We get asked the same question in almost every consultation: “What wood should we pick?” The honest answer is that the wood usually picks itself once we understand the person.

Every board we work comes through the shop as an individual. We look at the grain, the color, the figure, the way it moves under the plane. We know from handling thousands of boards that two pieces from the same tree will behave differently and finish differently. This is not a flaw in natural material. It is the reason no two pieces from this bench are ever exactly alike — and the reason a Randolph’s piece can be built for a specific person rather than assembled for a general concept of one.

Most of our lumber comes from within five counties of this bench — milled in these mountains, dried here, worked here. A smaller portion comes from our own farm: trees we selected, felled, and milled ourselves, with the offcuts returned to the soil around the trees we planted to replace them. This program paused after Hurricane Helene and resumes in 2027. In the meantime, everything but our specialty hardware originates in North Carolina.

This page is here to help you see what we see in each species — so that when the question comes up in your consultation, you already have a sense of the answer.

When we took over the bench, our first design as mastercraftsman was built from two species: oak for the lid, pine for the side walls — the pine stained black onyx, the oak in aged bourbon. The contrast between them was immediate and unmistakable. What we found was that having two colors to work with made the whole piece come to life in a way a single species couldn’t achieve alone. That first piece became the foundation of what we now call the Paired Grain Collection — commission builds that intentionally pair two wood species, using the contrast between them as a design element rather than an accident. We have never seen another maker use this approach. We don’t claim to have invented the concept of combining woods, but the intentional pairing of species for emotional and visual contrast, matched to the specific person being honored, is ours.

The most prominent grain in our shop. Open-pored, assertive, and unmistakable — oak announces itself the moment you see it. The medullary rays that radiate through a quarter-sawn board catch the light in a way no other species does. This is not a quiet wood, and it was not meant to be.

Oak is one of the densest hardwoods we work. It holds joinery with exceptional grip, takes a finish that deepens rather than sits on the surface, and ages in the direction of dignity rather than wear. In the Scots-Irish and English traditions that settled these mountains, oak was the timber of endurance — used for the structures that were expected to outlast their builders.

In Cherokee tradition, oak was the tree of strength and protection. In Norse mythology, it was sacred to Thor — not because of power for its own sake, but because of the kind of strength that shelters others. That correspondence feels right for the people who tend to choose it.

Deep, almost-purple heartwood — closer to dark plum than brown when the light catches it right — finishing to a surface that looks like it was poured rather than planed. The grain is straight to lightly figured, occasionally streaked with purple or dark ribbon patterns in exceptional boards. Air-dried walnut develops a richness that kiln-dried material doesn’t reach — one of the reasons we’re particular about our source.

In the German and Swiss traditions that settled the southern mountains alongside the Scots-Irish, walnut was the wood of the craftsman class — too valuable for common use, too beautiful to waste on anything less than the finest work. In Greek tradition, it was associated with wisdom and with Jupiter — the kind of authority that doesn’t need to announce itself.

Walnut also pairs exceptionally with lighter species in our two-tone builds. Cherry and walnut together is one of the most elegant combinations we work — warm against dark, refined against rich.

Fine, straight grain with a surface that takes finishing to an almost glassy smoothness. Fresh cherry runs from pale pink to light reddish-brown — but leave it in the light for a few months and it deepens into a warm auburn that looks like it was stained, even when it wasn’t. This oxidation process is one of the most remarkable things natural wood does, and cherry does it better than any other species we work. For pieces going directly into service, this is one of many reasons cherry photographs and presents beautifully from day one. For pre-planned pieces stored over years, the deepening is something to look forward to.

In Irish tradition — well represented in these mountains — cherry was associated with sweetness, love, and the endurance of the things worth keeping. In Christian symbolism, the cherry is the fruit of paradise. The tree that produces something worth treasuring even after the season for it has passed.

Cherry is also the species that appears most often in our matching sets for couples. There is something fitting about a wood that deepens with time for two people who did the same.

Soft, light, fragrant — pine carries visible knots and a grain that moves in honest, undisguised patterns. It doesn’t hide its character under a smooth surface. The fragrant resin it contains acts as a natural preservative and gives pine-built pieces a scent that is immediately recognizable as something real rather than something manufactured.

Pine was the original building timber of Appalachia. Every cabin, every barn, every church in these mountains was built from it first. In Cherokee tradition, the pine was the tree of peace — the one that remained green through winter when everything else had gone bare. Steadfast through the difficult seasons.

In our two-tone builds, pine paired with cherry or walnut creates a contrast that makes both species more visible. The light and the dark together say something that neither says alone.

Pale cream with an almost featureless grain — uniform, fine, and exceptionally carve-friendly. Basswood is not a wood that announces itself. It is a wood that accepts what is asked of it and holds the detail precisely. Its cellular structure is remarkably consistent, which is why woodcarvers and model-makers reach for it before anything else.

In European folk tradition, basswood — known as linden in much of the world — was associated with love, creativity, and the gift of healing. In German heritage specifically, the linden was the gathering tree: the place where communities came together, where stories were told, where marriages were blessed. It is the tree of connection.

On a themed piece where every surface needs to carry carved or painted detail, basswood is our first choice. On a standard build where the grain needs to step back and let the finish do the work, it performs equally well.

Creamy white to pale yellowish-brown, often streaked with green or purple in the heartwood — poplar’s own character is subtle rather than bold, which makes it an exceptional canvas. It planes, shapes, and finishes beautifully. It holds paint and stain with even absorption. It machines consistently and responds well to hand tools.

In many traditions, the poplar was the tree of the threshold — the place between what was and what comes next. Its leaves tremble in the slightest wind, giving it an association with movement, with sensitivity, with awareness of change. In Roman mythology, the white poplar was Hercules’ tree — not the strength of oak, but the endurance that outlasts difficulty.

Poplar also provides one of the most cost-effective paths to a specific custom finish or paint color without sacrificing structural integrity. If the vision calls for a painted or deeply stained piece, poplar carries it faithfully.

The American Chestnut once made up nearly a quarter of the hardwood forest in the eastern mountains. The chestnut blight of the early twentieth century wiped it out almost entirely — billions of trees gone within a few decades. What we work today is reclaimed timber, recovered from barns, fences, and structures built before the blight. Every piece carries the worm-trail tunnels left by the beetles that came after the trees fell: distinctive oval marks in irregular patterns that no other species produces and that cannot be replicated artificially.

In Cherokee tradition, the chestnut was a food tree, a medicine tree, and a shelter tree — one of the most giving of the forest species. Its loss was catastrophic in ways that went beyond timber. To work with what remains of it is to work with something that should be treated accordingly.

We do not always have wormy chestnut in stock. When we do, we tell you. If you’re interested in a piece built from it, the conversation about availability is the first conversation we have.

Availability must be confirmed before this species can be included in a commission. Contact us directly before beginning the design process if wormy chestnut is your first choice.

The mythological traditions of Northern Europe and the ancient Mediterranean world gave specific trees specific meanings that traveled with the settlers who carried those traditions. Many of those associations still feel intuitively correct today.