Select the wood
Each piece starts with hand-selecting the right wood — considering grain, species, and character to match the vision.
Building a craft, one piece at a time — from a red barn in Mount Vernon, Ohio.
Michael Cedoz has been turning wood for the better part of two decades, most of it alone, most of it after dark. Redbarn is the name on the door — a gambrel-roofed shop a few miles outside Mount Vernon, where the Kokosing cuts through Knox County and the oaks have opinions about weather.
The work begins where the tree ends. A neighbor calls about a windfall; a storm takes a limb off a fence-line cherry; a 100-year-old oak comes down for construction. What arrives on the trailer is rarely dimensional lumber. It's a log, with knots, with history, with a life it has already lived.
Everything that leaves the shop has been handled — milled, stacked, dried, re-stacked, planed, chiseled, sanded by the same pair of hands. There are no apprentices. There is no CNC. There is a kettle, a radio that mostly works, and two shop dogs — Kodiak and Lizzie — who supervise.
If you commission a piece, you'll know where the wood came from and, often, who last walked past the tree. That seems like the least a maker can do.
Most of the wood comes from right here in Knox County — fallen trees from storms, trees taken down for construction, logs that would otherwise end up as firewood. There's something satisfying about giving a 100-year-old oak a second life as a kitchen table.
Each piece starts with hand-selecting the right wood — considering grain, species, and character to match the vision.
Using a combination of traditional turning techniques and modern tools, the raw wood takes shape on the lathe or workbench.
Multiple rounds of sanding, finishing, and hand-polishing bring out the wood's natural beauty — ready to be enjoyed for years.
Black walnut, white oak, cherry, sugar maple, sycamore — the five hardwoods of Knox County, and what each one teaches a maker working out of a barn in Mount Vernon.
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Forty-five years at the lathe, one bad second on the table saw, and the saw I should have owned twenty years ago.
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A single black walnut from a Knox County backyard — and the reason a good bowl takes more than a year to make.
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People ask me all the time: what makes one bowl different from another? The answer almost always starts with the wood.
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A few months back I got a call from a customer in Michigan. He wanted a kitchen table — something big enough for the whole family.
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One of the most common questions I get after delivering a piece is: how do I take care of this? The good news is simple.
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If you've found your way to this site, you probably have at least a rough idea of what woodturning is. But I'm surprised how often people don't really know.
Read the essay →Most pieces begin with an email — a photo of a room, a rough dimension, a story about someone the piece is for. There's no form required. Just a note, and a patient reply.
michael@redbarnwoodturning.com →