WOODEN BOATWORKS

Reclaimed wood isn’t just for houses: some of the antique lumber we salvage finds its way to the workshop of Wooden Boatworks in Greenport, Long Island, where it plays a role in making classic wooden boats shipshape. Their team builds, maintains, and restores vintage boats using the traditional tools and techniques of shipwrighting. In this short film, Wooden Boatworks partner and expert sailor Steve Lubitz explains that many of the antique boats they work on come from the “golden age of yachting,” that is, the late 1800’s through the 1940s. For certain restoration projects, the team might need rare wood that’s difficult to find, such as mahogany for a boat’s interior. The Hudson Company can supply the kind of lumber “that doesn’t exist anymore,” says Steve, and can only be sourced through careful salvaging. Boats are heirlooms like any other, and carry as much personal and family history as a home.

Rediscovering Antique Heart Pine in a Historic New England Textile Mill

At The Hudson Company, we reclaim heritage wood sustainably. Often that means salvaging it from beautiful places like this, the Draper Mill building in Hopedale, Massachusetts, where past and present meet. Though it’s quiet today, this mill—spanning over one million square feet—was once a major industrial hub that produced textiles on high-speed power looms. The Draper family built the mill complex in the 19th century using the preferred building materials of the era. One element in particular was exactly what we hoped we’d find when we visited: Antique Heart Pine timber. Milled and finished according to our exacting specifications, this wood will enjoy a second life as the fine flooring, paneling, and beams we are known for. Luckily, we knew just where to find it.

WATCH THE VIDEO ABOVE TO SEE OUR ANTIQUE HEART PINE RECLAMATION.

The Valley Rock Inn

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The first summer that Lisa Bowles had her modern design boutique Roark open in Sag Harbor, she got a visit one day from Michael Bruno. Immediately sensing the aesthetic of a kindred spirit, Bruno invited Bowles to be part of a new online design community he was building at the time. (You may have heard of it: 1stDibs.) From that point on, with their shared love of offbeat glamour and a fondness for unusual vintage treasures, Bruno and Bowles have worked together on projects great and small. In 2016, Bruno invited Bowles up to Sloatsburg, New York, a small town just south of Tuxedo Park. Sloatsburg was a bit down at the heels back then, and the potential of the property that Bruno wanted to show Bowles required a bit of imagination and optimism. But knowing Bruno’s instincts, Bowles was sold, and she embarked on the process of helping him shape the chic and beautifully landscaped destination that’s now known as the Valley Rock Inn & Mountain Club.

Just 45 minutes from Manhattan by train, Valley Rock has an ideal perch in the foothills of the Ramapo Mountains, and guests can explore the nearby Harriman State Park and Sterling Forest. There are four impeccably renovated guest cottages known as Waldron Houses that date from the mid-19th century. There’s an organic market, a 70-foot pool and outdoor lounge area, a fitness center with a spin studio, and a grand dining lodge that’s getting its final interior touches this summer. Bruno envisioned Valley Rock as an active getaway spa for people who love to hike and explore, so the look and feel of the place is sturdy and stylish rather than fussy. 

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The design process unfolded organically, Bowles says, recalling that when she embarked on the project with Bruno, the property was in pretty rough shape. The Waldron houses needed to be gutted and replumbed. There were old cars on the grass, and there was only one structure that had working heat, so their first winter there, they used it as a temporary office. With their work cut out for them, it was reasonable to wonder: why this location? Well, Sloatsburg had seen better days, but the nearby towns of Suffern and Warwick both had quaint and lively downtowns with appealing restaurants and shops. And in general, the Hudson Valley was thriving: it’s close to New York City, and it offers cultural attractions like DIA Beacon and Storm King sculpture park, along with its unspoiled forests, mountains and streams. So despite a gritty exterior, there was every reason to hope that Sloatsburg could thrive too.

