The 12-foot stretch of virgin maple was as pure and flawless as Gwyneth Paltrow’s complexion.
I wanted to change that.
“You’re not distressing that bar.” Dan, my husband, was adamant.
“But that was the plan,” I whined.
“That was your plan. That wood is beautiful, and it’s going to stay that way.”
“I don’t want beautiful. I want wood with a past.”
“Find some other wood to ruin.”
Originally, the plan – my plan – was to nab the bar out of a condemned 200-year-
old pub in Boston. Because no one I knew had access to any old condemned bars, I asked woodworkers where I might find some old wood. Their looks all said the same thing: “Lady, get off the weed.”
But my vision was unbending. I wanted a bar top that would tell stories of broken hearts, lost jobs, runaway kids and financial ruin. A bar I could relate to. I wanted a bar with a history of cigarette-smoking, floozy-flaunting, tobacco-chewing, tough-
talking, bar-brawling, whiskey-drinking, no-good outlaws; folks I wouldn’t let near my house, but whose stories I would drink in deep like Muscat wine.
Dan knew I was capable of such destruction. At our old house, a 1936 California bungalow, we redid the kitchen. But the new cabinets and flawless wood ceiling beams didn’t fit in. One day, the workers and I grabbed chains and claw hammers and whacked the sap out of cabinets and beams. Dan couldn’t watch. Not everyone has the stomach for distressing new wood. In time, the look grew on him, like lichen.
But that didn’t mean he was going to stand for this treatment again. So I stewed, pouted and campaigned by sticking pictures of cool-looking antiqued wood next to his cereal bowl. Eventually, perceptive man that he is, he realized I wasn’t going down without a fight, preferably one using chains over the bar top. “All right,” he said, wincing, “but don’t overdo it.”
Before he could change his mind, I raised the claw hammer and let it crash down on the bar top. Next I used a scraper to gouge chunks out of the pure maple and rough up the edges. With a wood-burning tool I charred places to make it look as if folks had left their cigarettes burning on the ledge.
It felt good. I let go of 18 months’ worth of pent-up remodeling aggression in one hour.
When I came up the basement stairs, sweat coating my body, a warm ax in my hand, I felt 10 years younger.
When the bar was stained and varnished, it looked old, trashed and perfect.
“What do you think?” I asked Dan.
“I think it looks like we need a new bar.” But he liked it more than he let on.
“Look underneath,” I said pointing to where people stick gum. He craned his head until he could see where, with my wood-burning tool, I’d burned a heart with our initials inside: 100 years from now, someone might notice, and wonder if there might have been a story.
Marni Jameson is a nationally syndicated columnist who lives in the Denver area. You may contact her through marnijameson.com.
Making new look old
Why would anyone beat up perfectly nice wood? It’s a question Joe Crenshaw of Crenshaws’ Old World in Castle Rock has answered a hundred times. “One reason is pure beauty,” says Crenshaw, who’s been aging wood for 35 years. “People love antiques for the same reason; old wood has patina and charm.” Plus, distressed wood is user-friendly. “You get a ding in a clear, beautifully polished mahogany door, and you can’t disguise it. But get a ding in a distressed door, and it belongs, actually enhances the wood.”
Though distressing isn’t for everyone or every home, here are guidelines for the brave:
Trend: According to the National Wood Flooring Association, distressed wood is a growing trend. Because authentic old wood is hard to find and expensive, many people antique wood themselves.
Homework: Look at antiques. Study the markings and try to imitate those, says Crenshaw. “A badly distressed finished makes you want to cry.”
Technique: Hand-scraping is the most common distressing technique. You can use chisels, wire brushes, chains, awls, ice picks and grinders to get a distressed look – and to relieve remodeling tension.
Tricks: Don’t distress evenly. True wear doesn’t happen uniformly. Edges get particularly nicked. Also, don’t leave crescent marks from a regular hammer. Those are signs of an amateur distresser.
Finish: Stain will recess into the wood’s crevices and darken marks, enhancing the distressed affect.
