We were 40 miles from even a moderately-sized city, on a curvy country road, without funds for advertising, and perplexed about the absence of business. One friend, however, an attorney who had extricated me from a fairly minor scrape over the rightful ownership of some desperately needed stove wood, ordered a cherry dining room table. I stopped by his office so he could approve his investment, and took it home to shape into a drop-leaf table. We had, at the time, a variety of household livestock, which included a young bitch recently gone into heat. Since we were somewhat short of fencing resources, she stayed in the mill with me, and slept in the shop, making a bed of the sawdust.
Proper finishes require several coats, and drying time between each coat.
I urged the family to avoid flying about and stirring up the ubiquitous mill dust, and I cautioned the children about flinging dirty laundry down the balcony opening as a short cut to the washing machine. I was ready. Each coat of finish added depth and luster to the table, and I watched with pride as a rich, gleaming table emerged from the raw cherry. Daily, I rubbed and polished, and then the dog and I would retire to the shop to attend to other shop tasks. It wasn't raining.