After
successfully building one chair, I set my sights on building a few
more since I had plenty of cedar left over in my pile. At the beginning
of my junior year of college, I made a suggestion, and subsequent
commitment, that I never followed through on to my roommates. I live in a
house with seven other guys. Our house turned 100 this year, and it has
a huge front porch to go along with
slanted floors, a door to the roof, and a bamboo forest in the backyard,
among other things. When we first moved in two years ago, I suggested
that we make Adirondacks for the front porch. Charlie, who graduated in
May, was the most adamant about having these chairs. For the last two
years, he would bring up the chairs every so often, because he knew that
I had likely bitten off more than I could chew and had been talking out
of excitement when I made my suggestion. Comments like "So how are those chairs coming?" or "You
know what this porch needs? An Adirondack..." were certainly all in good fun, but not following through on something really eats at me.
Here is Mr. Rollins in his Christmas best. Though he may look like a mere Ralphie impersonator, Charlie is a savvy, aspiring businessman, and possesses wisdom beyond his years. Upon finding out that I was finally building chairs, he laughed between bites of his dinner, a product of his latest Earthfare run. "Perfect, right when I am leaving!" he exclaimed. He's the man that imparted countless nuggets of knowledge upon me in our two years as roommates, the dude that showed all of us at 210 how to savor our time and get every ounce of enjoyment out of college living, and the brogen that introduced me to the world of craft beer and patented the Front Porch Vibe™, and he deserved much better. He spent most of spring semester interviewing after killing it at the Career Fair, and landed a job in Raleigh with a wine company. The thought of denying Charlie the joy of sliding into a handmade Adirondack with his cigar/scotch combo was too much guilt for me to have to deal with. The result was his graduation present, the Patrick Swayze of Adirondacks. A chair fit for taking the FPV to North Carolina.
Just as before with Lizzy's chair, this bad boy is made out of hand-cut cedar, and held together with Fastenal stainless steel wood screws to keep it from rusting. I used the same decorative staining technique as before, making a stencil and tracing it onto the back. After the decorative stain was dry, I applied three coats of poly seal to ensure this chair can hold up to Mother Nature for years to come.
As a lifelong Braves fan, it absolutely killed me to stain this Mets logo into the chair. I hate the Mets more than any other team, but had to bite the bullet here as Charlie is a huge Mets fan. To make it stand out, I went with a negative style for the logo, drawing the "NY" inside of a circle and staining around it. It really made all the difference, because I am not sure that it would have been as distinct had I simply stained the "NY".
The 210 motto to live by. Legend has it this catchphrase was coined on a day filled with Can-Jam, frisbee golf, and Cheerwines from the GP. I couldn't let Charlie forget the mantra that he embodied, so it had to be stained on the very first seat slat.
The name of our shanty brocastle is our address on our street, simply shortened to 210. Here's where I would say something really cheesy about brotherhood or "friends for life" or some jazz like that, but I will spare you.
The decision on what verse to stain on Charlie's base support was an easy one. As the elder roommate in 210 this past year, Charlie used his wisdom to make an impact on each of our lives. The verse is Proverbs 27:17, and it reads simply, "Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another". Charlie made each of us better, and his presence in 210 will without a doubt be missed.
The chair is already up in Raleigh, being put to good use. The FPV is spreading faster than a hoard of Level 34 Nazi zombies can sprint. *Single Pistol*
