Synopsis: With David Lamb’s Zimmer table as inspiration, Dan Strout decided to replace a factory-built table in his living room—the only piece in the room he had not made himself. After completing the piece, Strout needed to paint it, but he was at a loss over how to do so in a way that fit the piece. He contacted Lamb, who put him in touch with Mark Adams, who had done the painting on Lamb’s Zimmer table.

It’s sometimes hard to trace the inspiration for a piece you build; other times, it’s not so hard. David Lamb first came to my attention because he is such an accomplished furniture maker. I had read about him in Fine Woodworking, admired his work greatly, and knew that he was the 2021 recipient of the Cartouche Award, given by the Society of American Period Furniture Makers. (As you may know, the Cartouche Award is to furniture making as the Stanley Cup is to hockey.)

But it wasn’t furniture alone that had me pulling into his driveway one cold winter day several years ago. I had discovered that David and his wife also make and sell maple syrup from a small sugar shack beside his shop in rural New Hampshire. And it happens that my wife, who is a native Vermonter with a hardwired penchant for pure maple syrup, will travel anywhere to buy a trunkful of the stuff. Me? I’m an amateur furniture maker who loves his wife, finely crafted furniture, and—you guessed it maple syrup. You see where this is going: An impromptu day trip was afoot, from our house near Boston to central New Hampshire.

We met David under the roof of his sugar shack as he stoked a crackling fire that was boiling a vat of freshly tapped maple sap. Pleasantries were exchanged, idle chatter ensued, syrup purchases were made, and the inevitable topic of furniture making followed.

Back at home later that same day, after packing away our new stockpile of syrup, I went to David’s website and saw for the first time his beautifully crafted Zimmer table. This stunning piece—a nod to a 17th-century European table—is circular in form with intricate pierced acanthus carvings accentuated by intentionally aged paint with subtle shade shifts.

The Zimmer table resulted from a collaboration between David and his longtime friend Mark Adams—a highly respected furniture conservator. David built the piece, and Mark expertly applied the paint to replicate 400 years of wear. As soon as I saw it, I knew there was a future project for me with this piece as the catalyst—but what would it be? For over a year the Zimmer table, with its beautiful lines, carvings, and aged finish, percolated in the back of my brain.

And then my focus fell on a certain late-1940’s factory-built Duncan Phyfe–style card table that had been sitting front and center in our living room for nearly two decades. This table, which features a top that pivots 90° to a hard stop and hinges open like a book to double its surface area, had been a stalwart presenter of food and drink for countless (often momentous) occasions with family and friends.

Although cherished, it was worn, a bit rickety and—most importantly—the only piece of furniture in the room that I didn’t make. My wife loved that factory-made table and vowed not to replace it unless its successor was truly notable. When I insisted on building a replacement table, my wife’s condition was that it, too, must have a “spinning” top. I agreed, and the idea of a Zimmer table–inspired project emerged from its cranial slumber.

Through countless sketches, a workable concept slowly emerged employing the distinct styling cues of David’s masterful piece along with many of my own. I began to build. Several months passed, and the ever-present table in my small shop was nearly complete. But it was unpainted. What had I done? I knew nothing about how to paint in a way that would properly showcase this piece. So I e-mailed David, attaching a photo of the starkly unfinished table and asking for his advice.

David encouragingly replied, “Wow! You’re digging deep with this project,” and then offered me Mark’s phone number. Mark, I quickly realized, has a wealth of furniture conservation and finishing experiences and fascinating stories to accompany them. I listened and learned. It was in mid-February 2025, on another cold, gray morning much like the one when I first met David that our beloved but tired Duncan Phyfe–style card table found a new spot in our home and its proudly made replacement assumed its new position. Although it was a day filled with mixed emotions, as life’s small changes can sometimes be, it was a good day.

Dan Strout builds period furniture in the shop behind his home in Milton, Mass.