So Bowles went to work doing what she does best, and collaborated with Michael to source the objects and textiles they needed to make the Waldron houses feel smart and welcoming. With their shared portfolio of antiques from Roark and Michael’s own collecting over the years, they had a warehouse, and they’d effectively “shop their closet” to find what they needed. Working with her favorite upholsterer, Bowles created double-faced curtains so that the right side of the fabric would be visible from the outside looking in. Bruno had told Bowles that he wanted the space to feel like “The Hamptons in the Hudson Valley,” and it turns out that what that looks like is “plaid, but modernist,” Bowles says.

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The building where the design team had their temporary offices was initially covered in metal siding and had a tar roof. But when those layers were removed, what they found underneath turned out to be a gem: a former fire station building with charming features and great light, which ended up being the only structure they kept very close to its original state. Bruno wanted to keep the building’s original interior beams, and appropriately enough, this is the building where Bowles used The Hudson Company’s  French oak for the floors, Homestead in 7” widths, and Shrunk Face in 10.5” widths. This building is the future home of one of the Inn’s dining spaces, which will have all the historic character of its fire station roots. And our flooring is very much in the spirit of the space. As Bowles says of The Hudson Company’s hand-milled wood, “every flaw is impeccable.”

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Why We Manufacture

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit the United States in March, a shift from in-person to remote work swept every “non-essential” workplace practically overnight. Suddenly television news anchors were broadcasting from their homes against subdued digital backdrops. Classrooms went virtual, and students became expert “zoomers.” Museums shifted their operations to the web, and began sharing ever more content via Instagram and virtual events and tours. Novice sourdough bread enthusiasts shared their exploits on social media, while others sang the praises of a popular YouTube-based yoga teacher. Writing in the New York Times, reporter Dana Rubenstein noted that many politicians and journalists doing interviews from home were conspicuously displaying The Power Broker, Robert Caro’s massive 1974 biography of Robert Moses on their shelves, along with elegant ceramics and framed photos within view of the camera lens. (There’s even a Twitter feed that documents Power Broker sightings on TV.) It almost started to feel normal.

Of course, digital and virtual economies were vital before the pandemic, too. High school TikTok stars and Instagram influencers have real power (and make real money) these days, not as hobbyists, but as stand-up comics, singer-songwriters, and as arbiters of fashion and style. But as the experiences of brave essential workers demonstrated starkly at the pandemic’s height, digital work is limited to certain fields and certain kinds of jobs. There is no such thing as a digital emergency room doctor or EMT, or a virtual bus driver, or an online-only grocery store stocker. We live in the flesh and blood world, and we can only conduct certain aspects of our daily lives from behind a glowing screen.

Like every other business, when the pandemic began, The Hudson Company had to quickly find workarounds in order to keep functioning safely. We were already doing certain things that made this transition possible: we have a website, social media feeds, we can share digital documents and images instantly, and we can communicate with clients and colleagues using video chat. But when New York State mandated that non-essential businesses close down in March, we had to close our showrooms and our Pine Plains mill. Just like companies that make fabric, tiles or lighting fixtures, there are things that simply cannot be accomplished virtually.

Take reclamation, for example: the expertise and hand skills necessary to deconstruct a barn or farmhouse are years in the making. Each old barn is unique, and our experts need to know what they’re looking at and how to deconstruct it, which is a different task every time. What kind of wood is it? How old is it? What kind of shape is it in? Then the wood comes to our mill. How should it be treated and processed? What features does our client need for a particular project? The tools and techniques required to mill and finish wood, especially to the high standards we’re known for, are not something that can be mastered overnight, nor can they be accomplished alone. Our team has years of expertise, and they work together in real time to produce the flooring and paneling we offer.

New York State has started lifting some of the restrictions for non-essential businesses, but we’re still practicing social distancing, frequent handwashing and mask-wearing, and probably will continue to do so for some time. This may be our new normal. We usually hear the word “manufacture” in the context of industry, and we picture assembly lines, huge factories, and smart machines making things at high speed. But the word “manufacture” itself predates industry, and its Latin root words mean “to make” (facere) “by hand” (manus). Our digital tools, from Instagram to Zoom, have kept us connected these past few months, and we’re grateful for them. Indeed, we probably couldn’t survive without them. But if this experience has taught us anything, it’s that nothing can replace the know-how, creativity, or trained eye of a human being.