Hawkins & Sons: Our Story

Years ago, my wife and I built our dream farmhouse in the mountains of north central Washington, not far from the Columbia River where our families have farmed apples and cherries for generations.

That land runs deep in us. We wanted a home that felt grounded in the same way — simple and built to last.

Like most young families setting up a house, we did our best to furnish each space thoughtfully. For the dining room, we ended up buying a Pottery Barn table. At the time, it seemed like the right choice — clean design, good look, and easy. But before long, I noticed the veneer beginning to splinter and lag bolts got loose. Little signs of wear started showing up much sooner than I expected. What was supposed to be a centerpiece for family life started feeling temporary… disposable, even. 

That was disappointing.

The dining table is where life happens — meals, conversations, kids climbing in and out of chairs. I realized pretty quickly that this just wasn’t the kind of piece that would last for our family.  It would never be something that I could reminisce over marks and stains my kids made, later in life when my hair is grey. 

So I started looking.

I searched for solid wood tables built the right way — something substantial, something honest. But the more I looked, the more I realized I wasn’t finding what I had in my mind. Either the quality wasn’t there, or the feel was off, or the price didn’t match the craftsmanship.  It seemed like the wrong things were valued. Eventually I reached a simple conclusion: 

I tracked down some unique antique lumber and got access to my cousin’s small woodshop. That’s where it really began.

For weeks, my routine looked the same. I’d wake up at 3:00 in the morning, head quietly out the door, and drive to that little shop while the rest of the world was still asleep. I’d work in the quiet hours of the morning until cherry harvest called me back out to the orchards.

Every step was new.

Every piece required thought.

Every technique had to be learned from scratch.

I had to figure out how to square and shape rough lumber. I had to learn to turn legs on the lathe. I had to understand how to make strong, beautiful joinery that would actually hold up over time.

There were moments of frustration, plenty of trial and error, and more than a few lessons learned the hard way.

But somewhere in that process, something clicked.

I realized this work was as much art as it was science. The precision mattered — the measurements, the joinery, the wood movement — but so did the feel. The proportions. The flow of the grain. The way the finished piece sat in the room.

When that first table finally stood on its own, it was exactly what I had pictured in my mind.

Solid.

Grounded.

Timeless and Elegant.  

With subtle shape and character that felt right.  Built to live with our family. I named that first table The Samantha, after my strong, beautiful, and perfectly unique wife.

That piece changed everything.

As friends and family gathered around our dining table and shared meals with us, the questions started coming. Then the requests. Before long, people were asking if I could build custom tables for their homes too.

What started as a personal project quietly turned into something bigger.

The passion for building tables took off — and Hawkins and Sons was born.  

That winter, I logged burned Douglas fir trees from our forests and began milling timbers for the new woodshop I had in mind. I decided to build that myself too.  From sawing, to milling, joinery to finish, that shop build really stretched me.  I had the design in my mind and I timberframed it right in place. Soon, the 24x36 vaulted timber shop became one of my favorite places to be in this world.

Today, even with more experience and a more equipped shop, the heart of the work hasn’t changed. Every table I build still begins the same way:  selecting each hardwood plank for its purpose.  I want to see the boards, study the grain, and understand what each piece of wood is bringing to the table — literally.

Wood isn’t meant to look perfect. It’s meant to tell the story of where it came from. Some boards are calm, clean and straight. Others carry movement and subtle shade variation.  I love to play with shades of color, from the cleanest straight grain to the darkest, curliest heart wood…. I decide how those pieces will work together long before the first cut is made.

One thing that surprises people is that I still don’t use computerized tools in my process. No CNC machines. No digital design programs. No automation.  Every table begins in my mind and is executed with my hands.

Working this way keeps me connected to the material and most satisfied with the work. It also ensures your table is completely unique, with handwork and finish imperfections that are real. I can see how the grain wants to flow, how the proportions should feel, how the base should sit. Nothing feels automated or detached.. and I never outsource anything.

There’s a rhythm to the process I’ve come to love — milling lumber flat and true, laying out joinery, dry fitting the base, bringing the top together board by board, and sanding until the surface feels right under the hand.

I don’t rush it.

Every table that leaves my shop carries my name, and that means something to me. It’s a quiet promise that I stood behind every decision in that build. I believe the projects I design and build become a small part of my legacy in the world, and I want them to stand the test of time an make my clients fall in love.

I design and build tables to be timeless, both in structure and aesthetic. I primarily work with white oak and black walnut—hardwoods with strength, warmth, and character. I finish with hard wax oil so the table can be protected and you can still feel the warm silky wood in your hands.

My goal is simple: build legacy tables that last for decades and serve families well.

In a world built around speed and volume...

I’ve chosen to go the other direction.

That’s why I do this.

And it’s why every table that leaves Hawkins and Sons is still built the old way.

From the Woodshop
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