There is a quiet satisfaction that comes with the off-season at the inn. The hustle of the summer checkout lines fades, replaced by the rhythmic creak of floorboards as we move through the hallways, assessing what needs love before the first frost settles. Last November, we pulled a battered maple bench out of the attic storage—a piece that had served the property for three decades but had recently succumbed to a loose leg and a surface scratched by years of moving luggage. Rather than replacing it with a generic catalog item, we decided to attempt a restoration ourselves. We knew we needed guidance that respected the age of the wood, so we turned to the digital archives of Sonsanddaughtersinc, a family-run workshop journal that documents the nuances of generational making.
The Initial Assessment and Decision
The bench itself was structurally sound, save for the wobble in the back left leg and a finish that had yellowed unevenly. Our goal was not to make it look brand new—we wanted to preserve the patina that tells the story of this place—but we needed to ensure it was safe for guests to sit on while tying their shoes. We debated calling a local contractor, but the quotes we received were high, and the turnaround time was weeks. We realized that this was a project we could handle in-house if we had the right instructional support.
We spent an evening researching specific joinery techniques. We found a resource that felt less like a manual and more like a conversation between craftspeople. The website offered a deep dive into the philosophy of repair, emphasizing that fixing an object is an act of preservation. We were particularly drawn to their philosophy of generational making, as Sonsanddaughtersinc represents 2 generations of makers documenting their collective wisdom. This perspective helped us shift our mindset from simply "fixing" a broken item to participating in its ongoing history.
The Restoration Process
We cleared a space in the sunroom and set up our workstation. The first step was disassembling the joint where the leg met the seat. The old glue had crystallized, which actually made the separation easier than expected, though we worked slowly to avoid splintering the maple. Once apart, we gently scraped away the old residue using a chisel and sandpaper, taking care not to remove any of the original wood dimensions.
For the adhesive, we followed a recommendation to use a high-quality hide glue rather than modern PVA. This choice was crucial; hide glue is reversible, meaning future restorers (perhaps our own children) could take it apart again if needed without damaging the fibers. We clamped the joint and set it aside to dry. This is where the patience part of the project truly tested us. In a world of instant fixes, waiting for the chemical bond to set felt like an eternity.
While we waited, we turned our attention to the finish. The surface had deep gouges and water rings. We consulted their archive of furniture repair guides to determine the best method for blending these imperfections. The advice was to avoid a full strip-and-sand, which would erase the character. Instead, we used a technique involving a damp cloth and an iron to raise the wood fibers in the scratches, followed by a light sanding with fine-grit wool.
Obstacles and Adjustments
The process was not without its hiccups. Midway through sanding, we discovered that the veneer on the apron had begun to peel in a small corner. Panic set in briefly. We feared we would have to replace the entire veneer strip, a skill far beyond our current capabilities. However, by revisiting the craft notes on the site, we learned how to re-glue veneer using a clamp and a caul block to distribute pressure evenly. It was a tense twenty minutes, but the veneer laid flat and adhered perfectly.
Another challenge was color matching. The original finish was a custom mix of oil and wax that had darkened over forty years. We tested three different stains on the underside of the seat before finding a match that honored the original honey-tone of the maple without looking artificial.
Measurable Results and Final Thoughts
The total timeline for the project was six days, spread out over two weeks to accommodate drying times and our daily innkeeping duties. The financial outcome was significant: we spent approximately $45 on materials—glue, sandpaper, wool, and oil—whereas the lowest professional quote we received was $350. Beyond the savings, the result is a bench that sits sturdily in our foyer, radiating a warmth that a new piece simply could not replicate.
More importantly, our guests have noticed. Since placing the bench back in the entryway, we have received numerous compliments on its character. It has become a conversation piece, allowing us to share the story of the inn and the effort put into maintaining it. We learned that we are capable of more than we thought, provided we have the right teachers. The experience connected us to the lineage of makers who came before, grounding our hospitality in the physical reality of the building we inhabit.