First I was an artist, then I became a woodworker. I've been called a Renaissance Man or a Jack of all trades. From design, to framing, carving, trim, paint and delivery, I'm your guy. You can read all about how I came to build whimsical playhouses for a living by reading "My Story" on the left.


My wife Sarah is perhaps the most important member of this company, because while I'm out in the workshop goofing off, carving dragon heads or designing a potting shed, she's doing the real work: taking care of our two kids. And that when she's not working as the Development Manager for our local Jefferson Land Trust. And on top of all that, she's the talent behind all my stained glass.



This is Grant. He's two. He spends most of his time around the work site gathering any scraps lying around and waving them wildly over his head. He also likes to point up at the roof and say "Oooooooo!"




This is our dog. As you can see, she's leads a hard, hard life. It's tough when your house's green roof needs weeding, your stained glass needs cleaning, and your cherry wainscot is...well, okay, the cherry wainscot is holding up just fine because I did put three coats on it. In my defense, except for the fascia, Clover's dog house was made entirely out of job site leftovers that had been taking up space in my shop for too long. And once my son learned to walk, she needed her own refuge. In winter. Outside. Where it is safe.



Josephine is five, and my most honest critic on children's playhouses. I take her seriously, because hey, she's five. Chances are, if she lights up when she sees something I've added to a playhouse, yours will too. If I show her something, and she frowns and says, "That's silly," it's probably my inner adult taking too much control over the artistic process.