for the frame, cut the mortise and tenon joinery, and cut the curves on the bandsaw. I faired the curves with a spokeshave, and added some curve to the edges. Shaping with a spokeshave is some of my favorite work.

Mid- way through fairing the curve.

The final bit of joinery was to connect the top to the frame. There are lots of ways to do this, but the critical thing is to allow the top to expand and contract as the wood absorbs and releases moisture with the change in seasons. I opted to cut some dovetailed keys and corresponding mortises in the frame and the top.

The top of the frame, with the dovetailed keys installed

Mortising for the dovetailed keys in the underside of the table top

With the joinery finished, I set the project aside. The table was nearly finished, but I couldn't live with the dry rot. I didn't want to fill it with epoxy or wood filler. I wouldn't cut if off and shorten the top.

I went about other work, and most mornings I would stand by the table for a few minutes and mull it over. No other solution presented itself.

And then one day I was far from the shop, on a run. Mind wandering and free, it suddenly occurred to me... if I want to get rid of the dry rot, why not just do it? Carve it away? Leave a textured groove or a hollow that invites one to run one's fingers over the surface?

I couldn't wait to get back to the shop. I had it in my mind to mirror the curves of the edges in the center of the table, gradually increasing the width and depth of the groove as I approached the ends of the table.

I made it back to the shop and laid out the idea on the table top. I loved the effect, but there was an obvious drawback. The groove interrupted the pattern of the grain. The annual rings had produced beautiful cathedrals in the flatsawn grain, and my proposed change would clash with this pattern. I liked the concept of my solution, but could I find a way to do it without disturbing the grain patterns?

I continued with other work. A few days later, a friend with an eye for design came for a visit. I showed him the table and we talked it over. Immediately he grabbed a flexible template for creating curves. "What about an organic shape, which follows the grain?" He formed the template to the shape of the grain pattern, off-center. I loved it.

I spent a few days playing with templates and shapes, watching the interplay of the grain patterns and my lines. The fine grain of the pear was smooth and fluid. Like water. A textured surface could add a welcome contrast, and called to mind the smooth stones over which water flowed on a creek bottom.

I reached for a gouge. I put a fresh edge on the tool. I stared into the mirror-smooth, flat surface of the table top. Once I started, there was no turning back. I took a deep breath, and plunged the razor edge into the wood.

The first cuts with a gouge, beginning to carve away the dry rot

Finished.

Extending the carving to the far end of the table, following the tree's annual rings.